As
I remember them, the winters
of the southern Alberta prairies
in the 1930’s, although
long and often severe, were
punctuated from time to time
by Chinook winds, which,
flowing over the Rockies
from the southwest, sometimes
raised the temperature as
much as thirty or forty degrees
in a matter of hours. Their
warm caress, laid briefly
on the snow, could be withdrawn
as quickly as it had appeared
however, plunging the land
once more into icy winter.
But as surely as taxes and
death, there would come a
day, usually in early April,
when every schoolboy knew,
with an instinct as unerring
as that which guides birds
in their migration, that
spring had come. The first
patches of bare ground would
emerge and this signalled
the beginning of the marble
season. It is true that sometimes
the song of a meadowlark
or the appearance of a crocus
was taken for the first sign
of spring. Still there was
no more reliable indication
that spring had really come
than the sight of schoolboys
on their knees playing that
unique game of marbles on
the first patches of bare
ground.
For
their mothers, sad to say,
the most unmistakable sign
was the sight of their
sons’ jeans worn and
torn at the knees. The prospect
of mending these knees every
few days must have dampened
our poor mothers’ enthusiasm
for the game considerably.
Yet it was a fact of life
that boys had to be on their
knees to play marbles, and
in the few weeks between
the beginning of the marble
season and the beginning
of baseball, more wear could
be expected at the knees
than under the soles of the
shoes.
I have called marbles a
unique game. For one thing
it was played according to
rules that, I suspect, were
rather regional if not local,
and that had about them a
remarkable flexibility, to
say the very least. Another
of its unique features was
its unusual, even esoteric,
terminology, the mastery
of which was essential in
order to play successfully,
or even unsuccessfully, so
much so that I have felt
compelled to include on another
page a glossary of the most
commonly used of these terms.
It is important, to begin
with, to be clear about the
term marble. I have heard
words such as alley, agate,
and who knows what other
names. But for us the proper
term always was, and probably
will forever be, marble.
A marble was a spherical
object that could vary in
diameter from approximately
a quarter of an inch to an
inch. Let it be said here
and now, however, that no
self-respecting boy would
use anything as small as
a quarter-inch marble and
rarely one as large as an
inch. The next point to set
straight is that marbles
fell almost naturally into
three categories: dibbs,
steelies, and glassies. Dibbs
were definitely the proletariat
of the marble world. They
had a claylike or earthenware
type of composition and were
regarded with something approaching
disdain. You did not play
with dibbs, although you
could use them for trading.
The terms steelies and glassies,
I assume, are self-explanatory
with respect to the material
of which they were constructed.
Steelies, although enjoying
greater prestige than dibbs,
were somewhat heavy and clumsy.
This leaves us with glassies,
the aristocrats of marbles,
coming in beautiful multi-coloured
glass, often with elegant
swirly designs. This was
the type of marble meant
to be used for actual playing.
Now
that we have established
the instrument used for playing,
we pass on to the next step,
which is to describe the
game itself. To begin with,
I believe it is in order
to point out that a player’s
skill in the game depended
largely on his ability to
shoot accurately in order
to propel his marble the
necessary distance and in
the required direction. The
shooting technique was not
really complicated. The marble
was held between the tip
of the index finger and the
thumbnail. At the appropriate
moment a quick forward movement
of the first thumb joint
propelled the sphere ahead.
A beginner was easily recognized
by the fact that he held
the marble, not at the tip
of the index finger, but
near the inside of the first
joint of that finger. A second
sign that would immediately
stamp a player as inexperienced
would be his unwillingness
or inability to shoot with
higherings.
The last word in the preceding
paragraph alerts me to the
necessity of supplying without
further delay the glossary
promised earlier:
1)
clearings - removing obstacles
(blades of grass, twigs,
etc.) between the shooter’s
marble and the target.
2) expand - the distance
between the tip of the thumb
and the tips of the fingers
when the hand is fully expanded.
After the shooter’s
marble has entered one of
the holes, he is entitled
to take his next shot from
the edge of the expand; that
is, from the spot to which
the fingertips extend when
the thumb is held at the
edge of the hole.
3) fudging - in legitimate
shooting, the hand and arm
are held still while the
propelling force comes from
the thumb. Fudging designates
a forward motion of the whole
arm at the same time as the
thumb projects the marble,
a procedure usually not acceptable.
4) higherings - raising the
hand to shoot from any height
desired. Without higherings
the shooter would have to
keep his knuckles on the
ground as he shoots.
5) lagging line - a more
or less straight line scratched
into the ground, serving
two purposes: (a) to determine
who shoots first. All players
stand a little distance away
and each tosses his marble
toward the line. The one
whose marble comes to rest
closest to the line shoots
first. (b) to serve as the
starting point from which
players take their first
shot.
6) peakings - placing the
target marble on a small
mound so as to raise it.
7) placings - placing the
target marble in another
position but without changing
its distance from the shooter’s
marble.
8) poison - (a) When a shooter’s
marble has entered all four
holes of the playing area
it is said to be “poison.” If
it hits another player’s
marble, the latter is said
to be “dead” and
the player is out of the
game. (b) the name of the
fourth hole.
9) rounders - shooting from
a position different from
the original lie of the shooter’s
marble but without changing
its distance from the target.
Before
attempting to describe
the actual game of marbles,
let me mention two other
ways in which boys sometimes
played with marbles. I hesitate
to call them games; perhaps
infra-games might be a suitable
term. One of these went by
the name of “chase,” and
it was usually played by
two players. The player who
shot first would simply shoot
his marble a certain “safe” distance
from an agreed upon starting
point. The next player would
then try to hit the first
player’s marble. If
he missed, the first player
would shoot at the second
player’s marble, making
sure that if he missed, his
marble would not come to
rest too close to his opponent’s.
The game would end, of course,
with victory to the player
whose marble finally struck
his opponent’s. All
in all, this whole exercise
had a certain dullness and
lack of sophistication about
it.
Another
game that we regarded as
lesser required a circle
scratched on the ground.
Each player (and almost any
number could participate)
was obliged to “ante
in” by placing a marble
into the ring. For this purpose
he would invariably choose
one of his least desirable
ones, usually a dibb or a
chipped glassie. Players
would take turns shooting
from the circumference of
the circle. The object of
the game was to knock marbles
out of the ring. If a player
succeeded in knocking one
out, he was awarded another
shot and could continue until
he failed to drive out a
marble, whereupon the next
person took his turn. Usually
it was stipulated beforehand
that the game was “for
keeps.” This meant
that a player was entitled
to keep as his own any marbles
he knocked out of the ring.
Some of the better players
would go home at the end
of the day with their marble
bags bulging. It may be useful
to add here that part of
the basic equipment of a
marble player was a small
bag with drawstrings, in
which he kept his marbles,
and which he carried with
him in one of the pockets
of his denim jeans.
It
is time now to talk of
that special game of marbles
that we considered to be
so much better than all the
others. What was needed for
this was a patch of ground,
dry or at least partially
dry, and large enough to
allow four small holes to
be dug, usually three to
four inches in diameter and
in depth, spaced roughly
(and here my memory may no
longer be entirely reliable)
six to eight feet apart.
The first three were usually
in a more or less straight
line. The fourth, called “poison,” was
often at a greater distance
than the others and not necessarily
in line with them, the most
frequent variation being
to place it at right angles
to the alignment of the others.
There had to be a lagging
line scratched into the ground
at right angles to the first
three holes and at a distance
such that the first hole
was in the middle between
it and the second hole. The
preparation of the terrain
required only a few minutes’ work
by a group of boys equipped
with pocket knives with which
to make the holes.
Ideally
the game was played by
two to four players at
a time. The participants,
standing at a roughly equal
distance from the lagging
line, would toss their marbles
toward the line. The player
whose marble came to rest
closest to the line would
have the right to shoot first.
Thus the distance between
a player’s marble and
the lagging line would determine
the order in which he shot.
A player’s object was
to shoot his marble into
all the holes. If he could
accomplish this, his marble
was said to be “poison.” If
it subsequently struck another
player’s marble, that
marble was considered to
be “dead” and
its owner was eliminated
from that particular game.
Let
us see how a typical game
might unfold. The first
shooter, whom we could call
A, positioning his hand at
the lagging line, would shoot
toward the first hole. Unless
he was unusually skilful
or unusually lucky (or unless
the hole was unusually close,
a possibility not to be entirely
dismissed), he would be unlikely
to sink his marble with his
first shot. It would now
be player B’s turn.
He might be no more successful
with his shot than player
A. However, let us suppose
that A’s marble had
come to rest between the
lagging line and the first
hole. It would now be possible
for B’s marble, on
its way toward the hole,
to strike A’s. Should
that occur B would be awarded
another shot. In fact this
happy circumstance could
open several options for
him.
He might, now being close
to the hole, simply shoot
toward it. If his marble
entered it, he could take
an expand and shoot again,
this time toward the second
hole. (If he was larger than
the other players or had
a richer father, or was in
some other way dominant,
he might even take a double
expand). He would lose his
turn whenever his marble
failed either to enter a
hole or to strike another
marble.
A
second option, especially
if his marble was close to
player A’s, was to
shoot hard at his opponent’s
marble. This manoeuvre, when
correctly executed, would
drive that marble far away,
where its chances of entering
the hole at A’s next
turn would be greatly reduced,
while leaving B’s marble
still close to the hole.
Having just struck A’s
marble, B would get another
turn, allowing him to attempt
everything described in the
first option.
There
was a third option. This
required skill and a subtle
streak of sadism. Successfully
executed, the chain of
events I am about to relate
could lead to player B’s marble entering
every hole, becoming poison,
and killing A’s marble
before B relinquished his
turn. He would thus be in
a position, already poison,
to lie in wait for the relatively
helpless C and D, if there
were four players. Here is
how this technique worked:
player B, having struck A’s
marble, and assuming it to
be fairly close to the first
hole, would now actually
knock it into the hole. He
would get another turn, shoot
his own marble into the hole,
and having taken his expand,
he would be entitled to place
A’s marble at the edge
of it. What happened next
required a special technique,
known as “riding.” B
would place his marble immediately
behind A’s, and in
shooting toward the second
hole, he would make his thumb
propel the marble more with
a pushing motion than with
the more elegant snapping
release. The result would
be that both marbles travelled
at about the same speed and
in the same direction, so
that they would come to rest
near each other and the second
hole. Now B would simply
repeat what he had done near
the first hole. He would
follow the same sequence
until he reached the fourth
hole; that is, poison. However,
he would not knock A’s
marble into poison, but after
he had shot his own marble
into poison, he would find
A’s marble a “sitting
duck” close to the
hole. B could now strike
A’s marble with his
own, thereby eliminating
A from the game.
I
have tried to describe
what could happen ideally
in the third option. However,
it is unlikely that a player
could execute all these manoeuvres
perfectly. At some point
he would in all likelihood
lose his turn and then allow
the next shooter, player
C, to begin from the lagging
line. After all players had
had a turn, it would again
be A’s turn, and so
forth. It could happen that
one player’s marble
could be poison and kill
all the others before they
had a chance to become poison.
As we can see, many possibilities
existed. In any case, the
winner would be the surviving
player, the one whose marble
had not been killed by any
other.
A
variation of the game was
to “play partners.” Players
A and B, for example could
form a partnership against
C and D. Needless to say,
option three, already described,
could be used by any player
to help his partner along
toward becoming poison.
What was especially remarkable
about this game was its linguistic
dimension. I have left this
feature to the last for fear
of not being able to meet
the literary challenge of
conveying with sufficient
accuracy this most unusual
and complex element. It is
still a mystery to me how
boys could pronounce (if
one is not too particular
about the meaning of the
term), in a fraction of a
second, a series of five
or six polysyllabic words
intelligible to all the others,
yet would hesitate before,
and stumble over, the simplest
one-syllable words in the
classroom. It was as if the
game temporarily lent incredible
linguistic facility to every
marble player, a facility
that abandoned him strangely
at the entrance to the classroom.
Most
of the terminology accompanying
the game had to do with
some special privilege
or advantage the shooter
would proclaim for himself
when his turn came. In fact,
every shot was accompanied
by a kind of ritual, the
shooter announcing what privilege
he demanded and all his opponents
articulating their denial
to him of these rights. It
was a question of who could
speak faster. If, for example,
the shooter announced “rounders” before
his opponents could manage
to say “no rounders,” then
he had won the right to take
rounders. Should his declaration
have been too slow, and the “no
rounders” pronounced
more quickly, he simply could
not take rounders.
In
order to clarify what must
seem like a very confusing
situation, let us consider
an example or two. Suppose
player A wished to shoot
at B’s marble. Let
us assume that there was
a little hollow in the ground
between the two marbles,
so that the unevenness of
the terrain might spoil the
accuracy of A’s shot.
Or suppose there was a small
twig in the way. Now there
were a number of ways in
which A could overcome these
disadvantages: he could use
higherings, in which case
his marble would not even
touch the ground before reaching
B’s marble. He could
use rounders to shoot from
a different position, where
the terrain might be more
favourable. A third possibility
would be to declare placings,
so that he could change the
position (but not the distance)
of B’s marble to achieve
the same advantage as in
the previous manoeuvre. Another
possibility, especially if
B’s marble happened
to be in a small hollow,
would be to use peakings;
that is, to put something
under it, a tiny mound of
dirt, for example. Finally,
if A’s concern happened
to be a bit of twig or some
blades of grass between the
marbles, he might ask for
clearings and thus simply
remove the obstacle.
In
actual practice, however,
a marble player seldom declared
individual privileges. He
would declare them globally,
thus: “rounders, higherings,
peakings, placings, clearings!” At
the same time his opponents
would deny them equally globally,
thus: “no rounders,
no higherings, no peakings,
no placings, no clearings!” For
an uninitiated observer this
must have appeared vaguely
like some sort of religious
rite, with one boy, the shooter,
on his knees, making the
same invocation on each such
occasion, while all the others
would proclaim their negative
litany. One might think that
saying all these words would
slow up the game. Not at
all! And the reason was simple.
Players developed a kind
of shorthand. A special kind
of articulation was required
to convey the sense of all
these words without actually
enunciating every syllable.
In fact, the casual observer
might not understand a single
one of these words. “Rounders,
higherings, peakings, placings,
clearings” might, in
reality, sound to him more
like “roun-higher-peak-plac-clear,” or
even “rou-hi-pea-pla-clea,” while
the opponents’ utterance
might approximate “no
rou-hi-pea-pla-clea.” All
this could be, and was, articulated
in a split second, and of
course every marble-playing
boy understood exactly what
had been said.
You might think that some
sort of referee would have
been essential to decide
whether the shooter or his
opponents had completed their
declaration first. This was
not the case. Rarely were
there any disputes, even
more rarely any fights. The
shooter usually won (after
all, he had less to say),
but not always. If he had
the type of personality that
made him a leader, or if
he was stronger and tougher
than the others, he invariably
won. If he came from a more
well-to-do home and might
give his opponents a grape,
a candy or even a bite of
his wax paper wrapped pie
at lunch time, his chances
of winning were also much
enhanced.
I
cannot abandon this part
of my account without some
mention of a rather extraordinary
term sometimes invoked by
players, and that was the
word “slips.” It
is not difficult to understand
that on occasion a marble
might actually slip out of
the grasp of the shooter
just as he was about to shoot.
He might then declare “slips,” and
if his opponents were convinced
that his case was genuine,
if furthermore they were
inclined to be sympathetic
to him, and if, finally,
it was felt that he would
not win in any case, he was
sometimes awarded another
shot. But the term “slips” lent
itself to abuse. If, for
example, a player’s
shot did not achieve the
results he had hoped for,
he might occasionally declare “slips,” hoping
for another shot. In such
circumstances justice tended
to prevail, and the shooter
trying to obtain the privilege
of “slips” illegitimately
not only met with little
success but also made himself
rather unpopular with his
peers.
The
years have passed inexorably
and no doubt there are details
of the game I have attempted
to describe that are buried
forever in my octogenarian
memory. But time has not
dimmed the image of that
annual renaissance of boyhood
springtimes. In April, when
the first breath of soft
Pacific air begins to clear
the land, I see again the
boy I was once, kneeling
on the ground, my whole being
involved in this game as
if no other reality existed,
and in my mind I hear the
echoes of “rou-hi-pea-pla-clea” and “no
rou-hi-pea-pla-clea.” My
world is transformed. I have
a temporary glimpse of the
magic of boyhood but also
a keen realization of the
vast distance that can never
be truly spanned in the search
for what once was but never
again will be.
