The Last Model Shop

It did not matter at all if you did not have any money in your duffle coat pockets.

There was no need to skulk about hoping your parents would buy you something. Times were hard and a tight 1970's family budget did not stretch to fripperies.

For these and many other reasons the display window in the Toy Shop in our town was the best thing in the world and it cost nowt to stand and stare.

At one time every High Street would have its own Toy Shop, perhaps more than one. Gradually they have been squeezed out by the huge retail sheds of bland names and a policy of stack them high and sell them cheap. Perhaps the imagination of children at their play has also changed radically.

The place of my strongest childhood memories was called Moyses. It was set back from the marketplace in the town down a narrow walkway. The building was weathered old stone, higgledy-piggledy from some centuries of water softened foundations. At street level there was a large shallow bow window, almost fully down to pavement level and so therefore ideal for small children to have an excellent vantage point of what was being displayed. The cill of the window was just about the right height to sort of rest one knee whilst balancing on the leading leg and allowing a snotty nose to press up against the egg-shell brittle glass.

Each of the panes, of which there were 60, was different. Varying amounts of small air bubbles set in the transparent sand formed material, a few streaks, lots of flaws and impurities to distort the image. If there was a sizeable group of children crowded around the window some poor soul would find themselves directly in front of and having to look through a bulls-eye pane, an infinity swirl of mottled glass.

The centrepiece and principal attraction of the Toy Shop window was a railway set. A scene set in a busy station but with everything you could imagine in terms of activities and topography just around the corner. Small scale model vehicles waited on a taxi rank, there were lorries , trucks and buses acting out a typical day in model railway land. Even smaller human figures stood around, were set in working poses or just idling away the time behind a newspaper. The steep hillside was covered with a coarse green layer and with authentic trees and foliage competing for a foothold on, an otherwise, grey painted rocky effect papier mache strata. In any period of attention by the waiting children a black steam train, electric powered, would emerge from a hole in the hillside, carriages and wagons behind and career through the station with no intention to stop and pick up the pile of waiting post, a few milk churns, straw bales and, of course, passengers. This loop continued all day although I liked to think they had switched it on just for me.

The rest of the display area on the same level as the train set was taken up by model cars, a Ford Escort in police colours, red mini's, pale green Morris Minors, a Ford Tipper lorry, buses and coaches. These sat on top of their bright cardboard boxes with the logo's of Corgi, Matchbox by Lesney and Hotwheels by Mattel. I was never able to resist just ripping open the boxes upon purchase but I have no regrets upon seeing the prices asked now for mint and pristine packaged vehicles. I just feel a bit sad that full play potential was never acheived, evidently.

On an upper level were the boxed plastic kits of planes, ships, cars and even a limited run of historical figures. The best job in the world, to my young mind, would be that of  the model maker for the display window. A free airfix kit, glue, paints and the skill to produce a very authentic scaled down version of a tank or a battle scene diorama. My efforts were usually abandoned in a vapour  induced spiders web of polystyrene cement and haphazard camouflage painting on a vehicle where the wheels would not turn or always fell off.

Highest up in the window were the aircraft suspended on fine thread so as to be seen flying unassisted. I tried this as well with poor results and a few holes in my bedroom ceiling. In the spotlit display a slight breeze from the operation of the shop door would cast a shadow of wings and fuselage over the model railway and I half expected the scaled figures to run and dive for cover from the Stuka or Focke Wulf rather than wait for the arrival of the Spitfire and Hurricane.

It is funny but even now after some forty years I can visualise that wondrous free show complete with my own in-head soundtrack of engines and the noises of commerce and commotion. The magical window certainly made up for my own disappointing efforts at model making. There are not many traditional Toy and Model shops left but you can guarantee a good crowd at the window especially those of my age group with no chance for the children to get a look in.