Games we used to play

In those halcyon days of the beginning of the swinging sixties, I was a commuter on the 07.35 railway train to Kings Cross, London, starting from the small market town of Royston, Hertfordshire, and calling at my destination, another equally small market town of Hitchin, some 13 miles away. I was a schoolboy, and that 30-minute journey to senior school was very boring indeed. Naturally, I did something about it.

Sixty years ago, commuting by rail was a very different experience compared to today. Our coaches then were designed for comfort, with seats of four, two front-facing and two rear-facing, divided by a table. Yes. No thoughts, in those days, of herding every human being together as if they were cattle. Sheer comfort.

Imagine the scene at Royston station. The very last coach was, in fact, situated outside of the platform; you had to board the train and walk down towards the back to get to the very last, empty coach. Twenty of our lads, and at least ten empty tables. I suggested we play “Shove Ha’peeny”, a traditional English board game, comprising two penny coins, and a smaller, half-penny coin. Each player owned one of the one-penny coins and had to flick it against the half-penny coin to try and score a “goal”. On the table. What fun.

I organised a league, and every morning, prior to boarding the train, I gave my  mates a list of fixtures for the day, and when alighting at Hitchin station, they would let me know the results. Of course, they were kept fully aware of the latest standings, usually compiled by me during Latin lessons.

It was going so well, and the excitement each day was building. Then, one day, after assembly at Hitchin Boys School, the headmaster bellowed out: “ Will all those who travel here by train please stay behind.” Woops, something not going to plan here.

It transpired that whilst it was permissible to occupy ten tables at the start of our journey, playing our games, we failed to acknowledge that many people joined the train at each stop along the way. Many of them couldn’t take their seats because each four-seat section was occupied by two schoolboys playing a “Shove Ha’penny” tournament. We were ultimately faced with expulsion from the school, or to immediately suspend our tournament.

I have never played the game since.

Games we used to play

Imagine the Soviet Union in the early 1980s. Leonid Brezhnev,  a food deficit, the Cold War. And the horror of imagining a nuclear strike over Moscow. Well, we had a good life, too.

We lived, like most Moscovites still do, in apartment buildings,  like me, in 16-storey concrete buildings. Every Soviet child’s dream was to be a hockey star, like Valery Charlamov or Vladislav Tretiak, and to play against Canadians, Americans, Czechs, Swedes, and Finns. And, of course, like the Red Machine was meant to, to beat them.

This part of life was a big slice for every Soviet citizen. A window to another world. It was much more than just watching an ice hockey tournament. Watching hockey games broadcast from abroad, like the World Championships or Canada Cups, was like jumping into a foreign life. We could see foreign fans expressing their emotions. Waving flags, smiling, holding banners, behaving differently. A huge difference from our grey, timid Soviet life.

So, back in the USSR, we wanted to replicate the magic. Most of us, like me, couldn’t really skate, though I had tried. Instead, we played in our yard, in front of those 16-storey buildings. That was our life.

For example, just across the road from my building, there was a big forest, the Bitsa Park, the city’s second-largest forest area, and the spot for Moscow’s 1980 Olympic horse races. It was a big forest; I’d spent half of my school years there. That was like a universe, very much unusual to a typical Moscow life. I don’t believe in God, but it was a blessing. My big forest was a big escape, like an ocean. Half of my childhood and teenage years have been spent there. Still a smile when I recall it!

Anyway, back to hockey. We played so-called yard hockey. No skates. Regular winter boots. Just sticks and pucks. Small Soviet parking lots in front of our massive buildings were the rinks.

I was a goalie, and I enjoyed being the last man standing. Well, defending from ruthless pucks you had to catch took some bravery, just like in real ice hockey. Once, when I was ten, I got a perfect shot, hitting me in my right eyebrow. It ended in my screams and horror as I thought I lost my right eye. You know, blood stains on the snow and a visit to a doctor to get stitches. I still have them present.

I fixed my injury back then. Since then, I have been lucky to have watched plenty of wonderful hockey games. But, I still enjoy my childhood, sometimes tough, hockey experience. That was a wonderful time.

Games we used to play

Oh God, I feel one of those uphill, both ways, stories coming on. 

When I was in elementary school, at PE, we would sometimes play dodge ball. The idea was the kids would divide-up and they would throw those red rubber balls at each other as hard and fast as possible. If your target could catch the ball and throw it back (hard), it was good but if you hit your opponent with the ball he was out. The team with kids at the end was the winner. 

I was quite good… often, I was the last left on my team. I could twist and turn and was almost impossible to hit. I never thought of it as dangerous but they don’t play dodge ball in school anymore. To be fair, the gym floor was hard if you fell. Maybe that’s why it’s not allowed.

And I don’t have to guess why the playgrounds have changed so much. We used to play on monkey bars that were bare, grey medal. I never gave it much thought. The ground was sand, pounded hard by a thousand little feet. The dirt sprouted clumps of green grass, complete with an oval shaped hole at the bottom of the shiny metal slide.

Today, of course, everything is made of bright plastic. Poles are wrapped in foam and there is netting hung everywhere. The ground has been covered with rubber matting. Bright colored squares replace sand and grass. It’s good. Yeah, I even bought my kids those little star-foam helmets for their bikes. I thought the elbow pads were a bit much.

Some people say stupid stuff like “Look at me, I didn’t have all that and I turned out alright.” Mmm… not so sure about that anymore. You brain damaged idiots put that felon back in the White House.