The Toy Shop 

The Toy Shop

I woke up one night this week, in the middle of the night, after apparently crying in my dreams. I must have been about 7 years old in the dream, leaning against the window of one of my favorite places to visit. Even though I rarely went inside. It was a toy shop from my hometown in Melksham, England. The reason I was crying is the merchandising layout in the window was just awful. (In my dream). None of the toys that I could see in the window were recognizable, they weren’t properly presented either and just hung randomly like clothes in a used apparel store. There were no marketing displays for the toys, and all the wonderful toys that I recall from my toddler and elementary school years were missing. I’m not sure if I was crying because they were missing, or the sad state of marketing in the store itself. Perhaps both. The toys looked abandoned.

I thought it used to be so beautiful in here. Toys for the younger kids were at the front of the store, but even at seven and eight years old I was lusting after the large, flyable, balsa wood airplanes, particularly the ones that had engines; the mechanical steam engines and all the fancy HO and OO miniature train sets. These were at the rear of the store, up a few steps from the entrance area.  It was a place of great beauty. I could have spent hours there. 

The toy shop had all the toys I could not have; and all the toys I could never afford. It reminded me, as I leaned up against the window as a little boy in my dream, of the longing that this store created in me. 

Now I know what you are thinking, here is this little boy just wanting more toys. Well, yes, that is true of course, but I also think that other factors were affecting my longing. My friends. I often found myself being excluded from certain games and activities that my friends along our street were involved with. They had the equivalent of Barbie (in the UK known as “Cindy”), Action Man, Tommy Gunn, and various toy train sets and their stations. You needed these toys to participate in many of my friend’s games, and often I would not do so because of the lack of these “tools”. 

We were an Irish immigant family of four and my father provided for us, but there wasn’t a lot of extra cash to go around for these types of toys. It taught me at a young age if I wanted some of these things, discretionary funds were required, and I needed to go and do some work. For this reason, I became a paper delivery boy at a very young age. 

However, I digress. The feeling in this dream of the Toy Store not being what it was in my childhood is important. I wanted it to be that perfect, almost unattainable place of hope. Where even I could not afford most of what was in there, a way could be found to obtain some of these toys. It would not be easy, I would need to work, I would need to save, and I would ultimately need to share these precious toys with my friends. All of which came to pass. 

There was something about the longing though, the longing to have something beautiful that I could not afford, but that I could strive for. Something that I told me I would have to do something by myself to be successful. Any of the toys that I eventually acquired were looked after with great care. 

The Toy Shop is still there. Marketing new toys to a new generation of children, fifty years on.  

Perhaps the desire for “toys” still motivates us all too much. The large home, the oversized car, more clothes than we need. And yet many have all they possess in a shopping cart in an underpass.

There is a certain sadness in having too much. In abundance held too close.