
Two long strips cut from the spare edge of an exercise book were laid across each other at right angles. One strip folded over the other, then the second folded back in the opposite direction. Repeating this alternation gradually produced a square column of paper. Pulled open, it stretched like a snake; released, it contracted into a compact stack. If a strip was too short, another piece could be pasted onto the end.
Names varied by place: paper spring, paper snake or simply a folded paper strip. The method also differed slightly. Some children used plain paper and coloured it afterwards; those who found coloured crepe paper or sweet wrappers made brighter versions. There was no elaborate game. The pleasure lay in comparing length and neatness, or drawing a face at one end so that the spring could suddenly emerge from a pencil case or between books.
The repeated folding looked simple but demanded alignment. One or two crooked folds could twist the whole length. Friends might work together, one holding the growing stack while another attached fresh paper, and they traded the best-coloured strips. For children born in China in the 1960s, this kind of making did not require a purchased kit. Scraps from an exercise book, a little paste and part of a school break were enough. Its value was not durability, but the moment ordinary waste paper gained movement, shape and a small surprise that could be shared.
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