Preface
… all historians are quirky individuals first, readers second, and writers third.1
Perhaps the most significant individual quirk that frames Designed for Play is fifteen years spent working for numerous local authorities on the restoration of historic parks and the creation of spaces for children to play. When I first started, it seemed obvious that playgrounds were for children. But over time I experienced an increasing uncertainty about who playgrounds were for and what purpose they served. In trying to work this out, I talked to lots of people – and they all gave me different answers. Children modelled, sketched and talked about expansive treehouses, underground tunnels, mid-air swimming pools, huge slides, secluded hideaways, water jets and other spaces of imagination and excitement. Busy parents and carers often requested a sturdy boundary fence, to keep dogs out and their children in. Maintenance staff preferred robust metal structures (and definitely no sand or water). Local politicians tended to be most interested in the publicity photo at the end of the project, ready for the next election campaign. Some advocates saw playgrounds as spaces where children could exercise power and influence over their play experiences, whiles others argued that we should be focusing on the wider urban environment and the creation of child-friendly cities more generally.
In response, we installed sandpits, tree swings, water features and treehouses. But it soon became clear that playgrounds were not the simple spaces for children’s play that I had initially imagined. If they were the right approach to meeting the needs of children, what social and environmental problems were they seeking to address? If they were not the right approach, then why did we spend so much time and money creating such spaces and attempting to care for them? Unfortunately, neither scholarly research nor popular accounts of the playground provided satisfactory answers to these questions. A brief foray into the writing of playground advocate Marjory Allen and urban commentator Jane Jacobs provided some critical and compelling leads, but also highlighted the need for a dedicated historical study.
A chance meeting with Karen Jones, in the picturesque grounds of Kearsney Abbey in Kent, reintroduced me to the possibilities of academic research and provided the spark that inspired this historical playground project. I am extremely grateful for Karen’s intellectual encouragement (and practical support for numerous funding bids). Since then, a supportive community of friends and scholars have been tirelessly encouraging, most notably Joe Jones, but also Ben Highmore, Charlotte Sleigh, Juliette Pattinson, Clare Hickman and a pan-European network of playground historians. Generous financial support from the CHASE doctoral training partnership, a Royal Historical Society Early Career Fellowship grant and a Scouloudi Foundation publication grant (via the Institute of Historical Research) have been invaluable. I am also indebted to the supportive team behind the New Historical Perspectives series at the University of London Press, especially Elizabeth Hurren and Emma Gallon.
Most importantly, Edie and Jake’s playful exploration of playgrounds, parks, beaches and forests has been fun and inspiring in equal measure. Our quirky adventures have sustained me throughout this project, thank you so much.
Notes
1. Susan A. Crane, ‘Historical Subjectivity: A Review Essay’, The Journal of Modern History, 78.2 (2006), 434–56 (p. 435).