Memory Lane Part 30.1: Let's Talk About Size Baby

 OK, so in the main post we ascertained that as far as having any kind of genre affiliation, all bets were off when it came to your humble narrator.

But how did I embrace the addiction, nay, lifestyle once I had my feet under the table and my fingers in mant - perhaps too many - metaphorical pies?

Well, I was very lucky, indeed blessed to 'come up' with one of the greatest wargaming pirate crews the UK has ever and will ever see. 

Sheffield Wargames Society, I found out were notorious for ther prowess with both the toy soldier and the pint glass, not to mention been pretty sharp with dealings with the fairer sex, whilst on nights out during weekend-long 'beanos'. 

Let me be very clear, in the latter case, I can hand on heart say that this only applied to the single members as the wives of the marriwed members would simply have terminated their husband's collections, as did in fact happen at one Triples when an unnamed member of the club had an argument with his spouse on the morning of the show, and as he was packing his car with models which, were essential to an SWS display game. As the argument travelled back and forth from upstairs, to kitchen and so on and so forth, the landing window opened, and down showered painted figures onto the driveway.

The lesson for the day being, pack the care before indulging in a domestic row, unless as one anonymous married member was heard to comment upon the debacle the spouse would hit the ground before the figures. Whilst this was (of course, so don't bother commenting - it will be deleted) said in jest, the sentiment was strong that such tomfoolery with a wargamer's toys  was unacceptable.

Indeed when I was 20, and my reationship of three years was falling apart, I came home from a long night headbanging and drinking in a notorius Sheffield nightclub with a motley 'platoon'  of wargamers, roleplayers and reenactors, to find my girlfriend in bed with a scrote who, had been slowly working his way in the back door as it were, and who, had eaten the food in the fridge, gone out in one of my bike leathers and boots - having just got out of prison and being sartorially inept - and of course screwed my girlfriend. A friend had seen them together in a pub abd in a fit of bravado, this interloper had bragged that he was going to take my figures (which were on display) and trash them.

Cornering the miscreant, whilst my girlfriend screamed abuse, I clearly and loudly made it clear that whilst I could accept that he had 'eaten my food, worn my clothes and fucked my woman, if he touched my figures, I'd be up for murder.'

Well he quickly tried to exit the building, and in the kitchen, he found seven of my compadres all grinning like amused wolves, and standing betwixt him and the only door, just long enough to make him lose his colour and sweat profusely.

Again, tomfoolery involving someone's tiny lead troops is never a good idea. 

But, as ever, I digress...

So I was falling in with a notorious crew, with a reputation, and this affected how I approached the hobby. The members of SWS at that time, rarely paid retail price for figures as they had many friends and contacts in the plethora of manufacturers who discounted generously on large orders thus they collected entire army lists from the first to the last entry for any army they took a fancy to. 

This rubbed off, and as the latest Cabin Boy, I was introduced to some amazing people who, once they saw that I was cut from the same sail cloth, extended the same generous deals to yours truly.

And so it was that I started to collect massive armies, in whatever scale I wanted. ECW and Renaissance armies in 15 and 25mm were acquired in high 3 and sometimes 4 figure quantities and when I wasn't painting for older club members, I was painting the models that said activity had paid for.

I was also becoming known in my own right in several  gaming stores across the North, and one in the North West wouyld give me handsome trade-ins on painted armies which, given the speed I could turn out a decent looking army  meant that I acquired some great stuff.

The late Terry Wise as I have previously outlined would always offer great swaps at his Wargamer's Attic pop-up store on Saturdays, and it was many a Friday night and Saturday morning between 5 and 10AM which saw me knocking out a unit of 25mm ECW,  taking it with the varnish still tacky on the bus to Doncaster and to Terry, turning it into something he had, that I wanted. He was truly a gentleman and a scholar.

This methodolgy meant that (as I still sometimes do) I could try out a new period 'full on' and, if it didn't take hold of me as hoped, I could trade or sell the collection, not make a loss and try the next thing on my list.

It led an asociate to once quip that my tombstone would (and will, trust me) read 'Here Lies Mark H -Wanna buy an army?' 

Even skirmish gaming (an 8 letter four letter word in my book) was approached with a degree of indulgence which, would have made members of the Hellfire Club, take a moment to compose themselves and perhaps whimper a little.

Some of my friends were almost as bad, but many of them went against the norm and collected a unit at a time, soon finding that  they had been left behind in the arms race.

When I met Roger, one of my oldest and probably my best friend, despite of tendency to throw tantrums with each other to this day , he was something of a Gilder Acolyte and Peter had shown him the secret of knocking out tens of horses in a single evening, so that although he bought in a slightly different way to me, he knocked those units out like a trooper.

The problem was that when 6 kids with masive collections set up a game which was last for 3 hours at the most, you will not be surprised to hear that few Wednesday night club games were ever finished. Thus, from this came the day long and sometimes weekend long games at each others' homes, with Mums spending as much as they did on the family for a week, on a literal tribe of kids who could eat in that what which is peculiar to teenagers, without batting an eyelid or complaining - certainly not in front of the pubescent guests who would fill every available inch of space which could be used for a game.

I think we all owe those Mums and long suffering Dads who would come home from a long day at work toi find their home was a castle, but not theirs until about 10PM or in tha case of a weekend game for about 36-40 hours, as many times those young barbarians stayed up all night gaming until it was too late to go home, at which point phone calls were made to parents and 'good conduct passes' issued.

And that was pretty much how it was for 5 years of my life until we all started to get involved with the fair sex and find that we had to spend more time than was proper or healthy, away from the gaming table.

Perhaps I'll recount some toe curling reminiscences of those clumsy first forays in a future instalment, but for now a plate of hot crumpets and a few episodes of Miami Vice are beckoning to me...

 

TTFN