My brother and I enjoyed exploring arts and crafts during our childhood. We had easy access to pencils, crayons, and paint, which we eagerly used on rolls of unused ancient wallpaper which smelled slightly of damp and coal due to being stored in our cellar. The paints were little rectangular or round lozenges of dried pigment neatly arranged in a metal tin, which also contained a single slender paint brush, and the colours had the most beautifully evocative names, such as Crimson Lake, Burnt Sienna, Ultramarine, Cobalt Blue, and Indigo. The general idea of a paint box was to fill an old jam-jar with water to dip the brush in, then dab the wet brush onto a paint lozenge and swish the colour on the inside of the lid which also served as a palette. We’d then dip the brush back into the water and do the same with another colour, allowing us to mix the paints together to create new shades. The reality was the imaginatively blended colour usually ended up one muddy shade of brown or another, as did the water in the jam-jar. Worse still, once they’d got wet, the little paint lozenges looked all grubby and sad, and they tended to crack when they dried out.
Poster paints promised much more fun as they came ready-mixed in vibrant colours in little glass pots, and we could use a much thicker brush, allowing for more expressive and bold application of the paint. Of course, a jam-jar of water was still required to rinse the brush between paint colours, but the paint was much more gooey, rich, and satisfying. Because it was so concentrated, the paint took ages to dry, and the pigment was quite strong which caused some colours, particularly red and blue, to stain anything they came into contact with – including hands, clothes, and even furnishings. For some unknown reason, grown ups didn’t seem to like these paints as much as we did. However one memorable summer weekend, our dad decided to cover up an ancient Victorian panelled larder door with hardboard to give it a fashionably flush appearance, and he very considerately let us loose on what seemed to be the biggest and most wonderful canvas ever. We swooshed and swished great swathes of paint all over the smooth drab surface – very satisfying and great fun!! However, when our dad came to overpaint our glorious artwork in white gloss, the oil-based paint couldn’t completely obliterate our masterpiece, which left a faint but permanent ghostly impression on the finished door.
Less messy was Plasticine modelling clay, which also had a strange smell and was really hard to work into shapes with your fingers, especially when it was cold. Our standard artistic effort was to roll a ball of Plasticine backwards and forwards on a hard surface with both hands to create as long a snake as possible without it breaking. This process required focus and co-ordination as we tried to manipulate the Plasticine by applying downwards pressure whilst rolling and gently moving our hands apart as the snake grew. It was a test of patience and skill and, if the delicate sculpture didn’t break, a head could be added with eyes and a mouth marked with the back end of a match. A brand-new pack of Plasticine consisted of about eight flat fluted strips in vibrant colours, but they were quickly mulched into a strange brownish colour which was perfect for creating snakes time and time again as the material never dried out or went hard.
While I must admit that, apart from Plasticine snakes, I was pretty rubbish at arts and crafts but enjoyed creating scenes with Fuzzy Felt, a simple toy consisting of little pre-cut soft felt shapes which could be positioned onto a slightly prickly backing board where they would cling securely – long before the invention of Velcro. My favourite was the Hospital set, but I remember there were Farm, Jungle and Circus sets too. As with the paints and Plasticine, the pieces from different sets got mixed up when we attempted to combine them into fantastic scenes, such as a lion driving a tractor through a hospital ward. The beauty of Fuzzy Felt was that this didn’t really matter as the various components could be separated to restore order, but usually the little felt pieces would be unceremoniously swept off the backing board and returned to a box where they patiently waited, all jumbled up together, until the next time we felt inspired to create something new.
Another enjoyable toy back in the early 1960s was, I believe, called Tap Art. This consisted of lots of little wooden geometric shapes painted in bright colours, a little hammer, and a pack of 1cm long brass nails which were used to pin the shapes to a cork board to create pictures. Once we’d finished playing, we could easily take the picture apart but keeping track of the little nails was a challenge. Tap Art was great for manual dexterity and safe use of tools but, in today’s safety conscious environment, it’s hard to imagine giving pre-school children a hammer and nails to play with!!
Times have changed, and safety considerations have rightfully become much more of a priority but, although none of our artworks have survived from our own childhood, these toys were invaluable at teaching us manual dexterity, problem solving and imaginative thinking. Despite the advancements in technology, there is still a place for classic toys and pastimes that encourage hands-on engagement, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my grandchildren don’t find themselves introduced to the wonders of Fuzzy Felt next Christmas…
Funny where life takes you... 