Marbles

I was in a dreadful antique store today.  In fact it wasn't really an antique store, it was a "bric-a-brac" store.  "Bric-a-brac" seems to be shopkeeper code for "collections of horrid teacups and twee little bits of quilting".  As such, when drawn into bric-a-brac stores I usually jam my hands into my pockets, stare at the ceiling, and enter my own private world while humming Freddie Mercury songs to myself.

But today I was relieved of the tedium when I spotted a bowl of marbles for sale for 20 cents each.  Deluxe!  These were good marbles too.  Normally when you see marbles for sale they are just digs or catseyes.  But these were a good range of glassies, onions, bananas and snakies.  I bought a couple of digs and catseyes too, since just going for the high-end marbles seems a bit snobbish.

Rolling my newly bought marbles around in my hands brought back a lot of childhood memories.  Fads would sweep through the quadrangle at school every few months.  Most were never to return, but marbles came back every year.  I don't know where our actual marbles came from (as opposed to the marble fad itself, not that I know where that came from either), because with one exception I was never aware of them ever being bought from a store.  I must have pinched some from my older siblings, because otherwise I can't imagine how I ever got any.

The one exception to marbles not being bought I remember happened when some kind blessed spirit possessed my Aged Mother and she bought for us a small mesh bag of bananas and black bananas, mostly quarters but a few halves.  For about a week I was living large at school, being newly rich in marble wealth.  Of course, I was pretty crap at marbles so I pretty quickly lost mine to my less sensitive and more athletically gifted classmates.

A typical example was one time when I was playing a kid who caught the same bus as me.  I'm pretty sure I had put up a couple of banana halves for a snakey quarter.  I thought I was a good chance but he kept accusing me of fudging and awarding himself two shots.  I can remember thinking that this was unbelievable, and that this country was stuffed.  I attempted to call him on it but he threatened my physical integrity so I conceded.

A few words of clarification: we played proper marbles, not the stupid version that seems to be depicted in British children's books and TV programs.  In pommy marbles the objective seems to have been to knock marbles out of a circle with your own marble shot from a distance.  This is plainly absurd and pathetic and no fun at all.  Our marbles was more like golf.  We dug a hole in the ground and, starting about 3 metres away, we would alternate shots to get our marble into the hole first.  Whoever won the game kept the marbles which had been pre-agreed as the stake.  You didn't have to shoot with the marble up for grabs though - hence you could choose a marble appropriate for the terrain.

Of course, all sorts of shenanigans can and did happen, usually leading to disputes, thumpings, tears and shouting.  But that's what childhood is all about.  Buy some marbles for your kids today, then give them a thumping.  One day those will be cherished memories.

Finally, do not under any circumstances submit comments about "losing your marbles".  I will find you and destroy you.