Nick Larkin
Nick recalls the golden days of diecast models
How much of a role have diecast models played on today’s scene?
There was once a time, not long ago, when playing in public with your Dinkys, or those of someone else, was socially acceptable. Corgis and Huskys could be kept in their dozens and never bite, Spot-on didn’t attack blackheads and a Lone Star had nothing to do with astronomy. All were the names of diecast model producers, the very mention of which made the National Health Service glasses of Fifties and Sixties schoolboys steam up in excitement.
Not surprising considering that on offer was everything from Morris Minors to missile launchers, to the Lotus Elan into which Emma Peel from TV’S
The Avengers lowered her catsuited self.
The mid-sixties was in hindsight probably the height of this metal model mania, which today’s youngsters with their computerised games probably won’t understand. Taking centre stage were Dinky Toys, which had been around since the Thirties, and 1956 interloper Corgi, which raised the bar with such joys as clear plastic mouldings representing windows. It must have been fun working in product development for either of these concerns as they battled to raise the bar of innovation. I was always convinced each had trench coated spies.
Makers issued beautifully illustrated catalogues, true model porn for sixpence, putting the product in apt locations such as immaculately surfaced motorways with no litter on the verges, tailgating or services serving slop. Opening doors, ‘jewelled’ headlights and sophisticated suspensions became the norm. But then manufacturers discovered the delights of
TV and film tie-ups, so you too could have
The Saint’s Volvo P1800, or the Monkees Monkeemobile complete with plastic figures, most of which would be eaten in the first few hours of ownership.
Means to an end
Saving pocket money (not easy when there were sweeties, plus Whizzer and Chips comics to finance) doing chores such as black leading the fire grate, achieving your 25-mile swimming award or, for more expensive models, begging at birthdays and Christmas. We would stoop to any of these to increase our collection.
So, was that wrapped up oblong present your 19s11d (about £18 nowadays) Batmobile and Bat Boat set or a box of After Eights. Or (oh no!) a packet of tennis balls? Every town had a sacred toy shop – remember E Simpson in Hastings or Romer
Parrish in Middlesbrough with its renowned cheapies section? Surely these almost exclusively Uk-built models from 55 years or so ago, and their potent memories, must have had an impact on today’s full sized classic movement. Did the buyer of a Dinky E-type Jaguar go on to become a major collector or marque specialist? Would some lucky owner of arguably the most coveted ever model, James Bond’s Aston Martin DB5 from Goldfinger, go on to spend getting on for half a million on a real-life example?
Inspiring times
Could many a F1 career have resulted from the
Dinky Toys Gift Set Number 4 – Racing Cars? Think about it. Matchbox Toys Milk floats could have made a milkman/person. I retain some of my survivors in a small display cabinet, including a Corgi Buick Rivera bought when a six-year-old me contracted measles.
This has a wondrous feature called Trans-o-lite where, if you shine a torch behind the car, thanks to a lens and series of tubes, it looks like there are working headlights! Seriously, I have just discovered this applies in reverse to the red tail lights, too! OMG as they say. Strangely, despite worshipping the cars, I never got the Rover 2000 with this feature. At least I still have my Austin A60 driving school vehicle with wheels you can turn via a knob on the roof. Imagine the fun I had with that. Happy days!