Meccano

I had discovered my Dad's Meccano set, which even thirty years ago was highly valuable. I was fascinated by the novelty of it, despite the fact that I found it much more cumbersome to use than Lego. It was in this mindset of curiosity that I begged my Mum if I could play with it - she reluctantly agreed. I doubt that my Dad was even aware of the conversation.

At the time of this endeavour I had discovered a new 'cubby' that was unfortunately in a forbidden area of the farm. This new hidey-hole was under a big pine tree next to our dam. I had made many ventures here, and because of it's forbidden qualities it was a very mystical place. Looking back now, and having my own child, I can see the reasoning behind this restriction. No farming parents wants to have their child drown in the property dam. Nevertheless, I found the water fascinating and beautiful, the way every child likes a creek. I would often hop along it's banks under the pines, looking at the red dotted toadstools that sprang up after autumn rains. In spring the water was so low that the dams banks became like cliffs, and it's contents became a gluggy mess. It was at times like these that I would venture into the water in my rubber boots just to experience the feeling of 'being in it', only to find that I was suctioned to the bottom and sinking rapidly in the gluggy soup. I would become distraught with panic, fearing to call out for being reprimanded, and it was more than once that I left one boot behind to clamber up the shallow end of the bank, only to return to this escapade a few weeks later.

So I was excited to discover a pine tree with a cubby next to my favourite waterhole, and I decided to set up house there. I brought items that were of interest to me, and one of these, of course, was my Dad's Meccano set. I recall being immensely pleased with this setup, and I was careful to take great care of it, knowing the priveledge I had been bestowed to play with it. I became so involved in setting up my new home that I stayed outside well into tea-time, and was only brought back to reality when the bell rang for dinner.

This bell was installed electrically by my grandparents when the house was built. As a child I was fascinated by this 'technology' and would beg my Mum to let me press the bell and call the farmers in for lunch. The button looked like a 1970s light switch , and when pressed a horn like sound emanated outside the house and could be heard over the entire homestead block. On this particular evening under the pine I knew instantaneously that this bell was calling me for dinner, and I left my cosy retreat immediately without a thought but for my stomach. In doing this I entered into the whirlwind that was tea, bath and bed, and completely forgot the little metal set, much treasured, sitting out under the pines.

I did not think of it again the next day, nor the next. It must have been at least a week, maybe a month before it rained. And on this day my Dad asked me what had become of his beloved Meccano. Instantly I remembered, and a fearful dread came upon me. I didn't know exactly what could be wrong, but I knew that for some reason, much treasured Meccano sets did not belong under pine trees next to dams for extended periods. I cringed inwardly, I feared to speak. I vaguely recall telling my Mum so quietly, and her first response disregarding the Meccano, but aghast at the fact that I had made my residence next to the dam. For this I was reprimanded but felt no shame, the biggest blow coming from the disappointment and anger my Dad revealed when he returned with the Meccano. The rain and dew had created a pile of rusted, seized up metal, beyond recovery, whose only destiny remained the scrap metal pile outside my Dad's welding shed.

My apology sounded weak and ineffectual, despite it being heavy with the heartfelt grief of a child. His anger failed to subside and I felt the distance grow another inch. I shed many tears, not for the Meccano, but for myself, for he loved the Meccano more than me. My Dad had little tolerance for a child's wide eyed wonder, and the innocent mishaps of imaginary worlds.