The Vikings of my childhood

THIS WEEK’S WINNER

MANILA, Philippines - Clinton S. Lopez is the production section manager of the penicillin and cephalosporin departments of Interphil Laboratories, Inc. He enjoys reading, writing, music, tinkering around the house and in the garden, and believes sleep is a luxury. He was a winner in the 2002 Travel Now essay writing contest and second-prize winner in the 2006 My Favorite Book writing contest. 

During my early years in Maquiling School, I felt contented in my own little niche until a book showed me a glimpse of the world outside. In kindergarten, it did not help that the most timid among Mrs. Maturan’s charges was probably me, sitting rather comfortably by myself and enviously watching other children at play. 

Whenever she called me to join the group or to recite, I would shrink back, embarrassed, and turn tearful. Nevertheless, I showed up in school every day (my mother saw to that), and despite my shyness, participated in class activities, my favorite being the naps we took after recess.   

Still, there was a constant fear of drawing everybody’s attention for one reason or another, good or bad. And since I was six or seven then, it was almost certainly the latter, like in discovering the fly of my khaki shorts unzipped or in mourning over a soiled sandwich that had escaped my grasp. Once, in Grade 1, I even dared violate school rules by racing against Andy Bernardo down the corridors. Nobody, but nobody, could outrun Speedy Andy, and my only consolation was that my rare display of boldness flitted by unnoticed — and unpunished. 

Thus, life inched by without much fanfare. I learned some new lessons and gained a few new friends. We’d spend time on our jolens, not playing but comparing their colors and designs. Later, we would stand in front of the schoolyard, catching flowers from the golden shower trees, for it was believed that whoever caught a hundred flowers was entitled to make one wish. In my more serious moments though, I would wander around the school premises, an inexplicable fascination for water driving me to examine the drinking fountains on the hallways and the faucets in the comfort rooms (for boys, of course). 

Things changed, however, after our Grade 2 teacher Ms. Tucay required us to submit a book report, making it inevitable for me to visit the library. Up till then, this room located at the right side of the main building, second door from the principal’s office, was unexplored territory. On the day our class trooped to the library, I felt uneasy standing on unfamiliar, possibly hostile ground. The “SILENCE” signs glared from each side of the room with shelves lined with rows upon rows of books. No friendly face was evident as all heads were bent close to the open books and reading assignments lying on the tables.

The librarian accompanied us around the room, showing us books and introducing us to the card catalogue, a collection of cards alphabetically arranged in drawers, with the call numbers of the books filed under the title, author, and subject. The card catalogue, she explained, made it easy to locate a particular book, far from being like the proverbial needle in the haystack. 

Browsing through the shelves in the library proved to be a wonderful, new experience, opening my eyes to the immense variety of books and reading materials. I finally settled on a paperback dealing with making simple crafts using scrap. I have long ago forgotten its author and title, but the small, now nameless book contained several topics and illustrations that have remained vivid in my memory. One interesting project used rolled cartolina to create a human form with folding knees, elbows, and joints. Another project I found appealing, since it was then the period of NASA’s Apollo space program and every little boy dreamed of becoming an astronaut, involved building a rocket ship from discarded tissue paper cardboard cylinders. 

However, nothing captured my full attention quite like the Viking ship, a long sea vessel that bore an ornamental dragon’s head on the bow and which enabled the Vikings, who were early Scandinavian explorers and warriors, to attack and colonize wide areas of Europe. To build the dragon ship, the hull was first made from cardboard folded and cut into the right shape, its front and back ends sewn together using needle and thread. 

The dragon’s head was cut from construction board and was attached to the bow, and a stick was glued to the center of the ship to serve as the mast. A sheet of paper was then attached to the mast to form the square sail, while matchsticks were fashioned into oars that were set on both sides of the ship. 

I could hardly wait to get home to try out the simple instructions.

From that moment on, all my free time, sometimes odd hours late into the night, and weekends were devoted to building dragon ships. I finished my report (it was about boats, ships and dragons) but long after I got a high grade, I continued to borrow the small book. In time, I came to refer to this paperback as the “Viking book.”

My first ship looked funny; strange how different it turned out from the picture in the Viking book, but each succeeding ship came out better than the one before it, with dragon heads that appeared more terrifying and sails billowing full in the wind. My bed would soon become the playground for many sea battles and naval conquests, the rolling of the bed sheets suggesting the rising and falling of the waves, the scattered pillows representing the islands and continents waiting to be invaded. 

Our incursions to foreign shores became bolder and swifter with my growing armada. Before long, word of our ferocious lightning raids spread, and one name echoed with a frightful note. Vikings! The world lay out there for the taking.

Like my fantasy adventures, my exploits in school extended further than before. By then, I would go as far as the macopa tree behind the Grade 3 wing, the tree under whose canopy we boys settled our differences. As if emboldened by the dragon head, I would even grow so daring as to climb the heavily laden mango tree facing the new science room. Or sneak a quick look into the gardener Mang Efren’s tool room, which doubled as his sleeping quarters. (“Authorized personnel only,” the sign said.)

Shortly, my enthusiasm for wreaking fear and havoc (all make-believe, really) gave way to images of astonishing doe eyes from a girl at the front row in class, who proved to be no easy conquest for this Viking. In fact, it was she who later overpowered me, and we would end up playing catch ball before the start of afternoon classes. But even as the winsome Miriam Gomez soon after transferred school and totally disappeared from my life, the intense interest that the Viking book inspired in me during my younger years remained, only to spill over into my teens.

Over the years, I outgrew the sea battles and the marauding voyages, but retained the knack for shipbuilding, shifting from cardboard and paper to the sturdier popsicle sticks glued together with Duco Cement. The hobby that began when I picked the Viking book from the library shelf was a tedious and exacting endeavor that tempered my patience and persistence, and honed my manual dexterity and craftsmanship. 

Creative play mingled with work in making ship models and miniatures to develop my imagination and sense of fun, while at the same time instilled self-appreciation and confidence.

Most of my model dragon ships, tugboats, clippers, sloops, yachts, and brigs have long been damaged from play; some were given away. Today, a couple of deteriorating galleons lie gathering dust in the attic. A model sailboat, still intact and anchored in my son’s bedroom, is the only survivor from the ravages of time. These relics from my youth affirm that small ideas can spawn lasting results, and even a small paperbound book can open up to a great, big world. 

That world lies out there for the taking. Vikings! Vikings! Vikings!