A Dinky Delight

I recently read Iain Robinson’s story about his one surviving Dinky toy from childhood, and this prompted me to dig out my own memory – this 1977 Dinky Leyland Atlantean bus from the Queen’s Silver Jubilee.

I had quite a collection of die-cast vehicles at the time, and really wanted this special bus to be part of it.  By collection, I mean that they were played with; used and abused with lots of handling and unsympathetic treatment - hence it’s condition.  It cost £2.10 in Joseph’s Toyshop in Sunderland (a real Mecca, sadly long gone).  I was told that if I really wanted it, I had to save up my weekly 25p pocket money until I reached £2.00, and at that point, my Gran would contribute the remaining 10p, as she was clearly a woman of incredible generosity.  Of course, this was a clever trick used by parents in those days to see if you really wanted it – so different to the ‘give me a Blackberry NOW’ generation.  Anyway, for 2 long months I saved up my 25p each week and went without the Beano and Caramacs.*  I’m sure that these days such treatment would be classed as cruelty and my mother would be up on a charge of deprivation.  But it worked, and at Sunday lunch claimed my 10p from Gran, who reluctantly went to dig up the garden to find her stash of cash.  (I don’t put my money under the bed; first place a burglar will look).  You couldn’t argue with her logic.  She wouldn't put it in the Bank either, being an avid fan of The Sweeney she was convinced some blaggers would shove a sawn off Purdy in her face on pension day at the local sub-Post Office on Ormonde Street.  I think she was disappointed that it never actually happened.  Would have got Auntie Lucy to stop banging on about her fainting from the heat in the January sales at Joplings.  Silk shawls and matching gloves were half price and the whole of the Townswomen's Guild turned out to blag one.   Isn't my family history interesting?

Long after all the other toys had vanished, this Dinky bus has survived numerous house moves and being relegated to a box in the shed.  I don’t know why I’ve kept it – it’s condition means that it has only sentimental rather than financial value.  Perhaps, subconsciously, it’s a reminder of the time I was taught about money and saving up for things you want – a lesson that has stayed with me ever since.  And all this time people just had me down as being as tight as a duckhouse.  No, that’s my MP – but you know what I mean.

Happy New Year!

* For the under 40's, Caramacs were a thin chocolate bar the colour of cow diarrhoea for some obscure reason.   Bit like a Milky Bar, but one that had been on a fortnight's holiday to Benidorm.