Dominoes is no game for girls

Christmas just a few days off, and a problem re-emerges I thought had gone away forty years ago: What present to give a female child that is not a doll or something else related to dolls? Clothes, cradles, prams, wardrobes, houses?

And, in the modern world, doesn’t cost one or two limbs because it happens to contain a microchip?

Toys have always been easy for boys. There are all manner of things that run or fly, can be hit or kicked, that come with parts they can put together and so improve their mechanical skills. Or blocks for would-be architects or developers.

Or just a penknife can make a highly acceptable gift for a boy. And it is one you may upgrade every year, starting with a basic blade and moving through the whole range of Swiss Army knives with additional gadgets like nail-scissors, toothpicks, screw-drivers, saws and bottle-openers.

For years, in my pre-teen age, I envied Richmal Crompton’s William Brown character because he had a pocket knife that was able to remove stones from horses’ hooves.

As parent to four daughters, I have long deplored the restriction our society places on toys for little girls. It is highly discriminatory and I’m surprised the Women’s Libbers haven’t taken it up before now.

Instead, I notice a lame attempt by toy manufacturers to broaden the range of options by introducing an older Barbie, one with worry lines and cellulose thighs. A fat lot of use that will be, in all senses.

The problem of presents for little girls re-occurs because those four daughters have produced offspring. Of our nine grandchildren, no fewer than seven are female. I fear women are conspiring to take over the world.

My wife and I often tried to wean our daughters away from what was on offer for female children, to introduce them to a broader canvas of Life. Me particularly.

Birthdays and Christmases, we showered them with all manner of boy-type toys: Meccano sets, electric trains, Action Men, Frisbees, model aeroplane kits, fishing rods.

To little avail. Their interest was fleeting, if any; mainly, I imagine, because they didn’t want to appear non-conformist or foolish in the eyes of their peers.

So usually I ended up having to play with the darn things myself. Just to offset the expenditure.

When our eldest daughter took up Girl Guiding, I went out and bought her a scout knife. It wasn’t quite Swiss Army but handsome enough. And, yes, it did have the stone-from-hoof amenity.

But, alas, the Guide phase didn’t last and soon the knife was mislaid.

One gift that was successful for a while with our children was a set of dominoes, inlaid, quasi-ivory. So I was encouraged the other evening to find that one grand-daughter had come across these pieces in some dark recess and was idly shuffling them about on the carpet.

Now I am a domino player of international experience. I learned in a hard school during one summer I spent in Spain. We would go down to this little village on the island of Formentera and engage the locals.

The arrangement was that, if they beat us, we would buy the beer. If we beat them, we would buy the beer. Some Spanish traditions are rather strange for foreigners to understand.

Still, the beer was cheap, the company genial and we soon got to know the finer tactics of the game. It wasn’t too long before we were winning and buying all the time.

So when my grand-daughter produced the dominoes the other evening, and asked me how to play, I passed on some of those tactics. Not too many. No grandfather is a complete idiot.

Nevertheless, I explained how to keep count of the different cards, how important it was to play to one’s strength and when to withhold doubles and when not. That sort of thing.

She won the third game. The fourth, fifth and sixth.

Of course, it was beginner’s luck. But it doesn’t seem to have run out, night after night. Nor has her enthusiasm. My only consolation is that we aren’t playing for beer.

This weekend, I intend finding that scout knife with the hoof thingummy. It would be nice to have it handy – just to give the child a gentle nudge on the wrist as she prepares to put down her final card.