Lacedaemonian
A Plume of Smoke
Imagine, if you will, it is 1987…
We are walking the streets of a council estate in a new town in the northernmost reaches of England. For those of you that don't know, new towns were, in this instance at least, a response to housing shortages following the destruction of two million homes during the Blitz.
This particular estate was a stark example of the experimental architecture of the 1960s. In an act that could only be graded as 'low regard', madcap architects were let loose on this ancient landscape. The terraced houses in these streets were castle walls with alternate two storey and three-story buildings forming crude concrete crenellations in the skyline.
There's a halfpipe sloped against the side of a house and a broken skateboard lies wheelless in the thorny intestines of a dog rose.
In the centre of the street six children lie side by side at the base of a makeshift plywood ramp. We stop for a second or two to witness the coming spectacle. A red headed teenager frantically peddles a Diamondback BMX bike full tilt at the plywood ramp. Remember this is the 1980s - stuntmen like Eddie Kidd and Evel Knieval are gods. However, this ginger freckle faced waif is no Kidd. We watch as his bike doesn't quite clear the six rows of children. We turn away as the chubby boy cries out in pain.
Before us stands a three-storey mid terrace. It's upper floor a merlon. Black curtains are drawn closed. Inside, the local semi pro skateboarder opens his first edition copy of dungeons and dragons and offers to take on the mantle of dungeon master. The other boys in the room argue between themselves about who is going to play which class.
We notice a younger boy sitting at the back of the room. He's dressed entirely in ill-fitting, hand-me-down clothes that we suspect may have once belonged to some of the boys in this room. He stops leafing through a White Dwarf magazine and pleads with the dungeon master to allow him to play.
He's told, for the third and final time, that no he cannot play because he's too young. Disheartened, he sits in silence, transfixed on the game playing out before him. During breaks in the game, he occupies his attention on the countless painted lead miniatures displayed around the room. Nobody notices him slipping a space orc called 'Mr Cool' into his pocket.
We are walking the streets of a council estate in a new town in the northernmost reaches of England. For those of you that don't know, new towns were, in this instance at least, a response to housing shortages following the destruction of two million homes during the Blitz.
This particular estate was a stark example of the experimental architecture of the 1960s. In an act that could only be graded as 'low regard', madcap architects were let loose on this ancient landscape. The terraced houses in these streets were castle walls with alternate two storey and three-story buildings forming crude concrete crenellations in the skyline.
There's a halfpipe sloped against the side of a house and a broken skateboard lies wheelless in the thorny intestines of a dog rose.
In the centre of the street six children lie side by side at the base of a makeshift plywood ramp. We stop for a second or two to witness the coming spectacle. A red headed teenager frantically peddles a Diamondback BMX bike full tilt at the plywood ramp. Remember this is the 1980s - stuntmen like Eddie Kidd and Evel Knieval are gods. However, this ginger freckle faced waif is no Kidd. We watch as his bike doesn't quite clear the six rows of children. We turn away as the chubby boy cries out in pain.
Before us stands a three-storey mid terrace. It's upper floor a merlon. Black curtains are drawn closed. Inside, the local semi pro skateboarder opens his first edition copy of dungeons and dragons and offers to take on the mantle of dungeon master. The other boys in the room argue between themselves about who is going to play which class.
We notice a younger boy sitting at the back of the room. He's dressed entirely in ill-fitting, hand-me-down clothes that we suspect may have once belonged to some of the boys in this room. He stops leafing through a White Dwarf magazine and pleads with the dungeon master to allow him to play.
He's told, for the third and final time, that no he cannot play because he's too young. Disheartened, he sits in silence, transfixed on the game playing out before him. During breaks in the game, he occupies his attention on the countless painted lead miniatures displayed around the room. Nobody notices him slipping a space orc called 'Mr Cool' into his pocket.
