Heavenly Beverley : Who's Ready For Playtime...

Saturday 1 August 2020

Who's Ready For Playtime...

The Marble Bar War Memorial park is a beautiful spot in this remarkable little town. Featuring information panels covering the wars of the twentieth century, plentiful public loos, a dump point, water, grass. big trees, BBQs, swings and a sizable playground under shade sails, we stopped here with the dogs yesterday afternoon after they had waited inside Lily for lengthy periods whilst we'd fossicked out of town.

The expanse of shade and grass was music to their ears. We ate ice cream and sat on one of the play equipment's platforms whilst we launched the tennis ball for Stella to chase in all directions. Pip did his own thing and pottered around, sniffing this, that and the other and piddling on all vertical surfaces.

We began reminiscing about the playgrounds of our childhoods. Nothing like this sturdy and colourful Forpark tunnels and forts and bridges and even a telescope at the Marble Bar playground. Roundabouts constructed of wooden planks with metal handholds that spun very quickly, often placed on asphalt and an excellent cause of injury falling on or off, burning fingers and palms on summer afternoons when the temperature had roasted the metal all day. Not to mention the rampant motion sickness that resulted from the G forces. Seesaws that we would attempt to mount whilst in the air or try to walk up one side and down the other, usually ending in tears. Or metal slippery slides that scorched our bums, particularly for little girls with short dresses and thin knickers. Kicking back with all our might waiting until the swing was at its highest point and launching off into thin air on a wing and a prayer.

By the time we had recalled all these memories, we were both in hysterics. Injury had gone hand in hand with early playgrounds. Surprisingly, neither of us had hurt ourselves badly whilst present in these kiddie death traps. Michael's main claims to fame were falling three metres onto a railway track and returning home with his head covered in blood and thinking he could fly on his bicycle off the end of a railway platform. That only caused a broken wrist.

So, in a split second, we decided to play. Up and down the slide. Through a tunnel. Up a crazy ladder to peer through the telescope. Fortunately, common sense prevented me from a scarper down the fireman's pole. There were limits to our childish fun.

And today, we played again. Clambering over discarded items in an old tip. Exploring the nooks and crannies of old mining centres. A return to the War Memorial park. Playing down at the Bar this evening, with the moon rising and the colours mind-blowing.

May we never become too old that we forget how to play...