Piatnik 1352

It’s a regular deck, it says 55 cards on the outside box which is a mix of blue and white. On one side the name of the brand “Ferd. Piatnik & Sons VIENNA”. The trade mark, a mounted jockey on a stationery racing horse. At the very bottom of this side of the tuck box “MADE IN AUSTRIA”. Now this isn’t one of the decks I would have handled as a child, the fact that at the bottom of the tuck box you find www.piatnik.com clearly positions this deck as one printed in the modern era of internet but the livery, the designs are the same. On the opposite face of the tuck box, a replica of the card backs, a kind of mesmerizing circular mandala, squared just enough to fit the rectangular bridge-sized cards. For some reason this pattern always reminded me of the stained glass of some ancient cathedral.

More importantly, this deck, this very particular, mundane deck is my first memory of a deck of cards. Simple, regular, reassuring like the embrace of a loved one. In my case the sentiment is tied inexorably to games  of Rummy, “Trent e un” (albeit 31) and Bella Donna played with relatives now long gone. It’s this strong nostalgic aura that permeates this deck and which transports me back to a time when life was forever, joys and pleasures simple and worries few if any.

The deck itself is loaded with meaning for me. The Joker on this deck is simply charming, his smile not threatening in the least. He simply sits there with a deck of cards in his left hand as he shows you, the happenstance bystander, the ace of clubs. His headdress has the crest of a rooster and then two dangling points with golden bells attached. He smiles benevolently as though beckoning you to sit at the table and play his mysterious game. The joker reminds me of Uncle Victor, this is not a pejorative association, on the contrary, the joviality Victor used to bring to the table was most welcome and lightened the mood with relentless laughs all coming from a good place.

Then, for some uncanny reason, the King of spades reminds me so much of my maternal grandfather, somewhat sombre, yet poised and ever alert. He was the product of his times, a man who had lived through the war and served in what were called the Territorials back then. He was a simple man, set in his ways. Right to the later years of life he would still recall stories from his younger days of service and he would recall them over and over in exactly the same way never failing to recall the slightest of details.

In similar fashion the Queen of Diamonds reminds me of my maternal grandmother, a woman whom I loath to forget and who loved me from the moment I was born. A fiery and temperamental woman with a heart of gold, that is how I want to recall her. The Queen of hearts then reminds me of her sister Aunty Betty, a devout and energetic woman, always willing to help and lend a hand. She was there when we needed her. Again she, like my grandmother, grand father and her husband Uncle Carm were survivors. They had seen the ugly side of a war battered Malta back in World War 2 and they had beat the odds, surviving to rebuild from what was left. That generation was indeed a generation of unsung heroes, of men and women who would carry the scars of war etched deep into their collective minds. They were those who raised my parents, who would see times of peace like the rest of us.

These were the same players who would, after a hearty Sunday lunch, help clear up the table and deal out the cards. Often it would be rummy, and given the number of players, two decks would be used. We learnt by watching, observing what the elders did and what seemed to work. I recall my mother as having an uncanny ability when it came to playing Rummy, she always seemed to make the right moves and pick the right discards or make the best draws. Inevitably she was also among those who tended to win the most hands.

On hotter summer days, the roof area which made part of my grandmother’s house, would be set up with adequate shades and a table would be setup out there. Card games there, would often be pleasurable, while also allowing everyone to enjoy a most welcome respite from the summer heat and stuffy indoors. As day would give in to night, lights would be lit, and the games could be allowed to continue until it was time to put the cards away.

Then for some reason unfathomable my memories fall upon uncle Carm (Carmelo), a quiet gentleman in the true sense of the word, as he would spread a copy of this same deck on the kitchen table at my grandmother’s house, and then proceed to reorder them, first by suit and later by rank. As I ponder that action I draw parallels with Tibetan monks, painstakingly building intricate mandalas with coloured sands, only to sweep the floor clean once they are done. In much the same way, the ordered deck of cards would once again be shuffled repeatedly and then dealt out for yet another card game. For uncle Carm, the exercise was more a simple necessity to check that the deck was complete in between games and then prepare that deck for the next in many games played on that same kitchen table. Yet the quiet concentration he poured into the effort held a sense of peace which quite simply went beyond the mundanity of it all. To this day, I do catch myself doing that same exercise, sorting a deck with the excuse of checking that it is whole, but part of me eases out as my mind stretches back in time.

As I type this at my keyboard, I have a copy of that same deck in front of me. I cannot help but thinking that it was this same deck of cards that contributed to my lifelong passion for card and board games. The enjoyment I used to derive from either playing with my relatives or just watching them play, kind of set the theme that would see me pick up other games as I grew up. Not only, but to read into the history of games, their significance and their lasting attractiveness. These are all games that come without batteries, whose rules need to be memorised and which demand an alert mind to fill-in the gaps and build mesmerising worlds of conflict, cooperation, strategy and luck. I hate to use the word luck in the old, superstitious sense, as I have long since abandoned the folly of anthropomorphising what is but a dance of variability and constant change. Yet this four letter word is one of the sweet ingredients that makes any game that much more palatable. Mind you, I do not enjoy games that are purely driven by luck but games that have but a taste mixed in, are among those I love best.

More importantly, these games are games only in so much as the opportunities they offer to socialise and meet those we care about. For indeed, life is ever so fleeting and every card or board game we fail to play with those we love, will inevitably become those we will most regret never having played.