During last year’s tedious Covid-19 lockdown I fell into the clutches of a shadowy global movement. No, I’m not talking about QAnon, the Proud Boys or those loony anti-vaxxers, but the worldwide fraternity of modellers – people who dedicate their free time to building meticulous scale models of fighter planes, historic ships and military hardware.
As a child I’d built plastic kits of Spitfires and Hurricanes and thought it might be fun to introduce my six-year-old son to the archaic world of the sprues, poly cement and decals.
Since Myles consumes the usual diet of cartoons, computer games and learning apps, I was worried the arrival of our first kit, a scale model of James Cook’s famous ship HMS Endeavour, would be greeted with indifference, even hostility. Instead, it was infatuation at first sight and Myles is now an avid, even obsessive, modeller.
Together we labour for hours decoding complex instructions, gluing tiny plastic components together, sanding hulls and wings, making ships’ rigging and discussing paint schemes.
In the mornings Peppa Pig and SpongeBob SquarePants have been replaced by a small band of YouTube modellers who provide expert commentary on this hobby – from detailed product reviews to technical support and historical background.
Operating from sheds and spare rooms across Europe, North America and Australasia, this cohort of male modellers (mostly bearded Englishmen) has become Myles’s second family and a constant source of delight; although pitched at a young audience these shows are adult in tone and never patronizing.
The models themselves are not expensive (a basic 1:72 aircraft from Airfix costs around $25), but the novice kit builder must also buy a wide range of accessories, such as cutting boards, snips and specialist glues and varnishes. Before long the home modeller has monopolized the dining table.
“Look, there’s glue on the table again,” shouts my wife in exasperation. “I’m sick of these models – get them out of the house or I’ll throw them in the bin.”
Over the past few months, I’ve started to understand the strange alchemy that occurs as the modeller transforms a bagful of plastic components into a finished product. To an outsider our WW2 fighter planes and 19th Century sailing ships may look like poorly made plastic toys, but to Myles they are an endless source of wonder.
“Daddy, did you know that a squadron of Curtiss P-40 aircraft fought with the Chinese in the war?” he said the other day. “They were known as the Flying Tigers and quite famous.”
Apart from exciting his interest in history, modelling is a brilliant way for boys to learn about engineering and design; sometimes I find Myles just gazing down the deck of a ship or doing aerial manoeuvres with his Zero or Curtiss planes.
From his YouTube mentors my son has acquired an impressive knowledge of the development of both ship and aircraft design. He is now familiar with great events such as Pearl Harbor, the Battle of Britain and the D-Day Landings – subjects that are unlikely to crop up in his Australian school curriculum.
Modelling kept us sane during the darkest days of Covid-19 but is now an important part of our weekly routine, alongside swimming classes and cricket practice. Myles has learned to snip, sand and glue with the best of them. And tantrums? These days, we prefer to call them creative differences.
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