Sylvanian Families has occupied a shifting space in our family for more than a decade. We started small, with my first daughter, aged seven, forming an attachment to a Sylvanian puppy that she carried in her pocket for about a year. (Thimble sized, Emma was lost, found and lost many times. She spent numerous nights at school in Ruby’s tray and survived countless wash cycles, wrapped in jeans and hoodies. Her furry feel faded but Ruby loved her.)
My second daughter took it to another level and started a serious collection – Sylvanian civic structures and transport solutions were all she wanted for Christmas and birthdays.
Now teenagers, they have entrusted their empire to their sister Orla, nine, and it has become her No 1 obsession. These days, you may walk into the bathroom and discover up to 20 little animals gathered round the sink and balanced by the bath – apparently they are at a waterpark. You may go to close a window only to see outside, on the sill, a bunch of bunnies on a camping trip. Returning a book to the shelf, you might be met by a small bear who has moved into the space and set up a shoe shop.
It’s not surprising, then, that Orla saw last Sunday’s Sylvanian 30th birthday picnic in Hatchlands Park, Surrey, as a golden opportunity.
Sylvanian Families was launched in 1985 when the Japanese toy company Epoch (better known for video games) came across a new technical process for simulating animal fur. From this sprung tiny anthropomorphic creatures that bred in absurdly neat family sets (mum and dad, son and daughter) and lived a 1950s pastoral existence. Sylvanian mums wear floral pinnies and love to bake. The dads opt for braces or dungarees and work hard in rural occupations.
Their ever-expanding infrastructure seems quintessentially English – the Morris Minor, the canal boat and the red telephone box, Sylvania’s only nod to technology. The names are English, too – Hugh Grunt, the brother pig, Emma Dale, the lamb, Beatrix Spotter, the mummy meerkat. Yet, Epoch says Sylvania could be anytime, anywhere – the word sylvan, from which it’s derived, means “of the forest or woods”.
Japan has the most enthusiasts of the 50 countries in which they are sold – there’s a Sylvanian theme park there and Sylvanian-themed restaurants. The US is the second biggest market, then the UK.
Jacc Batch, from Kettering, Northamptonshire, is believed to have the world’s biggest collection. Now 29 and star guest at the birthday picnic, he still remembers getting his first Sylvanian aged seven. “I had to go to the doctors so Mum said I could choose something from the toy shop as a treat. I chose hedgehog brother.”
It was the start of something beautiful. “I just loved the fantasy world they lived in. Nowadays, it’s all about what toys can do – back then it was what you could do with the toys.”
The owner of a dance school, Batch buys one Sylvanian item a day – if a family is released in four packages in four countries, he tries to get all of them. The biggest bedroom in his house is given over to his collection while another is a studio used to photograph Sylvanian scenes. He has visited the Sylvanian theme park in Japan with his partner, Craig, who is also here today, looking broadly tolerant.
Is Batch bothered by the 1950s vibe, the uniform nuclear families, the gender cliches? There are no single-parent families in Sylvania, let alone gay ones.
“Well, it’s slowly changing,” he says. “It’s not all girl/boy families any more – there are some with just daughters. They seem to be fading out the brothers.”
He lowers his voice. “There’s even a mixed-race family now – the Tuxedo Cats. The dad and the son were black and the mum and daughters were white with black ears. Controversial.”
Worryingly though, the black son seems to have been killed off. “They’ve brought out a new version of the same family more grown-up and he isn’t there any more – it’s just the girls.”
Batch shakes his head. “Maybe he didn’t make it …”
Like Batch, many adults at the picnic loved Sylvanians as children. Nicky Hurst, 35, is here with Catherine, her three-year-old daughter.
“My older sister and I had a whole Sylvanian empire across the top floor of our house,” she says. “We had the bakery, the windmill, but most of the families were in a big doll’s house and boxes we made with dividers and off-cuts of carpets. We made their food and they even had their own currency from modelling clay. Each family kept their money in little yellow pots from Kinder egg toy containers.
“My parents let us use all the upstairs space – our room, the landing, even their bedroom – and we’d play for hours. Eventually the whole lot ended up in their loft and I went to find it pretty much as soon as I had Catherine. It has lasted really well.”
Girl fans heavily outnumber boys, according to Epoch, and the peak playing age for Sylvanians is five to seven – though I think that’s too young to appreciate the intricate detail and fiddly accessories. At the picnic, Abby Walton and Charlotte Jolly, both 11 and down from Chinnor, Oxfordshire, are among the oldest children.
Abby, who is due to start secondary school this September, is finding fewer friends willing to engage in Sylvanian play. “Most have grown out of them and I think it’s really sad,” she says. “When I told one friend about this picnic, I thought she’d be excited but she just said, ‘I haven’t been collecting Sylvanians for ages.’ She probably wanted to come but she’s worried it wouldn’t seem cool. Sylvanians are like the last little bit of childhood I have left.”
Luckily, Orla is still untroubled by the cool factor. At the picnic, her relatively advanced years gives her an unfair advantage during party games, which she exploits mercilessly to win some top prizes. It’s a day of pure joy.
Next morning, we’re late leaving for school as Orla is lost in Sylvania, balancing bunnies on bikes and sending them off to buy popcorn but I’m trying not to mind. Orla is our last child. When one day she drifts behind a screen, closes her bedroom door and declares herself done with Sylvanians, the whole lot will go to Oxfam. For the first time in years, we’ll be able to walk around the house, without the risk of stepping on a small, hard woodland creature. And that’ll be it.
I’ll miss them.
