I wasn’t very old in 1987, when LEGO released this 211-piece set. Despite my tender age, though, I can clearly remember the trip to the toy shop with my dad, and the sheer excitement that I felt picking up a box almost as big as I was; a box teeming with more minifigures than I’d ever seen together in one set, let alone owned. Coming at the height of what my parents would retrospectively term my “Robin Hood Phase”, LEGO couldn’t have timed this release any better for me.
But here’s the thing: it’s not really a “Robin Hood” set, strictly speaking - it’s a “Forestmen”, or “Forest People”, set. LEGO said, “The Forestmen are a merry band of skilled archers. They enjoy good food and good times,” and would often depict them as warring with the Crusaders in their catalogues and promotional material, even including a Forestman prisoner in a Crusaders set and an attacking Crusader in a Forestmen set, but they never officially acknowledged that these forest folk were intended to be Robin Hood and his band of outlaws. I find this odd, to say the least, as it’s not as if LEGO would have had to pay out any royalties for branding their Forestmen in a more marketable way.
Ultimately it never mattered to me as a child – there was no arguing with me that the man in green was indeed Robin Hood, and with their long-established LEGO smiley faces, his men were certainly merry. Even the Forestmen’s stag emblem introduced in the next set called to mind Herne the Hunter, the shaman mystic who was the pagan Obi-Wan Kenobi to Michael Praed and Jason Connery’s Robins in the then-recent ITV series Robin of Sherwood. The green-clad Forestmen with their colourful tunics are, perhaps, a little basic by today’s standards, but there’s no denying their ineffaceable charm. Five of this set’s six figures come equipped with a lovely bow and arrow piece as well as quivers for their backs, and all of them proudly boast – cliché though it may be – the obligatory Robin Hood feather-topped caps. If LEGO ever revisit the Forestmen, I’d love to see a little more variety and detail in the minifigures – give us a friar and a Saracen; even a stubbly-chinned outlaw in a hood instead of cap. Forestmen designed to 2015 standards could be breathtaking.
However, even when judged by today’s lofty standards, the set itself holds up phenomenally well. Having rebuilt it just yesterday with the help of a surprisingly dexterous and patient pre-schooler, the first thing to strike me about it was its complexity. This woodland hideout, Robin Hood’s secret cave, or the Forestmen’s “Camouflaged Outpost”, if you will, boasts two entrances to its main cavern – a huge trapdoor at the front, large enough to let out a horse, as well as a pin-mounted black rock that conceals a discrete side entrance. Upstairs, meanwhile, there is a castle-like watchtower complete with overhanging greenery. The hinged set can also open out, allowing young players easy access to its interior, which includes a holstered axe and an empty treasure chest (proof, in my view, that the Forestmen were indeed Robin Hood and company – they’ve given away all their loot to the poor!)
The most remarkable thing about this set though, particularly in view of all its extruding greenery, is that it’s as tough as hell. Hold it by its smaller side, dangle it upside down, do what you will – the most that you’ll shake loose is a minifigure. That’s a real achievement for any set from any era.
My only minor complaint about the outpost is that crowning it with a big, red flag seems somewhat at odds with its supposed “camouflage”, and the rampart on the observation platform feels a little too fortified for what is otherwise quite a credible outlaws’ den. Both issues are easily fixed, however: just break those damned bits off. That’s what I did back in ’87, and no doubt that’s what my daughter will be doing in about five minutes’ time...
I wasn’t very old in 1987, when LEGO released this 211-piece set. Despite my tender age, though, I can clearly remember the trip to the toy shop with my dad, and the sheer excitement that I felt picking up a box almost as big as I was; a box teeming with more minifigures than I’d ever seen together in one set, let alone owned. Coming at the height of what my parents would retrospectively term my “Robin Hood Phase”, LEGO couldn’t have timed this release any better for me.
