When I was a wee one my mates and me had tons of fun chucking stuff out of my bedroom window! I had a big sash window which slid upwards so we could all stand there.
The simplest stuff we launched were paper planes folded Lightning-style with a paper clip on the nose for extra thrust. It was a beautiful sight to see a whole squadron of white A4's streaking over the garage below and into next door's airspace.
Next up were things that dropped like a lead balloon. We started small with airfix soldiers and then cheap plastic parachutists bought at the Paper shop, which weren't half bad really if they caught the breeze. I remember the red and white checkered parachutes strung to their shoulders as if it were yesterday. Those figures must have been made in their millions and I still see them today on cheap toy racks. If they decided to all invade by air one day we'd be toast!
Size mattered to kids and we graduated to, no, not ourselves, although given time and resources!... no, next came Action Men and all his pals like Tommy Gun and Major Matt Mason. We tried everything to get these guys to float on the wind: hankies, pillow cases and carrier bags. These worked the best as long as any holes were taped up. Action Man even had gripping hands, which were ideal for holding the ropes. Major Matt came with a helmet but we usually put that to one side as his head was conveniently made of rubber anyway. Callisto had a green helmet head and Tommy Gunn was, well, just too cool for flight school.
My window wasn't high up enough for properly launching these 12 inch heroes. Ideally we would have stood on the roof but then I wouldn't be writing this. No, the solution was to first throw the figure up as far as we could and then hope the parachute would catch the thermals rising from the kitchen expelair. It was so exciting that we would cheer as the little men fell to Earth, some slowly and alas, some very quickly indeed. We never chucked a Sindy out of the window as we didn't have access to girlie stuff due to a distinct lack of small Sisters connected to the crew.
Finally, we got serious! Spurred on by a growing sense of mischievousness and fueled by the endless struggle with that most timeless of enemies, older Brothers, we got weaponised. Out went the harmless toys and in came, yes, that nuke of the juvenile armoury, that warhead of choice for children everywhere, the water bomb.
Oh, what joy, what rapture! There is nothing quite so heavenly as a water-filled balloon flung from the window and aimed perfectly for a wet dousing of an older Bother's hairy, cocky head! Bullseye, we'd cry and fling volleys of them like trebuchet's besieging York!
Naturally these damp bombing raids could only end one way; the enemy, soaked and humiliated, would drop his car polishing cloth and storm the castle, bringing the eternal skirmish indoors and upstairs whilst screaming the age-old battle cry of the drenched; " Paul, I'll kill you you little bastard!"
All that remained outside on the glistening driveway were the casualties of war, the sad torn shreds of red and blue rubber scattered around my Brother's Austin Healey Sprite. They did not shrivel in vain though. The war was far from lost. New weapons were needed. Dry parent-friendly ones, which befitted the new arena, ones which could be wielded at close quarters on the perilous stairwells and landings of our upstairs.
But that's another story!