TOYS

I once went to an Alexander Technique specialist; I can’t recall the reason why now. She did some work, leaned back and said, ‘I’ve never met someone quite as misaligned. I bet when you were a child you couldn’t catch or throw a ball, ride a bike, swim, keep your balance or do craft activities.’

‘I still can’t,’ I said.

‘Misaligned,’ she repeated, nodding sagely. She took my hand. ‘I’m so pleased to have met you. Especially as I’m moving to London next week so this will be our only session.’

I walked home, misaligned. Was she really going to London, I wondered, or was this an excuse because she thought she could do nothing with misaligned me?

But it did explain a lot about my childhood. And this week’s post, in seasonal fashion, is going to concentrate on toys.

The only physical thing I was good at was fighting; my brother and friends could testify to that. Many popular toys, however, were of little use to me. Every ball heading my way was a mischievous creature, deceitful and impossible to master. One cousin tried to teach me to ride a bike, another to use a hula hoop, a third to ride a pogo stick. All without success.

I remember playing football at my new school and did not exactly impress as goalie - I let in 26 goals. I recall the number, not because I counted but because our sadist of a teacher called me Mr 26 for the next few months. The Airfix planes my dad fondly bought me ended up with wings glued to one another instead of the fuselage and once, memorably, with the undercarriage on the top of the plane.

My friends and I thought that I was just peculiar; it took the Alaxander Technique woman to tell me I was misaligned.

But it was not all a tale of woe. For from an early age, I grew weary of failing to master intransigent toys. I fell in love with books. And I learnt to ask for toys which did not need any physical adroitness: no balls, no bats, hula hoops, skates. (I can’t even bear to recall my misadventures with the skates.)

But there were enough other toys which did not require the skills of an acrobat or budding engineer. My earliest was Young Ted, my bear, named by my dad when I was three and we were about to spend a month in hospital. Dad bought me a toy stethoscope so that I could minister to Ted in the ward. He also made him a teddy size set of headphones so we could both listen to hospital radio.

I craved some toys with a fierce passion. This could sometimes prove a problem because my parents had the knack of not buying quite the right thing. My friends had pedal cars like American cops drove, bright blue and with sleek lines – my parents bought me an ugly jalopy like Noddy owned but without the stylish colours. Mine was a woe-begone red.

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I wanted a Colt 45 revolver with caps - they bought an old Victorian revolver which had no facility for caps. I asked for an astronomical telescope - they bought a terrestrial one mounted on a spindly base which juddered with every wind. A jack in the box – never got one. An old-fashioned telephone with a separate ear-piece – never got one. A Lego set - I got Betta Bilda instead. It was not betta nor did I bild anything with it. Nor did it help my spelling.

Mum and Dad were not always as maladroit, however. These are the things I yearned for and got exactly as I wanted.

A Roman centurion’s outfit with sword. Lots of yo-yos with different grades and colours. I got a magic set with a tiny top hat and booklet about tricks and magic wand. A scooter, because it did not require me to balance (got one after many tantrums). A plastic flick-knife because I was the leader of my gang and every gang boss needed one. (Surprisingly my mum bought me one.)

I later fancied I might become a scientist and badgered Dad until I was bought a microscope which I rarely took out of the box, a Magnetricity Set which I didn’t understand and a plastic model of the human body, which I used only once because the sight of the innards made me nauseous. Come to think of it I had many scope toys. As well as the telescope, stethoscope and microscope I owned a gyroscope and a kaleidoscope.

I got a Spirograph which enabled me to make the only thing close to anything artistic. (I still shudder at the memory of the papier-mâché hand puppet I made at Junior School. It was supposed to be Brer Rabbit but it looked like Brer Monster.)

I collected model soldiers which I used to defeat England’s enemies, a Cluedo where I was second only to Sherlock Holmes in detective skills, a Ouija Board which frightened the conniptions out of my aunt, a globe with a light inside which proved impossible to replace. a Man from Uncle set with identity papers, badge, code book and pen with invisible ink.

And, still in my secret agent phase, a periscope which enabled me to peek above walls, round corners and even behind in case people sneaking up on me. Unfortunately, it was made of brilliant red plastic which meant it could be seen from a great distance and was not as secret as I had hoped for.

Second best of all my toys was the Scalextric Set, a miniature racing circuit. Being the eldest, my brother insisted on having the first choice of car. I didn’t mind, it was red and clunky and reminded me of the awful Noddy pedal car which I had somehow, ‘misplaced’ in the park a year before. I had to content myself with the car my brother shunned, a sleek, blue one proved much faster. We spent the whole of Christmas Day playing on it and got immense blisters on our thumbs. I won every race.

But best of all was not so much a toy as a door swinging open to my future. It was the typewriter my parents bought when got severe tennis elbow from falling over in a mystery play. Misaligned again. It had made my already poor and slow handwriting even slower and more unreadable and I was coming up for A levels. The typewriter was a sturdy old blunderbuss but I hammered away on it with determination.

And this very moment I’ve just realised this, (oh gentle readers you are the first to know) despite being misaligned I mastered the recalcitrant keyboard until I could touch type. One of the most useful skills I have ever had.

If you’d like to share some memories of your toys please put it in the comments below. And don’t forget to write to Santa.