Slots And Slots Of Fun

When I was little every family outing was exciting. Trips out didn’t happen very often so it was always a great adventure. Holidays were even rarer, but there is one that has always remained in my memory.

We were in a very small, very rickety caravan in a place called Shoeburyness, apparently a suburb of Southend, which I think says it all. I was only three but I have vague memories of constant rain. They could possibly have come from being told the tale so many times, but, either way, it poured down. Non stop. I’m sure my mum and dad were at the end of their tethers and desperate to find entertainment for my brother and me. I think they might, however, have entertained themselves rather better, as my younger brother put in an appearance exactly nine months later…..

Dad was assigned the task of taking out a three year old and a five year old. Mum didn’t care where we went so long as we disappeared for at least two hours. Dad hated holidays at the best of times, and I can imagine this was probably his idea of hell. We set off for an ice cream in a warm dry cafe, but before we could find one we passed an Amusement Arcade. Geoff and I had seen enough of these places to know they involved machines, levers, money and fun. Dad was persuaded to take us in. Pennies were reluctantly placed in sticky palms, dad found a seat and Geoff and I went off, hand in hand, with our passports to heaven. I remember posting pennies into machines, without any idea of what might happen. I just enjoyed that satisfying clink as the penny hit the metal inside. It wasn’t long before we’d run out of pennies - and not a win in sight. We returned to dad, who looked longingly at his watch and felt in his pockets for more change. We spent a good hour in that arcade before the money ran out and we got bored with watching other people scooping out their winnings from below the machines.

If I remember rightly, we packed up and left the damp caravan that evening, after mum and dad had had a whispered exchanged by the greasy CampingGaz. It was a day early but I was still floating on a cloud of pennies and slots and the frantic, satisfying sound of winnings hitting the tray.

There weren’t any arcades near where we lived in north London, but there was a museum in the local park, with various strange and random items, from a stuffed fox with a bird in its mouth - which fascinated and horrified me in equal measure - to bees in a see-through hive, and wonder of wonders, an automaton of a man on a bike. To get the man cycling a coin had to be inserted into the slot at the side. Off he went, pedalling to nowhere with great enthusiasm. I became hooked. The stuffed fox took a back seat whilst the cyclist could be persuaded to pedal.

I have a friend who tells me at regular intervals that I’d make a great smoker. I think what she means is that I’ve got an addictive personality, and I have to agree with her. I’ve always been that way - if something appeals to me I’ll go all out to pursue it. Luckily I’ve never smoked or gambled; too much alcohol makes me sick and gives me such a bad hangover that it just isn’t worth it. But……I do know that I could quite easily go down any of those paths.

Whilst there wasn’t much call for slot machines near me, I started to seek out anything that would reward me for posting that coin in the slot. The underground was good. I wasn’t interested in the cigarettes, but the chewing gum machine, with it’s promise of an extra pack on the fourth turn, was always exciting - and nerve-racking when one only had the money for one turn. Chocolate in a machine was also a lure, although my pocket money never stretched that far. I spent a long time staring through the glass front, deciding whether I’d go for the Mars Bar or the Kit Kat if only I had that elusive sixpence.

When I started school, my pocket money was one penny every other day, which was a decent amount for a child in the ’50s, and bought me sweets on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The instant gratification overcame any desire to save the money and drop it into my newly acquired money box. That, I decided, was for birthday and Christmas gifts and random small amounts donated by my grandparents on their departure from the house.

the money box

So far my addictions have remained under control, but I’m always on high alert after my mum travelled to Las Vegas in her 70s and went a bit mad on the slot machines. According to dad she spent about five dollars in half an hour………..

The Money Box

The box is heavy
With a satisfying rattle
There’s a slot at the top where I drop in the penny
It lands with a clink.
When it’s empty - not often
It sounds more like a clunk
Quite different
Once for my birthday, I had a note
Ten whole shillings
I folded it like I’d seen dad do
And tried to push it in
The coins resisted, jostled against it
I never tried another note
Underneath the box the rubber stopper
Teasing me with it’s smug seal
Here are the scratches where I tried so hard
to get to the treasure
Chubby fingers wrestling with the knife
The plug slightly yielding
Then popping back annoyingly into place
I lift the box again, feel its weight
Place it carefully back on the shelf
And think about what it might buy.

Thanks for reading,      Jill Reidy