Toy museum reopens

From the archive, first published Saturday 25th May 2002.

The Brighton Toy and Model Museum, under the arches by the city's main station, will officially reopen on Monday after almost three years.

A flood in 1998 put its collections out of the public eye, but now the museum has been extensively renovated.

"The land of long shadows on county cricket grounds, warm beer and old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist ..." When John Major made his famous speech about the joys of Britishness, he conjured up a time of simple pleasures, traditional values and a slower pace of life.

It is a way of life preserved perfectly in the museum, with its roomfuls of treasured model trains and lead soldiers.

These are toys from a childhood we all feel nostalgic for - a Just William era of scamps who played out all day and came home with mucky faces that had to be scrubbed before tea.

Toys tell their own version of history and this museum is full of stories from the past.

Its centrepiece is a giant train set layout studded with the symbols of a simpler time.

Railside billboards entice the diminutive passengers to buy Capstan's cigarettes or Lyons tea.

Freight trains loaded with sacks of salt back out of a shed plastered with adverts for Bovril and Wrights coal tar soap.

A town square bustles with newspaper sellers and red double-deck buses. A blue police box stands reassuringly in the corner by the old-fashioned gaslight and you can almost hear the klaxon horns as the cars with their bulbous headlights jostle for space.

A steam train wends its way over a sturdy-looking iron bridge. Inside, the dining car is laid out for lunch.

On the platform, a porter loads up a trolley with trunks while a woman in a cloche hat kisses a baby goodbye. The tiny figures sit with their hands patiently folded for a train they know will be on time.

If this layout feels like a real place and time, it is because a touch of magic has been breathed into it by the museum's founder, Chris Littledale.

If the museum thrums with a sense of old-fashioned courtesy and respect, it is because of the extraordinary dedication of Chris and his team.

With no public funds, the museum can only exist through goodwill. Some benefactors have donated their treasured toys for free, others volunteer to help out on the till.

One man in his 80s designed all the cut-out signs on the cabinets and doorways.

But it was Chris who put his life on hold to get the project off the ground and without his dedication there would not be a museum.

As a small boy, Chris was fascinated by steam trains. Now 60, he still remembers the day he first saw an engine up close.

He said: "I was about three and had been visiting my grandparents. We were in Victoria station and the safety valve on one of the trains suddenly made this awesome noise. I was petrified and I hid behind my mum's legs and clung to her skirt. But I think it was the fear that fascinated me."

That encounter sparked a lifelong interest in model trains.

As a schoolboy, he tried to get a loan from his headmaster's wife to buy a box of model trains, spent every spare penny on his hobby and travelled to all the junk shops in Portsmouth and Southampton looking for parts.

As the word began to spread about this train-obsessed boy, other collectors donated their own bits and pieces to help him along.

Most of the museum's model railway collection belongs to Chris. It includes an engine made for the Coronation of George VI, thought to be worth at least £14,000.

He said: "I have things here that I paid 25 shillings for that are worth at least £9,000 now.

"Many of the things in the collection are very rare and very valuable."

Although Chris' main interest was always in trains, he has contributed to many of the museum's other collections.

In one display case, his father's Steiff teddy bear from 1910 peers out beadily over a jaunty long snout, while his mother's Georgian baby rattle nestles in the corner.

Chris said: "The museum started be-cause I had this huge collection and I was beginning to wonder what to do with it all. It seemed a little possessive to keep these things in a house where no one else could see them."

So 11 years ago, Chris decided to set up a museum to house his collection. He formed a charitable trust and began hunting for premises.

"We looked at old hotels, old cinemas, all sorts of places but none were quite right. Then eventually the arches became available.

"The museum does seem to belong in the arches, as if it has been here for much longer than it actually has. It seems appropriate it is so close to the railway station too."

At first, the location seemed ideal. But creating a museum there almost bankrupted him.

"We spent almost a year clearing the premises up. We had to completely rewire it and re-brick the arches."

For a year, Chris' work as a toy restorer and auction consultant was put on hold while he struggled to get the museum open.

"There was a point before we opened when I thought 'what have we done?'. I almost bankrupted myself, I had no social life anymore and there I was standing on a scaffolding tower painting the roof by myself night after night."

The museum eventually opened in 1991 - but seven years later disaster struck.

"It was 1998 and Railtrack was rebuilding the station. It re-routed the drainage and the result was disastrous. After heavy rain, water streamed out of the brickwork and cascaded across the floor.

"I came in one morning and there was a little waterfall gushing over the steps. It was coming through like a river."

The museum was forced to close and a wrangle with Railtrack began. Eventually a solution was devised - the arches have now been lined with corrugated metal and guttering to stop the rain trickling in.

Chris said: "The whole thing was a logistical nightmare. It took a long time to get it sorted out.

"I don't think the museum would still exist if it wasn't for a huge amount of determination and energy."

By the time of the flood, the museum was an Aladdin's cave of toys, from the lead soldiers of Napoleon's army to a spooky collection of Eastern European puppets.

There was a display of Oriental dolls and a circus layout complete with exotic animals, clowns on stilts and a flamboyant big top.

One case was dedicated to ambulance and hospital toys throughout the 20th Century and another to building sets. Luckily none of these collectibles were damaged in the flood.

Chris had to cram as many of them as he could into his Hove home and wait for the drainage problem to be solved.

Now these exhibits have been restored to their former glory and the museum once again feels as if it has stood there for decades.

There is no corner of the city more suffused with a sense of the magic of childhood and its place in our country's past.

Opening times: Tuesday to Friday, 10am to 5pm; Saturday, 11am to 5pm; closed Sunday and Monday, except bank holidays.

Admission costs £3.50 for adults and £2 for children and OAPs.

For more information, telephone 01273 749494.

Please note: The museum will not be open to the general public during its official reopening on Monday.

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