Ting Tang Tommy

The social historian Dorothy Flanders gives a detailed account of the development of domestic gas lighting in her book The Victorian House. She explains how Friedrich Albert Winsor became one of the first popular exponents of gas lighting in the home, through a series of public lectures and brochures. In 1814 Winsor founded a company with a single gasometer. By 1852 there were forty-seven gasometers in Britain and a network of gas piping, stretching over two hundred miles. The craze for gas lighting spread fast. By 1816 gas was common in London and by 1823 fifty-three cities had gas companies. By the middle of the century, it had become a presence in most small towns and even in some villages. The contemporary journalist G. A. Sala provides a vivid insight into the difference it made to everyday life:

In broad long streets where the vista of lamps stretches far away into almost endless perspective; in courts and alleys, dark by day but lighted up by this incorruptible tell-tale; on the bridges; in the deserted parks; on wharfs and quays; in dreary suburban roads; in the halls of public buildings; in the windows of late-hour-keeping houses and offices, there is my gas—bright, silent, secret. Gas to teach me; gas to counsel me; gas to guide my footsteps.

As well as illuminating streets, gas changed how rooms were lit. The Argand Lamp became a popular innovation in middle-class homes. In stark contrast to the uneven light of candles, the Argand Lamp burned gas at a higher temperature, which created a purer flame. This new, brighter flame was also contained for the first time in a glass cylinder, which saved it from draughts and allowed the flame to be raised or lowered, rather like the modern dimmer switch. Brightness could now be controlled and modulated at will. It was also possible for gas to be run through pipes and tubes to special fittings in the ceilings and walls, even to tables. Wall sockets had flexible attachment points so that lights could be directed towards particular people or objects. The arrival of gas lighting meant that everyone—not just the rich—could now play games long into the night.

And so, for the Victorians, the stage was set for a games revolution to take hold. Is it time for us to discover once again the easy pleasure and communal happiness that only games can offer?

The Original and Best Games for a Party (#ulink_76d867e8-f229-5dd2-887c-7edf8b15b80b)

I want to show you how games can be played anywhere. But parties are the place where most of us get our first taste, so let’s start there. When I say party I am thinking of a group of adults or a family gathering with a good spread of ages. There have been lots of books on children’s party games so that’s not my remit here. I want to share forgotten but universal games that can be played by all.

At a party, timing is important. You have to wait for a lull. You have to wait until the group wants something new. And not everyone may want to play. This is fine. You are looking for a majority. If you can get most people onboard, a game is possible. Never force people to play. They can either just watch or you can give them special roles—like being the referee, timer or scorer. Everyone likes to feel included.

Arriving

Games that welcome people are fun. You might have a large jar of sweets near the door and get people to write down what they think is the correct number on a sheet of paper nearby. It’s nice to have something to announce later in the evening and even nicer for the person who gets to walk away with the jar of sweets. Another good icebreaker is to ask everyone to bring a photograph of themselves as babies. As people are helping themselves to a glass of wine, you can fix each photograph to a piece of cardboard with a number under each one. On pieces of paper against the numbers, people can write down who they think is who. It’s a great moment at midnight, or towards the end of the night, to bring in the photo board and to ask each grown-up baby to step forward one by one. You can award a prize to the winner but the fun comes from seeing how the babies in the photographs express the intangible essence of the grown-ups they become, something which never quite leaves them.

Mister Hit

This game was taught to me by a teacher of clowning in Paris. It’s amazingly good fun and is a great test of coordination. It’s also very good to play as one of your first games because it gets everyone on their feet and is a brilliant way to learn everyone’s names. As the host of the party, you might know who everyone is but most probably your guests won’t. This is one of those classic games that takes a minute to learn and a lifetime to master.

Everyone stands in a circle. Someone is nominated as Mister Hit. Their job is to tap the person standing to their left or right, preferably on the shoulder. The person tapped must say someone else’s name in the circle. This person then becomes Mister Hit and must, in turn, tap someone else to their left or right. So the basics are: when you are hit you call someone’s name and when your name is called you hit someone.

After a few practice rounds the game becomes fun as you explain that there will now be no hesitation between hitting and speaking. There must be an unbroken chain of hits and names. Don’t be afraid to be harsh. As soon as someone hesitates, or speaks when they should hit or hits when they should speak, they are eliminated.

You carry on playing until three remain for a Mister Hit final, after which the two last players are declared the winners.

Lie Detector

This is also not strictly a party game but an ice-breaker. I sometimes use it on the first day of rehearsals to get people talking about themselves in a playful way. It encourages the rest of the group to work together to interrogate the person on the spot. It needs to be played with a group of people who don’t know each other that well so that no one enjoys a particular advantage.

Each player shares three things about themselves. Two of these must be true. One must be false. In the spirit of Radio Four’s The Moral Maze, everyone in the group is given the chance to interrogate the speaker. The group grills the speaker to discover how well they can back up their claims. You can limit the number of questions each person is allowed to ask if the group is big. When everyone has had the chance to ask their questions, the group decides together which statement they believe to be the false one. This is the most fun part as everyone struggles to reach a consensus. When a majority decision has been reached, you announce your verdict and discover whether you’ve successfully deciphered fact from fiction. Watch out for hesitation, faintly concealed smiles and discreet blushing.

Blind Man’s Buff

In the ancient Egyptian tombs of Beni Hassan there is a mural showing a man kneeling with his head down and others standing behind him with clenched fists raised above his back. It has been suggested that these men are playing Hot Cockles, or ‘Who Struck?’ as the game was also known.

Hot Cockles is a violent game with a rich tradition. It belonged to what the Greeks called the kolla bismos family of games: ‘buffeting’ games. A player is blindfolded and then struck by each player in turn. The blindfolded player had to guess the identity of his assailants by the quality of their slap.

The game also contained the potential for romance. It seems that the fun lay in decoding the hidden suggestions within the blow. In a Christmas edition of the Spectator from 1711, a joke correspondent wrote: ‘I am a Footman in a great family and am in love with the House Maid. We were all at Hot Cockles last night in the Hall; when I lay down and was blinded, she pulled off her shoe and hit me with the Head such a Rap, as almost broke My Head to Pieces. Pray, Sir, was this Love or Spite?’

Alongside Hot Cockles there developed the variation we all know, Blind Man’s Buff. This game proved too rowdy for Samuel Pepys. On 26 December 1664 he wrote in his diary, ‘I to bed, leaving them to their sport and Blind Man’s Buff.’ We later discover that the party continued until 4.00 a.m.

Today there are loads of variations but the version I prefer is a silent one. Any game that encourages the gentle crossing of boundaries is supercharged with fun and danger. Just taking out a blindfold can cause minor hysteria and as soon as an element of touch is introduced people go crazy, especially after a few drinks.

A brave individual is blindfolded. Everyone else takes up their positions—in corners, on chairs, lying on the floor, wherever feels most fun. They must remain there without making a sound. The blindfolded player must identify each player only by touch. As chuckling or giggling gives the game away immediately, it’s very important that everyone keeps silent. The game lasts either until everyone is correctly identified or you can switch after the first person is identified, that person then taking over the blindfold.

A wacky variation is to arm the blindfolded player with two spoons. He then uses these in place of hands. You can just about make out height, hair length, size of nose, breasts or not etc. Here avoiding laughter is impossible: the feeling of two cold spoons being passed over your face and other parts is quite overwhelming.

General Post

The Penny Post was started on 10 January 1840 and Sir Rowland Hill was the first Postmaster General. Throughout the nineteenth century steamships and trains revolutionized the train service, so it’s no surprise that a game arose reflecting the impact of these dramatic changes. Playing the game today, there is something pleasurably antique about it. It’s also surprisingly lively, gets the blood flowing and allows you to use your blindfold once again.

Everyone sits on chairs in a large circle. Someone is appointed Postmaster while everyone else chooses cities in the world. These cities are destinations for the post and the Postmaster must remember them all. It will be his job to call out the origins and destinations of the mail. At the start, one player is blindfolded and placed in the middle of the circle. The game begins when the Postmaster calls out the first journey using the cities around the circle. He might say, ‘The post is going from Berlin to New York’. And so now the person who is Berlin must change places with the person who is New York. They must do this without the blindfolded player either touching them or getting to an empty chair before they do. The player who is touched, or whose chair is taken, must take over the blindfold. To get everyone moving, the Postmaster can occasionally call ‘General Post’, which means that all the players have to change seats, giving the blindfolded player an excellent chance to grab someone or a seat. Play until everyone who wants to has had a go in the middle.

Caterpillar

This is a more urgent version of General Post, played without the blindfold. It’s used a lot by theatre directors to create a ‘group mind’. It encourages everyone to work together and it’s fantastic when the whole group is working as one. It’s both fast and physical.

Begin by making a circle of chairs. Everyone sits down apart from one person who remains standing in the centre. His or her chair remains empty. The game revolves around this player’s attempt to sit down on an empty chair while the other players work to stop them. To do this players have continually to move from one chair to another. As soon as one chair has been vacated another bottom must fill it. Players can move from side to side and across the circle. As soon as the centre player manages to occupy a seat, the dislodged player takes over.

Psychiatrist

This is a game that, in the nineteenth century, would have been called a ‘catch’ game because you are looking to catch someone out. You can only play the game if someone in the group doesn’t know the secret and is willing to be a good sport. It’s pretty difficult and I’ve never known anyone to solve it without plenty of clues. It works best if all your players are aged ten upwards.

A Psychiatrist is selected from the group. It’s his job to diagnose the condition everyone is suffering from. He leaves the room while the group agrees what condition they might all have. There are unlimited options but the classic ruse is that everyone answers as if they are the person sitting to their left. The Psychiatrist returns to the room and starts to ask questions of his or her patients. How are they? What do they like doing? Do they have any particular fears, dreams etc? People have to answer as accurately as possible according to their knowledge of the person to their left (which itself proves very revealing). When the Psychiatrist is completely baffled you can help him by suggesting he ask each patient their name.

The Scissors Game

This is another ‘catch’ game. I am always the last to catch on to the ‘key’ of these games, so I am very happy to pass on the secret to this one. If you are ever asked to play it, you will now be one of those in the know.

This game works best with plenty of people. Everyone sits in a circle, and only a small number (ideally no more than two) should know the rules of the game. A pair of scissors is passed around and around the circle. Each time you pass it to the person next to you, you have to say ‘I PASS THE SCISSORS CROSSED’ or ‘I PASS THE SCISSORS UNCROSSED’. The recipient has to say ‘I RECEIVE THE SCISSORS CROSSED’ or ‘I RECEIVE THE SCISSORS UNCROSSED’. The people who don’t know the rules will begin by assuming that the words relate to the state of the scissors and whether the blades are open or not, and the people who know the rules can take advantage of this. Actually, each statement refers to whether the players who are passing and receiving the scissors have their LEGS crossed or uncrossed. As you go around the circle, as people make statements that are false they lose a life. Three lives lost and they’re out. People become more and more frustrated but eventually they begin to cotton on to the rules and subtly try and keep the people who don’t understand from working them out. When all the players left in the circle get it, the game is over and everyone can have another drink.

Word Tennis

Every Friday during my teenage years I would catch the train from St Albans to King’s Cross and walk up Pentonville Road to the Anna Scher Theatre School. I was obsessed with acting and had decided that this was to be my path into show business. The walls of the foyer were covered with photographs of famous pupils, past and present. Most of the cast of Grange Hill were up there, alongside stars from EastEnders and actors like Kathy Burke, Jake Wood and Patsy Palmer.

The school was one big studio in which all the classes took place. At the back of the room, on a raised platform, sat three washing baskets filled with props and costumes, a bus stop sign and a small record player. Every week I would enter, pay my pound for the class and sit quietly at one side of the room. There would be little talking, just an atmosphere of silent expectancy as we waited for the arrival of Anna. Everyone would sit, carefully scanning each other.

There were sixty of us in a class. Kids came from all over London but especially from the areas nearby—King’s Cross, Islington and Highbury. These were not privileged stage school types, but local working-class kids who loved acting. There was no audition or interview, just a four-year waiting list. When your name came up you would start the following week.

The school was like a boxing club. You went there and for two hours you improvised the most intense, unflinching scenes you could. Domestic violence, drugs, alcoholism and broken families all featured heavily. For the first six months I was practically silent. I felt nervous and confused. Acting had always been about scripts. Doing a play involved being given a part, learning my lines and then performing on the night. But in this world spontaneity was everything. With your partner you would be given a first line (‘That was bang out of order!’, ‘You do nothing round the house!’, ‘I’ve had it up to here with you!’) and, in front of everyone, you would have to improvise a situation. There was no time for throat clearing—bang, you were in the scene. And the style was direct, confrontational and fast. The scenes rocketed up the emotional scale as you let rip on your colleague. This training taught me a lot about how to play games. My eight years at Anna’s taught me that thinking on your feet and embracing the unexpected is the place where creativity begins.

Some weeks, if the class had been particularly intense, we would end with a game. The one I enjoyed most was Word Tennis. Since learning the game at Anna’s I’ve played it in many different contexts. It can be played standing up in a line or sitting down and children and grannies love it. It’s called Word Tennis because the aim is to keep the word rally going for as long as possible.

Everyone sits in a circle, either on chairs or round a table. Someone starts by suggesting a category with lots of members, for example, Sports. The person gives an example of the category (football) and the game begins. Travelling in a clockwise direction, each person must give an example from that category. If it’s Sports, people might say basketball, hockey, or tennis. You keep going until someone hesitates, repeats a name or can’t think of another one. After a few trial runs you can start eliminating people. When someone is out you start again with a new category. If you have been playing sitting down, when you get to the last four people still in, ask them to stand up. This increases the stakes. You keep going until only two people are left in. Everyone suggests categories for the final and you have a dramatic showdown.

Fun categories really help. Here are some you might like to try:

Empire

Some games have a beautiful form, like this one. Its design is simple but deeply satisfying. Although you might feel it’s too simple to last very long it’s surprisingly difficult and unravels slowly. It’s perfect for a big crowd and tremendously accessible.

Everyone writes the name of a famous person down on a scrap of paper. They then fold up their bits of paper and throw them into a hat. The umpire also writes a name on a piece of paper and adds it to the hat. This name will be known as the Wild Card.

The umpire takes the names out of the hat and reads them aloud to the group twice through, explaining to the group that they must remember as many names as possible. The names are now put back into the hat, which is placed to one side. The umpire then selects a player to start. This player must try and guess which player has written which name. They might start by suggesting that their bookish elder brother is Paul Auster, or their trendy younger sister Vivienne Westwood. If this player guesses correctly then the person whose name they have guessed must join their empire. They may confer with their new recruit to keep remembering names and guessing who wrote them. If they keep guessing correctly, their empire expands accordingly.

If a player guesses wrongly, the turn passes to this player whose name hasn’t been guessed. They take over and begin to guess names. If they manage to guess the name of a person who has already accrued an empire, this person and all her captured players move to this new emperor. The game ends when one person has subsumed everyone into one huge domain. The aim is to remember all the names and to match them all accurately to their source.