Come On, It's Quarter Past 8 And We Have To Catch The Bus... Can I Stick Some Of Your Patchouli Oil On My Denim Please?
It's 1982, a crisp November day; a Saturday which means that I am off into town with Alan Staniforth (after cadging some of his patchouli oil for my oh-so-new looking C&A jacket) to visit the latest shop to attract us, the recently opened Games Workshop on The Moor, that pedestrianised shopping area at the far end of the city centre at the end of which is the Manpower Services Commission building, a red brick ziggurat in that 'fuck you all' style of architecture so beloved of those raving lunatics put into power by the type of people who would stick a red rosette on a milk bottle and vote for it, back then.
But politics are not on my agenda as I am 14 and about 12 months into this new hobby I've found called roleplaying games, and the close relative wargaming. They were yet to become 'gaming' and were at that time two completely separate worlds which you had to negotiate very carefully indeed.
So, let's hop on the number 4 bus from Tyler Street and pay our 2p fare, finding a seat at the front of the bus upstairs, where we can get a good view of the blackened shapes of the steel works which line Carlisle Street almost into the city centre. The denim jacket festooned with patches declaring my tastes in rock and a rather racy 5 metal studs is dropped over the periscope which allows the driver to see upstairs from the cab via a convex mirror. This is not done because we are going to vandalise a bus, sniff glue or partake in any other mischief, we just think it's a great seat and besides, the bus driver will be frustrated that he can't see upstairs, and that seems to us to be a blow for freedom against the SYPTE.
Well, that was a fast trip, and we alight in the Castle Market area...
...where we quickly see if there's anything new from Joan Jett, Tygers Of Pan Tang or Iron Maiden, before getting in the lift which goes to the Gallery, a series of shops on the top of the market. which connect via two bridges to the upstairs entrances of Woolworths and British Home Stores, but for us it's Hopkinson's Toys a proper old school toy shop where Stanny and I buy model kits, model railways stuff and where, in 1981, we first came across Citadel and Ral Partha miniatures, as well as a few other interesting but unfathomable items which, sparked an interest in gaming, without us really knowing much about it all. Old Mr Hopkinson didn't know about them either, but as they were models and the nice rep' from a place called Citadel Miniatures in Newark assured Mr H they'd sell (and they did), he decided to take a chance, and they are crammed in no particular order on a free standing display rack just to the left of the counter, because there are certain youths who would filch as many as possible to sell to mates, unless they are nicking the various tubes of glue instead, to sniff and get a primitive high, before shouting abuse at passers-by in the paved shopping area below, perhaps 'gobbing' on a passing hippy, and eventually turning on themselves as the glue runs out and they start to 'come down' in an aggressive, drooling finale.
But by now, Stanny and I are going around the gallery (watching out for Punks and Skins of course), looking longingly down at the entrance to Rebels rock nightclub where Stanny's older brother goes with his mates (we are assured that it's the place to go after the Wappentake - a serious rock boozer which even at 18, I found a bit much for my tender nerves), past the upper entrance of BHA and across a steel footbridge, leaping down entire flights of stairs because it makes a tremendous 'CLANG!' noise as you land. We cut through the back door of C&A, drop down the stairs to the 'Clockhouse' maternity wear department in the basement and through the glass doors into The Hole In The Road...
We look at the fish tank in the wall, and then go across and up to the left, jog up the escalator and into Rackhams department store because I have developed a taste for Knobs & Knockers, a franchise selling wondrous selections of bright door fittings, to which I have an attraction which even 38 years later I cannot explain. Stanny indulges me, and whilst I paw at a rather nice gloss red coat hook, he ogles the female assistants, before we jump down the flights in the back stairwell, out onto High Street and into Boots The Chemist, where we run down the stairs, into the basement, to look at what games they have for the ZX81 and to see if there are any new Fighting Fantasy books, to which we have become addicted since Warlock Of Firetop Mountain hit the shelves in August. Hang on, it's 9:30... OK, out of the basement doors, up the stairs from the subway and onto the paved shopping area which is Fargate:
We ignore W.H Smith today, but I do want to quickly nip into Hallmark because it was Halloween a couple of weeks ago, and they are selling off the Snoopy seasonal stuff, and I get a 'Great Pumpkin' biscuit cutter for 30p, being an addict when it comes to Peanuts and American popular culture in general.
Next we hit Pinstone Street and Beatties for our second 'fix' of the day...
...where we have not yet clashed with the fearsome Geoff, manager of the branch who would later be the cause of me being grounded - for no fucking reason, I might add.
We'd found that Beatties had a fine stock of roleplaying games at the far end of the shop, around to the right where the Tamiya radio controlled cars were, after Stanny started to take an unnatural interest in such things. Previously we'd been over at the other side of the shop looking at model railways and had never had cause (yes if you were not interested in something, why even deign to go the 15 feet into that part of the shop?) to peruse that desk.
We coo and ooh at the games in the glass cabinets and the boxes of Grenadier Solid Gold Line figure sets which are an eye watering £7.95 per set due to high import costs and which it will be another year before I have spare money for such things.
Then it's down Pinstone Street, down The Moor to our target for the days, operations:
But politics are not on my agenda as I am 14 and about 12 months into this new hobby I've found called roleplaying games, and the close relative wargaming. They were yet to become 'gaming' and were at that time two completely separate worlds which you had to negotiate very carefully indeed.
So, let's hop on the number 4 bus from Tyler Street and pay our 2p fare, finding a seat at the front of the bus upstairs, where we can get a good view of the blackened shapes of the steel works which line Carlisle Street almost into the city centre. The denim jacket festooned with patches declaring my tastes in rock and a rather racy 5 metal studs is dropped over the periscope which allows the driver to see upstairs from the cab via a convex mirror. This is not done because we are going to vandalise a bus, sniff glue or partake in any other mischief, we just think it's a great seat and besides, the bus driver will be frustrated that he can't see upstairs, and that seems to us to be a blow for freedom against the SYPTE.
Well, that was a fast trip, and we alight in the Castle Market area...
...where we quickly see if there's anything new from Joan Jett, Tygers Of Pan Tang or Iron Maiden, before getting in the lift which goes to the Gallery, a series of shops on the top of the market. which connect via two bridges to the upstairs entrances of Woolworths and British Home Stores, but for us it's Hopkinson's Toys a proper old school toy shop where Stanny and I buy model kits, model railways stuff and where, in 1981, we first came across Citadel and Ral Partha miniatures, as well as a few other interesting but unfathomable items which, sparked an interest in gaming, without us really knowing much about it all. Old Mr Hopkinson didn't know about them either, but as they were models and the nice rep' from a place called Citadel Miniatures in Newark assured Mr H they'd sell (and they did), he decided to take a chance, and they are crammed in no particular order on a free standing display rack just to the left of the counter, because there are certain youths who would filch as many as possible to sell to mates, unless they are nicking the various tubes of glue instead, to sniff and get a primitive high, before shouting abuse at passers-by in the paved shopping area below, perhaps 'gobbing' on a passing hippy, and eventually turning on themselves as the glue runs out and they start to 'come down' in an aggressive, drooling finale.
But by now, Stanny and I are going around the gallery (watching out for Punks and Skins of course), looking longingly down at the entrance to Rebels rock nightclub where Stanny's older brother goes with his mates (we are assured that it's the place to go after the Wappentake - a serious rock boozer which even at 18, I found a bit much for my tender nerves), past the upper entrance of BHA and across a steel footbridge, leaping down entire flights of stairs because it makes a tremendous 'CLANG!' noise as you land. We cut through the back door of C&A, drop down the stairs to the 'Clockhouse' maternity wear department in the basement and through the glass doors into The Hole In The Road...
We look at the fish tank in the wall, and then go across and up to the left, jog up the escalator and into Rackhams department store because I have developed a taste for Knobs & Knockers, a franchise selling wondrous selections of bright door fittings, to which I have an attraction which even 38 years later I cannot explain. Stanny indulges me, and whilst I paw at a rather nice gloss red coat hook, he ogles the female assistants, before we jump down the flights in the back stairwell, out onto High Street and into Boots The Chemist, where we run down the stairs, into the basement, to look at what games they have for the ZX81 and to see if there are any new Fighting Fantasy books, to which we have become addicted since Warlock Of Firetop Mountain hit the shelves in August. Hang on, it's 9:30... OK, out of the basement doors, up the stairs from the subway and onto the paved shopping area which is Fargate:
We ignore W.H Smith today, but I do want to quickly nip into Hallmark because it was Halloween a couple of weeks ago, and they are selling off the Snoopy seasonal stuff, and I get a 'Great Pumpkin' biscuit cutter for 30p, being an addict when it comes to Peanuts and American popular culture in general.
Next we hit Pinstone Street and Beatties for our second 'fix' of the day...
...where we have not yet clashed with the fearsome Geoff, manager of the branch who would later be the cause of me being grounded - for no fucking reason, I might add.
We'd found that Beatties had a fine stock of roleplaying games at the far end of the shop, around to the right where the Tamiya radio controlled cars were, after Stanny started to take an unnatural interest in such things. Previously we'd been over at the other side of the shop looking at model railways and had never had cause (yes if you were not interested in something, why even deign to go the 15 feet into that part of the shop?) to peruse that desk.
We coo and ooh at the games in the glass cabinets and the boxes of Grenadier Solid Gold Line figure sets which are an eye watering £7.95 per set due to high import costs and which it will be another year before I have spare money for such things.
Then it's down Pinstone Street, down The Moor to our target for the days, operations:
Oh look, in the store window there is a painting competition, linked to the newly released Warhammer game, where you have to paint a unit. I'm not yet a figure painter per se, but I am a traditional paper-based artist artistic and the efforts on display (2 of which are done by the staff themselves, but not the legendary Pete 'Greblord' Armstrong, whose style is well known and so the fraud would be detected immediately) are 'crap' in the argot of the times.
We go in, wander around and get glared at by the staff, (because at this stage I am not the 'Gaming God' I grew to become, with the ability break female hearts and melt inferior paint jobs with a raised eyebrow) and I buy a couple of the cheaper dice and a pot of Kingfisher Magenta paint by Poly S. The shop smells of a strange combination of acrylic paint and freshly brewed coffee, and is a smell that to this day floods me senses if I ever encounter it. Mind you, these days it tends to be the smell of gamers that gets noticed more!
At this stage I've not been accepted by the staff as 'the genuine article' nor have I met the likes of Paul Green, Pete White, Paul Stevens, Dez Green, Spike and certainly not the best friends any kid could have, Rog' Smith, Darren Ashmore and Keith Rhodes, so it's off next door to the bakery, but then Stanny suggests that we go up to the sandwich shop behind theThe Moor and get a chip butty on French bread, and sit on the open rooftop bays of the car park, looking out over the city, a favourite, only bettered by the cafe up at Weston Park museum with the psychedelic fibreglass Samurai sculpture in the gallery below, and a wonderful concrete staircase (I love and loathe Brutalist architecture in equal measure, but some features of it just make me think dungeon passageways or starship corridors and then I get a little rosy glow in my flinty old soul).
Lunch finished we walk down the interior ramps of the carpark, until we realise we have not tested the new dice for quality, by dropping them down the stairwell of the car park. This is normally done in the one behind Debenhams on the other side of the precinct, but we are not there and the test must be done. Stony runs dow to the bottom and I to the top. I shout 'bombs away' and wait for the clatter followed by Stanny trying to avoid puddles of piss (this is reversed when he buys dice) and locate the die in question, reporting if the 'high impact' plastic has been marked. Test passed, the dice are pocketed and we cross the road to the side entrance of Redgates...
4 Floors of toys, and it even had stuff from TSR & Chaosium that Games Workshop didn't.
Ask any Sheffield kid born after 1965 and before 1985 about Redgates, and they'll get moist about the eyes, but we are looking for Redgates own enamel model paints which, are being sold of cheaply, and at 10p per tin for 'manila' which is a brilliant natural flesh tone, I am stocking up. I also buy some two part epoxy (powder and liquid) which is German and which sets in 60 seconds as I find out later after guessing what the instructions say. I also buy my first X-Acto knife, and slice my fingers open that afternoon, just opening it, decorating my parent's dining room with fresh, young claret, which spurts out in a lively manner for some minutes before I stop panicking.
Stanny buys a puncture repair kit from the bike department, and we are off again. We cut up past Pippy's the 'go to' shop for the long haired, the 'edgy' scent of incense wafting onto the street, and bringing a sense of the souk to the Steel . We take the backstreets down to West Bar and into the Left biased underground and radical bookstore 'EXIT' where we don't really understand what we are looking at but the books filled with drawings by R.Crumb inspire us, and we know that somewhere, there is a connection between the 'underground' nature of this place and that of roleplaying and wargames.
Now we are off along to the Castle Market again to catch the bus home and 15 minutes later we are walking up the seriously steep Jenkin Road. Stony has to go and help his dad with the repair of his tyre if we are going to be able to go out on our racing bikes on Sunday, and I want to daub some Fantasy Tribes Zombies I bought a few weeks ago, with manila enamel then poison myself with epoxy and for a grand finale slice open my hand before my parents get back from their day in town with my kid brother and sister.
"Same time next Saturday yeah?"
"See ya.."
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