Robert Paul Smith wrote a book about kid’s play a few years ago titled, “Where Did You Go? Out! What Did You Do? Nothing!” That title certainly captured the essence of my Flin Flon summertime childhood years in the 1940s and early ‘50s.
Kids would go “out” to play simple games like skipping rope, marbles, catch, tag, follow the leader and hide-and-go-seek. We’d also create wondrous scenarios and live imaginary lives of great adventure. Or we’d just simply sat on the rocks and create wonderful “what if” stories. Our parents just accepted we had been out and had done nothing.
We lived in the freedom to create our own play adventures without worrisome adults hovering over us or the distraction of electronic devices. Sure, there were organized activities and sports but most of the play was simply stuff that we kids made up – and played with great creative intensity.
Being uptown Church Street boys had many advantages. There were so many places to go and so many adventures to be created. Living only a few steps away from the busyness of Main Street, we would check out the toys at The Bay and Woolworths and visit Club News to buy a Coke and read a couple of comics. The train station was an attraction even if there wasn’t a train as the box cars on the sidings were great for climbing. The nearby North American and Beaver Lumber yards offered great opportunities to play “guns” or hide-and-go-seek amongst the stacks of lumber. No one seemed to mind us wandering around these places.
Guns? A long stick of scrap wood made a great rifle. A pointed finger was a pistol. Boys favoured the war games from seeing these actions at the Rex and Northland Theatres. The play was intense. You could be a Canadian or German soldier, or a “good guy” or a “bad guy.” We would also gather at the Main School grounds or go into the nearby bush to build forts and stage our games. It was so cool to sneak around in the bush and surprise the enemy – take prisoners and of course even “shoot” one of the enemy. A “shooting” often resulted in a vociferous argument that went, “Ronnie, I got you!”
“Did not!”
“You’re dead!”
“Am not!”
“Are so!”
“Am not!”
Being “shot dead” was actually an opportunity to display one’s skill at “dying like they did in the movies.” Joey was a master at this and we warrior boys would almost break into applause at his gut-grasping fall to the ground and final twitching on the battle field. Wow! (No fear! You could be brought back to life if someone on your team touched any part of your clothing.)
War play in the ‘40s was still very much a part of our life experience. Playing with toy airplanes and bombing the enemy in our neighbour Don and Neva Lockhart’s potato patch required proper sound effects to accompany our mission. The growl of a four-engine bomber, the whistle of falling bombs and the raging explosions had to be authentic. The speed of the aircraft clutched in your hand was also monitored by the other kids. “Hey! You’re not flying a Spitfire! A Lancaster bomber can’t fly that fast!” This imaginative discipline guided all our boyhood play.
One of the backyards would become the scene of play with discarded car and truck tires. Rolling tires on the street for fun was standard stuff but we would create a whole town out of rolling tires. My tire was a Ford sedan, Brian’s tire was a station wagon, Johnny’s truck tire was a tow truck, of course. Half a dozen or so boys would spend a few summer hours in a magical place – totally absorbed in creating interactive scenarios.
A small part of a backyard was also a lake – complete with boats and outboard motors. Okay, the boats were large wooden boxes, the motors were blocks of wood and the coloured gas was made by soaking crepe decoration paper in water. But our imaginations took us to the lake for all kinds of adventures.
What wondrous freedom we had to roam and just be kids. It didn’t take much. A sand box, a set of swings, toy cars, cardboard boxes, a rock pile, some old boards – and free-to-play kids.
Where did we go? Everywhere! What did we do? Everything!
