Evolution of an Arcade Junkie - Part one of two

By David Campbell

I was born in Scotland, in 1975. Some people may think that makes me old, but 1975 was a great year to be born. Let me explain why.

Portobello Beach Arcade - Edinburgh

Video gaming was in its infancy. There were a few primitive games out there, but the explosion of fast paced, vibrant games that made you forget where you were was still to come. Most younger people probably cannot comprehend what a magical time this was.

If you ask a teenager today what the first console game they ever played was, I would bet that the vast majority of them wouldn’t be able to tell you. 

Now, that may be because home video games are commonplace now, and part of everyday life. Back when I was a kid, however, home video games consisted of variants of Pong, generously labelled as “Sports” games. Sure, Atari and a few other companies would change all that, but arcades.. nothing could rival an arcade experience.

The sights, the sounds, the colourful images, the transition as your eyes adjusted from normal outside life to the darkened digital sanctuary, revealing the delights within. That moment where you scan the arcade, looking for your favourite game, or maybe a new game.. deciding which coin slot would earn the right to your hard earned pocket money.

I remember the first arcade game I ever played. It was at Haggerston Castle holiday park in Northumberland. On our first explorative walk around the camp site, my mum, dad and I discovered a large white building, with what appeared to be a TV sitting outside on a large box. As we approached, we noticed a steering wheel

I ran forward, curious and excited by this neon coloured delight. I deliriously pushed the pedal, rocked the wheel, moved the  gear lever up and down. My mum examined this strange beast, and did something that changed my life forever. She gave me 10p to put in the machine. It was Atari’s “Night Driver”. It was the stand up version, with a black and white screen. Rudimentary would be a generous description of the graphics, but to my four year old overloaded brain, I was there - I was in a car, racing along at breakneck speed, in the dead of night. I crashed lots. I got another 10p.. and my addiction was born.

Onto the 80s

My arcade addiction grew almost in parallel with the exponential explosion of the arcade industry after my experience with Night Driver in 1979.

We used to visit Portobello beach in Edinburgh for a treat day. I would make a beeline for the arcades, which were now plentiful. New games seemed to turn up every time I visited.

By 1983, we were in what has now become known as the “Golden Age” of the arcade.  Classics such as Asteroids and Space Invaders which people had swarmed around had grown into full colour, polyphonic coin swallowers. Pac-Man, Joust, Defender, Robotron, Galaxian, Donkey Kong, Gorf, Pole Position and Spy Hunter were the regulars in most arcades. Vast rooms filled with the sonic and visual cacophony of coins rattling, buttons being thumped, teaser sounds, laser blasts, explosions, jingles; “noise” to our parents, but a delightful symphony to my young ears. 

1983 would also be the year that created a fusion of two things that have defined me - video games and Star Wars. Atari released the seminal game of the film and allowed youngsters to fulfill their fantasies across the globe. Stepping into the large cockpit for the first time; settling on the gloss black wooden bench, hands gently cradling the flight yoke of the X-Wing... the anticipation was incredible. Putting the coin in the slot, almost in slow motion; it was sensory overload. To hear the Star Wars them pumped into the speakers, the crawling text, then BOOM! you are part of the Rebel Alliance, and you are flying an X-Wing in space. Obi Wan provides encouragement as your ship swoops and swerves, shields dropping with each TIE Fighter hit, then you nosedive straight into the Death Star trench. Get those Photon torpedoes on target, and you are rewarded with shards of the destroyed space station flying across the screen.

You emerge slowly from that cockpit, and it takes you a few seconds to realise you aren’t in space, but in an arcade. You look back at what you've just experienced. The game may only have lasted a few moments, but the smile on your face and the memories you’ve just created will last an awful lot longer.

David Campbell's story continues soon....

Operation Wolf - a true story - By Andy Pryer

In 1987 I was ten years old and already a seasoned gamer. Not only had I cut my teeth on the rubbery 48k spectrum, but I’d also upgraded to the breathtakingly powerful 128k +2 model too. Several of my friends who put brain before heart had C64s (controversial!) and if I didn't already have my Amiga, I’d have already earned my wings on my friend’s machine by now.

One summer, we holidayed in Dawlish and took an apartment directly opposite a large Amusement Arcade. Each morning I was awakened by an an electronic Speak & Spell type voice loudly and repeatedly exclaiming ‘PLACE YOUR BETS NOW PLEASE!’ followed a simple monotone ditty attempting to attract punters to a mechanical horse racing game. The sound is deeply engrained on my brain as the background ambiance of pure and carefree pleasure.

Whatever we got up to during the day, we’d invariably gravitate to the arcade in the evening as there was little else on offer. As I patrolled the arcade interior, waiting for my mother to deplete her generous supply of 2p pieces on the ‘tuppenny waterfall’, I regarded the rows Jamma cabinets with an unimpressed air. ‘Joystick and buttons? Do me a favour, I have that in my bedroom!’ I wasn’t about to be suckered into parting with my hard earned coin playing a game I could play at home, regardless of the marginally better graphics. A veteran like me had seen it all before. (What I wouldn’t give for an evening in that arcade and a wheelbarrow of 10p pieces now though.)

‘But wait a second... now there’s something I don’t have at home’... Introducing Operation Wolf: the game you play with a goddamn GUN! Not a wussy bright pink, plasticy approximation of a gun, but a black, chunky, gratifying, throbbing, death-dealing Uzi. I’d seen that gun on TV! It’s a real gun!

The attract mode was an enormous tease: Commando with Arnie had came out a couple of years before and the scene of him preparing for battle was - I’ll be kind and say ‘homaged’ here with some nicely detailed graphics and oh-so serious music. Unlike many of the games around at the time, this one had a particularly sober and mature feel, which, when combined with the deep bass generated by the cabinet, gave it real gravitas and demanded attention.

Unlike the namby-pamby kids of today, boys of the 80’s were encouraged to play with toy guns, fight in the dirt and watch programs in which large men were routinely punched square in their faces. The chance to dish out some hot-lead was the realisation of all my childhood playground games. I just couldn’t get my cash into the machine fast enough.

The machine acknowledged the drop of the currency with a satisfying chime and as I caressed the weapon, finger itching on the trigger, I eagerly awaited some targets.

The cut-scenes were blessedly short, giving only the briefest exposition: We’re here to rescue some hostages. Who cares? Bring on the badies.

First play and the gun was so gratifying to use I became drunk with power and exhibiting a thousand yard stare, I hose down everything in sight with white hot lead, unleashing mayhem on those poor schmucks who never know what hit ‘em. I expend all my ammo too quickly and I’m captured - doomed to a short life covered in lice and starving. I was even treated to an glimpse of my future self; pale, gaunt and weakened by dysentery. The shame! I should have saved at least one bullet!

Having purged from my system the urge to loose off all my rounds as quickly as possible, I have another attempt. This time, marksmanship is the order of the day and it pays off in spades. Not only is it more satisfying to place individual shots with surgical precision, making one feel like a true professional and the right man for this job, but on the occasions when the enemy squadies obligingly line up, it’s immensely gratifying to mow them down with a short, controlled burst. The heft of the gun and the impact of the bullets is palpable and for the moments you’re contained within the game you’re convinced that your wielding real power. Windows shatter, bushes twitch as the rounds tear through their delicate leaves and missed shot kick up clods of dirt - even cockerels aren't safe from your wrath, as blasting their indestructible bodies yields essential supplies. And for those pesky helicopters and trucks which are a drain on resources to deal with conventionally, there's the handy grenade launcher which makes short work of them as long as you use the grenades sparingly. To cap it all, the action is punctuated by little incidental sound cues, a nice touch which really helps to give it the action movie feel.

Some care is required to protect the non-combatants who stray into the line of fire. There’s a skinny chav who runs unpredictably through the mayhem panic strickenly screaming, a pair of stretcher bearing nurses who I assume must be twins with some vital mental link since if you shoot one they both die with a dismayed ‘NO!’. In the later stages there are the hostages to avoid, snuff them and even if you do make it home Mr Prez won’t be throwing you any parties, the hundreds of enemies of the state dead by your hand will count for nothing if you come home alone.

It wasn’t long before I’d burned through my meager supply of 10p pieces and my eyes had become dry from not blinking. As I reluctantly turned away from the machine, I found I’d drawn a small crowd of spectators, mostly bored middle aged men, none of whom had the cojones to step up for some trigger-time for fear of looking foolish. I must admit to being rather pleased with my performance.

That evening back at the apartment, I must have been very tiresome indeed. I was so excited by my discovery that I insisted to recounting my adventure in every detail, listing the various nuances, features and enemy types in the game. It must have been very tedious for my parents, but at least they knew how to keep me occupied in the evenings now, I couldn’t wait to get back to the Arcade. Over the following week, I honed my skill further and became pretty accomplished, although the cash always gave out before I could get to the end.

Once I got home again and the balmy summer evenings of the holiday gave way to more mundane routine all I had were the various home system ports. The game was available for all the home platforms, but I only really had access to two, neither of which impressed me greatly. Without the gun there was just something missing.

The spectrum version was just an insult to the greatness of it’s arcade heritage. For one thing it took ages to load - even for a spectrum game. I seem to remember timing at it a patience-testing 15 mins! How can it possibly take that long to load 128k? The payoff for the loading ordeal left much to be desired. Gone were the vivid colours of the arcade which were replaced by monochrome graphics. There was also a complete lack of animation of the sprites an the constant and annoying beeps and chimes masquerading as sound effects were pretty annoying. I don’t think it was even light gun compatible, at least my gun didn't work with it.

The Amiga version faired little better despite the graphics, which were as faithful as they could have been. The music could have been handled much better and is a little too cheery in places, although some of the arcade original’s samples made it. As for the game itself however there are more enemies to     shoot at, which doesn’t sound bad like a bad thing, but it just means you simply hold the fire button and move the mouse around, which detracts enormously from the sensation of being a professional picking his shots. It also causes a constant cacophony of noise. Gone are the subtleties of the sound design present in the arcade version. The mouse control method is an improvement of the keyboard but can’t make up of the lack of a gun. Completing this game is a simple test of endurance rather than skill, a challenge which can be made easier simply by turning the volume down.

Andy Pryer in full Operation Wolf mode!

Another great Blog story by Andy Pryer

READ the GamesYouLoved Review of Operation Wolf - the Arcade.
Click here www.gamesyouloved.com/game-genre/video-arcade/arcade/operation-wolf/

Games....not Homework!

This article will serve as a confession of sorts. I’ve lived with the burden of what I’ve done for long enough, the time has arrived for me to come clean and be judged by my peers for my crime of true passion.

Let me start at the beginning; When I was in the first few years of middle school, games came on tape and were available from everywhere: Superdrug, newsagents, independent hardware stores as well as the places you’d expect to find them. They were so cheap and so prevalent that you could almost guarantee being treated to a new game each week. They were magical affairs too, showing limitless imagination - I’m talking really random messed up things. The cheaper the game, the more bizarre the concept. No-one had set the rules yet and anything went, when you loaded one of those babies, your patience was rewarded by being transported to a magical nether world which seemed more palpable than games do today even with their physics and graphics.

As you can tell I was satisfied - more than satisfied - I was enthralled!

Then, one day, I paid a visit to a friends house where I was transported to a higher astral plain altogether. This kid was blessed with an Amiga 500, an unbelievable piece of tech and surely proof of humans backward engineering alien technology. I wouldn't have been more blown away if I’d caught a glimpse of his mum getting out of the shower. I needed one to live.

I immediately hatched a scheme to ride my bike to his house each day and walk to school with him under the pretext that he lived much closer than I did. The real reason of course was to create the opportunity for a few stolen moments with my new infatuation.

It was clear that this charade couldn't continue forever, the sordid affair had to be resolved by me acquiring my own system: but how? We weren’t a wealthy family and a gift like this was unheard of for any occasion, so with good honest hard work clearly out of the question I did the only thing I could think of. I embarked upon a media campaign to make a Presidential election look pitiful. I hid notes throughout the house with pro-Amiga slogans such as ‘Amiga Rulz’, ‘Amiga Phorever’, ‘500 reasons to buy an Amiga’ & Wot no Amiga’. They were all up the stairs, in cupboards, wardrobes, coat pockets, shoes, everywhere and anywhere and I kept the momentum up for days and weeks until it became a big joke. The point came when people were surprised to open an ice cream tub and NOT find a note inside.


It was about this time when my school was most insistent on me learning my times tables. The problem was that I didn’t really feel like it. It was quite tedious and I couldn’t see the point in memorising a whole bunch of sums ahead of time on the off chance I might one-day need them. To this day I stand by my principles and still I haven’t learned them and I think I’ve managed to become a useful member of society, preferring instead to make calculations on an ad-hoc basis without having to recite a little song under my breath until I reach the right line.


With my failure to perform in this respect in mind, my father offered me a deal: Learn all twelve of the tables and he would buy me my coveted Amiga and all the trimmings.

This was a remarkable offer and about the best I was ever likely to get. If I wanted Dragon Ninga, Outrun, After Burner et al in the comfort of my room this was my only chance.

The problem was it was still too much like work and besides, I was principled. I’d already decided that to learn the times tables parrot-fashion was a fruitless exercise.

What I did instead was retire to my room early ‘to study’, played on the trusty speccy with the volume way low until I was tired then simply went to sleep slumped over my desk with all my maths revision books as a pillow and still in full school uniform.

My father would test my progress and hide his disappointment quite well when it was clear I’d learned nothing more than the 10 & 11 times tables I’d always known. I guess this went on for a week or two, before my father eventually took pity on me and clearly taking me for a hopeless dunce, drove me to Megaland in Southampton and bought me my prize. I even got the official Commodore stereo monitor. What a day! It came with The New Zealand Story and Deluxe Paint II along with Batman the Movie and FA18 - Interceptor.

I can’t imagine anything ever topping the sheer joy and excitement of that afternoon. I can only hope that my father would forgive me grifting him so mercilessly!


This great story by Andy Pryer.

Also Andy has a YouTube Channel Lizzzzardking

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