Where do the children play?

Inever had a Barbie doll because my mother didn’t approve of ‘‘that madam’’, believing her to be too tarty and adult-themed for a little girl. But I did have Susan, a doll with short black hair and a chunky plastic body that was cold to the touch. I rejected her charms for the cuddly fur of a bear called Tedimus, and a sheep called Lambie, the latter coming with a wind-up key underneath his tummy that played a faint and sinister version of Mary Had a Little Lamb.

Lambie and Tedimus are still with me. Their fur has disappeared, their eyes have fallen out, their limbs have been broken and stitched back together numerous times, but I can’t bear to give them their final marching orders.

They are living proof of what you look like when you’re on the receiving end of a girl’s tough love. I have left instructions that they, along with the ashes of my feline, the late great Benecio, will be tucked into my coffin before the final approach when we disappear together behind the grim crematorium curtains.

If there is an afterlife and we reappear, it would be just my luck to come back with the head of sheep, the belly of a bear, and the body fur of a long-haired cat.

I can’t recall the other toys of my childhood, but I have been staggered by the abundance of plastic toys on offer this Christmas. With the phasing out of plastic bags, and plans to get rid of hard-to-recycle PVC plastics, some meat trays and polystyrene cups, surely the next in line for environmental euthanasia is the plastic toy.

It would be a brave politician indeed to float the idea of putting an end to Lego, when the company has indicated a commitment to making all Lego bricks sustainable by 2030.

Toys that come in wood, cotton, metal and natural rubber have been floated as alternatives to environment-destroying plastic. Hard plastic toys, which have proliferated among post-World War II generations, could one day be consigned to a museum with text that says ‘‘Look but don’t touch’’, in case wandering young mitts and minds get any ideas.

There have been some suggestions that, instead of giving your child a toy, one should give them an experience, such as going to the zoo (to observe animals in cages), fresh airing them in the park (to be ogled by park bench perverts), over-investing in their sporting prowess (till they destroy their soft tissue muscle).

Unfortunately, we live in the age of rage, where everything comes with a risk to life and limb, to innocence, and to the environment. I’m no child development expert but, when we are young, our little hands yearn for a tactile experience, something to wrestle with, make sense of, manipulate, explore and work out through the benefits of touch.

Imagine having a whole generation of children brought up solely on screen time for a safe virtual experience, because it is the world, not the child, that is too fragile to touch. Life has become one giant ethical dilemma where humanity and its needs, habits and hobbies are simply beyond the pale.

It only took 60 years for its comeback as we now approach the return of another hippy phase, a radical alternative way to live, in order to let the planet live. In it, the old guard may sit round the fires of the world as they burn, singing sad choruses of Cat Stevens’

‘‘I know we’ve come a long way, we’re changing day to day, but tell me, where do the children play?’’