Do you remember? Legs kicking so high into the sky that it felt like the toes of your Clarks Magic Step shoes could reach the clouds?
Perhaps you preferred the roundabout, your churning stomach and spinning head as good as a trophy for your daring and bravery. Me? I loved the monkey bars, because I was a show-off and I enjoyed the sting of the cold metal against my hands as I proved to all the boys that I was just as strong as them.
We all have memories of playgrounds. The excitement of seeing it on the horizon and the disappointment of your mum or dad calling you in for the night. Those perfect days, when your best friends were there too, and you could spend the whole day making up games as a gang or, as we often did, Grease dance routines.
As an adult, I’d never really thought too much about play areas. That was until I had my first baby at 40, during pandemic lockdown. There were no baby groups or sing-and-sign classes. For much of my early motherhood, there weren’t even open cafes or shops.
So, parks became my lifeline to the outside world. My way of meeting other parents, albeit socially distanced. My way of entertaining and stimulating my baby, whom I hoped would experience everything, even though the world was so limited at that time.
Luckily, we were living in Prague. The Czech Republic is by no means a particularly wealthy country, coming in at 18 in recent rankings of European countries. But, at least in Prague, they absolutely understand the vital importance of public services for parents. Happy parents and children make a better society.
In Prague, full-time pre-school care, even private nursery, was extremely affordable, at around £150 a month. And the playgrounds? They were spectacular.
We lived in a number of neighbourhoods during our three years in Prague, but in every one we could guarantee there would be an excellent, safe play park with rope ladders, a zipline, wooden club houses with integrated educational games, benches for the adults to socialise – at some you could even hire a barbecue by the hour.
Because so much thought and care went into them, parks became true community hubs. People of all backgrounds and incomes came together and connected. Those well-maintained, often beautiful public spaces built a sense of pride in the community. Indeed, it created that community for our family – immigrants, who knew no one in the country.
Some play areas are better – others are distinctly lacking
My baby is a sturdy two-year-old now, always fizzing with energy, and playgrounds are more important than ever. And, though we do take him occasionally to Queen’s Park in Glasgow, or to the excellent one by the Burrell Collection, it has to be said that they are somewhat lacking. At least by comparison to the ones we’ve been to in other countries, where care and thought and, most importantly, money have been invested so that there is a free, accessible resource available to everyone in the neighbourhood.
Though I did experience better playgrounds in later childhood, I can’t remember any from Torry, where I spent the first five years of my life. What I do remember are the vast, empty playing fields between our tower block and my primary school; the strange metal structure like a small alien spacecraft in the middle of it, graffitied and littered, where I spent a lot of time using my, thankfully, boundless childhood imagination to make it into something much better than it was.
But the point is, I shouldn’t have had to make do. Or use discarded rubbish as props for make-believe games, or imagine the broken booze bottles as diamonds.
Recently, we were viewing a flat for sale in Glasgow. The area itself was quiet and well kept, the flat was pristine and perfect for us. We were excited. But, after our viewing, we went to the local play area so our little boy could run off some steam.
Not only was it a sparse affair with only a set of swings, a graffitied slide and one of those funny-shaped wooden elephants on a spring, but there was litter everywhere: crisp packets, fried chicken boxes, crushed, empty energy drink cans and cigarette ends.
The black plastic bin had been burnt out, now resembling something that might make it into a museum of modern art. My little boy still swung on the swings and slid on the slide but the whole area, the whole occasion, just felt different.
All children deserve a beautiful place to call their own
Families are facing more struggles than ever recently and, along with libraries and infrastructure that makes their lives easier, playgrounds can be vital to creating a sense of community, pride and value.
It seems to me that the financial cost of a decent play area, thoughtfully designed and properly maintained, is a small price to pay for what it can bring to individual families and a community as a whole.
Often, when I’ve watched my son playing, but especially in those calm, safe parks in Prague or Berlin, I’ve thought of how different it would have felt to me as a kid, especially one growing up in extreme deprivation, to feel valued and cared for enough by society to have a beautiful space I felt was mine no matter what. As good as swinging as high as you can, until your toes touch the clouds, is what I imagine.
Kerry Hudson is an Aberdeen-born, award-winning writer of novels, memoirs and screenplays
