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Garlick – A Guide to Possessions

by Northern Life

Garlick by John Eccleston is out now

When John Eccleston’s dad went into care, his childhood home in the Lancashire countryside, Garlick House, was cleared. The contents were shabby; most of them seemed destined for charity shops or the tip. But John, for whom change had come too suddenly, decided to save as much as possible, as if his childhood itself would be lost if he did not.

Garlick House

Garlick House

In the book, written as a guide to his possessions for the benefit of his teenage son (who will inherit them one day), John examines a hundred and one old things. Piece by piece, he recreates a rural childhood. Here, we learn about objects three and four— Chess Set and Dominoes.

Chess Set

Not just an old man’s game.

This is a magnetic folding board with pieces stored within. On a small golden sticker, printed in black letters, it reads ‘Made in Taiwan, Republic of China’.

One day, while browsing through a Book of Knowledge (see entry: The Book of Knowledge), I was arrested by a full-page photograph of a bespectacled, exquisitely serious young woman: she was toying with a long pigtail as she considered her next move in a game of chess.

I read the accompanying article about chess and studied the rules. I decided to be a chess player. We had a folding board from a draughts set, but what do we do for the pieces? I cut out squares of paper and wrote the piece names on them. I played against myself. Sometimes, Mum would open the kitchen door too suddenly, and the draught would send all my pieces flying. Mum could see that this wasn’t satisfactory. Before long, I was presented with a chess set. The board and pieces were magnetic. But now I wanted someone to play with. I had two friends on Green Lane, but they never came inside; we only played outside. So, because Dad said chess looked complicated, it would have to be Mum. Reluctantly, Mum allowed me to teach her. We played after school before she made tea.

Garlick House author and Mum

John and his Mum

She was a slow learner. Even once she had a grip on the rules, more or less, I’d win at a canter. It was exasperating – too easy. I took to handicapping myself, even so far as starting without a queen, but still, I’d win.

Just once – I must have been daydreaming – I made a fatal error, and Mum won. I was furious. I wanted proper competition, but I didn’t want to lose. I hated to lose. I demanded an instant rematch, which, duly, I won. I never lost again.

There was a chess club at Broughton High School. I usually won my games, but only because the competition was indifferent. At a schools’ tournament in Preston, I discovered that, after all, I wasn’t very good. I beat a couple of the weaker players by dint of fierce concentration, but the real players soon despatched me. It turned out that you could study chess. There were, for example, set openings to which there were different ways of responding. You weren’t supposed to just set off hopefully every time. There were magazines about chess, whole books even.

But they still work; the pieces stay put on the board, as Mum had wanted them to.

Eventually, as with all my enthusiasms, I began to look for second-hand books. Sadly, the books were chastening and disillusioning. I’d imagined that I would soon master chess notation and be playing through old games, but it was all too much like hard work. It was interesting to read about the players, but the games themselves went over my head. Review Copy So, chess wasn’t my thing. I’ve only played occasionally since my childhood, although, as with anything competitive, when I do play, I try my hardest to win. In a pub once, my speed of play became insufferably ponderous. My friend, Tadeusz, swept the pieces from the board rather than continue. He said that I was taking it all much too seriously – it wasn’t fun to play with me. That stung: not fun to play with!

These days, I try to be fun when I’m playing games, but don’t always succeed. Only the other night, it seems that I threw a tantrum during a game of Trivial Pursuit and was duly admonished by my teenage son: “Dad! It’s not that deep, okay?”

I love this old magnetic set. It’s unused now. Fred’s good at maths but shows no interest in chess. The felt has worn off the bottom of some pieces, exposing the little round magnets in each base, now held there by yellowing strips of Sellotape. But they still work; the pieces stay put on the board, as Mum had wanted them to.

Dominoes

4 Dominoes from Garlick House

‘GREYHOUND BRAND MADE IN ENGLAND for SPEAR’S GAMES of ENFIELD MIDDX ENGLAND’. On the back of each domino is a greyhound in relief. They still live in their own cardboard box, which has been mended with black tape. Most things can be black-taped indefinitely, I find.

Games lived in the pantry, just as you went in on the right, on the shelves under the stairs, until – to satisfy my longing for bookshelves – Dad bought the unit for beside the telly. Thereafter, games lived in the cupboard below the shelves, or the one above. I couldn’t say where, exactly. Then, as now, I enjoyed rearrangements.

Garlick House author and Dad

John and his Dad

Dominoes came out only occasionally. We knew the rules and played as you were supposed to, but something was lacking. You ‘knocked’ when you couldn’t go, and that was satisfying, but the course of the game seemed a bit too simple, too humdrum as if we were missing something. We couldn’t make it swing, Mum and me. I’ve seen a film of proper players slapping down the tiles with panache. It’s a different game. A bit of drama makes it swing. Mum and I weren’t dramatic.

Sometimes – a classic pastime for a solitary kid – I’d stand up the dominoes in patterns on the table, and then, having called Mum through to watch, push one and watch them all fall in sequence. And then… set them all up again.

It’s still a handsome box despite the black tape. I love the illustration of a greyhound leaping over a wall of dominoes. I need dominoes on the games’ shelf, even if they’re never played with.

Garlick by John Eccleston is out now and is available here.

NorthernLife March/April/May 25