‘Spinning wheel of death’: Most dangerous playground equipment
As the list grows longer, it’s getting harder to accept the many, many things from my childhood that have disappeared, writes Fran Whiting.
I can accept that many, many things from my childhood growing up in Australia have disappeared, and also that the list inevitably grows longer as each year passes.
To be honest, when I take a look at that list, it is mostly made up of foodstuffs, including, but not limited to, Glugs, Sunnyboys, Pollywaffles, Arnott’s Coffee Scrolls, Hungry Jack’s Yumbos, caramel Billabongs and those clear plastic kangaroos filled with red cordial you could freeze.
Also, looking at that list, I can see that my parents were not particularly consumed with worry about the five food groups when I was growing up.
There are, however, some non-food related things I sorely miss, including racing home to watch Countdown, making mix tapes, and the Spinning Wheel of Death in our playgrounds.
I don’t know what the proper name is for that particular piece of playground equipment – let me know if you do – I just know you took your life in your own hands every time you jumped on it.
Nobody was slowing that thing down for you – you hung around the outside, made a leap for it, and then once on, it was up to you how you hung on.
My preferred method was to jump on, then get third-degree burns from wrapping my arms and legs around one of the metal poles. Luckily, the skin on the back of my legs was already used to withstanding high heat from going down the metal Slippery Slide of Hell. Sometimes, when you were on the Spinning Wheel of Death, the centrifuge forces at work meant you were flung off that thing like a duvet on a hot night.
But again, luckily, I had been trained in the tuck-and-roll landing technique after years of being ejected from that swing that was basically one long plank of wood with all the children on it holding on to each other for dear life.
How any of us survived our 70s and 80s childhoods, I really do not know.
I do know, however, the one thing I’m missing the most, and more and more from my childhood – particularly around this time of year. Christmas beetles.
Where are those beautiful, shimmering metallic members of the scarab family?
When I was a kid growing up in the western suburbs of Brisbane, the arrival of one of these beauties in your garden or inside your house was the very first sign that summer, and indeed Christmas, was on its way.
They were also plentiful. We couldn’t leave a window open without a battalion of them flying in and landing on our skin.
And I’m sorry, but I want my own children to also experience the thrill/terror of attempting to peel one of those spiky little legs off you.
You had to lift them off so carefully it was like diffusing a bomb.
And what I would like someone to tell me is where they have all gone, and whether or not there is anything I can do to lure them back into my garden.
I miss those bright green and brown little wonders, so it would be much appreciated.
Now in the meantime, if someone could also tell me where all the sparrows have gone that would also be great.
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Originally published as ‘Spinning wheel of death’: Most dangerous playground equipment
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