Marbles and the Art of War
Marbles and the Art of War
An essay by Marcella Kyrein
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Marble and mud season is upon us, reminding me of a time in grade five when my teacher, Mr. Norman, used to confiscate marbles from unruly students and keep them in a gallon jar on his desk. At night he locked them in his office, as he was also the principal of our small school.
We were a rowdy, uncouth bunch, and the jar grew steadily full—a festering focal point for the previous owners of the marbles. Imagine sitting in class and staring at your most prized King Cob, captured and eyeballing you back from a showcase of steelies, peewees, and colourful cat’s eyes. So close and yet so far.
The jar became a magnet for classroom hostilities and general unrest. Students would mill around the teacher’s desk before lessons, taking turns hoisting it and marvelling at its contents. By the time marble season neared its end, the lid had to be jammed on to contain the collection.
Mr. Norman eventually devised a plan to divest himself of the contentious hoard: we’d hold a contest, and whoever came up with the best name for our new school newspaper would take home the bounty. I chose the name The Pupil—a play on our local paper, The Citizen—and won the contest. There was some grumbling, and the boys were especially vexed that a girl was now in possession of such a stupendous windfall.
Now came the dilemma: how to get the jar home without further incurring the wrath of my envious classmates.
I lived just across the schoolyard, so it should have been a quick home free. But the jar was heavy and cumbersome, and I knew some of my classmates well enough to suspect that the more truculent among them might attempt a coup. Luckily, I had a secret weapon: a tall, older brother in grade six who would happily serve as muscle should the need arise.
I enlisted him, and big brothers being what they are—with nothing in life being free—we made a quick negotiation for his small share of the spoils. After school, we set out warily across the yard toward our fence. All was going well until, just before we reached it, several marauders surprised us by jumping the fence from our side of the property, where they had been lying in wait.
We were outnumbered but not outgunned. My brother wrenched the lid off the jar and grabbed a King Cob, which he launched at the closest attacker, bouncing it smartly off the top of their head. The mob stalled momentarily as they considered their next move amid the cries of their wounded comrade.
In a flash of adrenaline, I grabbed a handful of marbles and chucked them as far as I could into the loose gravel of the schoolyard. The horde hesitated, then scrambled for the loot while my brother and I made our getaway.
The momentary victory didn’t seem complete, though, as my marble season was forever marred. I couldn’t play my winnings without some kid declaring that any marble with defining features was once theirs and trying to lay claim. In the end, in a moment of ire, I dumped the whole trove into my bedroom aquarium to bunk safely with my goldfish.
At night, I’d lie in bed and stare at the bubbling, backlit tank, relishing its glistening treasure and remembering which disgruntled classmate had owned which particular marble—and how I’d satisfactorily thwarted their ill-fated attempts to regain ownership of riches fairly won.
Sometimes it’s good to be Queen.
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Marcella Kyrein is a writer from Prince George whose work explores the quirks, tensions, and small dramas of childhood. Drawing on the grit and nostalgia of growing up in Northern BC, she captures the spirited rivalries and social dynamics that defined the playground and the neighbourhoods of the 1960s and ‘70s. Her short story, “Marbles and the Art of War,” originally appeared in Galaxy Brain Magazine.
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The British Columbia Review
Interim Editors, 2023-26: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction)
Publisher: Richard Mackie
Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
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