Roisin Ingle

On a vintage obsession

THE FIRST THING I noticed about the vintage Fisher Price toy hospital in my brother’s flat in London was that it had a lift. My nephew Charlie used the lift to bring sick little people up from the operating room to the children’s ward. It moved up and down by means of a handle so no batteries required. As soon as I saw it I wanted one of those hospitals and I wanted it yesterday.

My sister-in-law said she bought the hospital in a charity shop but reckoned they might be available on Ebay. I honestly thought if I saw the hospital online and managed to buy it for a reasonable price then that would be that. I was a little bit wrong.

I feel that if I don’t confess the full scale of the situation now certain family members may stage an intervention and commit me to vintage Fisher Price rehab. So here goes.

Soon after our visit to London I manage to buy the hospital for about the price of a contemporary toy the same size. It turns out Ebay is ancient toy nirvana. The story should end here but I’ve discovered a vintage Fisher Price hole in my life. The stuff isn’t too expensive and my inner-child wants more. The hospital leads to the fire station with a roll-top door that opens with a series of satisfying clicks, and the fire station leads to the iconic ramped garage with the car elevator that, when in operation, emits the famous “ding ding”.

You can’t have a garage without cars, of course. A multi-coloured fleet of plastic vehicles leads to a camper van, which leads to a farmyard barn, which leads to a house with a slide in the chimney, an excellent architectural addition, I can’t help but think as I make my successful bid.

I start to get everything posted to the outlaws up North because it’s cheaper. The parcel openings become a longed-for ritual. I delay it for as long as I can bear then I sit down with a cup of coffee and begin. They come carefully wrapped and the act of revealing each individual piece makes my heart leap. A swing set with three seats. A roundabout in perfect working order. A wheelchair for the hospital. A camper van. A jeep. A boat. It’s as though every day is Christmas Day, 1976.

I have to go underground with my habit when my mother begins expressing concern that the house is turning into an antique toy shop and I have taken to storing toy furniture in kitchen cupboards. I tell her she is exaggerating but even then I am plotting my next Fisher Price fix. One day I spot a mini-mart. I have to have it. Then I notice the jet aeroplane is going for a price I can’t ignore. The aeroplane leads to the school house with the working bell in the roof. Joy.

I haven’t even mentioned the people yet. Oh, the little peg people. The early ones are wooden but the plastic ones that were made afterwards are just as good. All of them slot beautifully into the main pieces. The people are blond and brunette and bald and they have cute plaits or matronly buns or just a little curl in the middle of their foreheads. We call them Mabel and Sophie and Leroy and Melanie and Patrick. We now have enough of them to populate a medium-sized Irish town.

My favourite is Billy. He was created with the original Fisher Price school bus in the 1960s. His orange baseball cap is turned sideways to indicate rebelliousness and his face is painted with a scowl. Vintage toy lore has it that Billy was originally marketed as the school bus bully but that some parents complained about this and he was phased out. Learning this news led to a tangential obsession with securing several rare scowling Billies. The one in the best condition sits on my dressing table, the closest thing to an heirloom my children are ever likely to receive.

I should mention that, as a bonus, my children like the items too and are young enough not to mind that they were first played with when legwarmers and blue eyeshadow were all the rage. But I know it has to stop. One day I decide that when I find a good condition Ferris Wheel that plays a jaunty tune when rotated by an angry-looking fairground huckster, it will be my last purchase. Secretly I am hoping I won’t find one but then one day there it is, in beautiful condition, the grumpy huckster perfectly intact.

It arrived last week. The little people – plastic, wooden and actual human little people – love it. And I’ve gone cold turkey. One day at a time. Sometimes images of the Fisher Price loot I still don’t have flash into my mind – the record player, the lace-up shoe house, the circus train – but I comfort myself with the fact that I shouldn’t have to buy any more toys for the children until at least 2016. And while the way things are going the future-me might not have a pension, rare Billy the schoolbus bully should eventually appreciate into a decent little nest egg.

Sorry, children.

In other news . . . The Rathlin Ramble for Rise fundraiser takes place on Saturday, September 23rd on beautiful Rathlin Island in Co Antrim. The Rise Foundation is a charity set up by singer Frances Black that supports the families of those in addiction. If you can’t make the walk, you can find details of how to donate at risefoundation.ie