The Eternal Appeal of Zelda

The Zelda series hits its 40-year anniversary this year and today marks the release of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time. So, what better time for some deep reflection on what is, without question, my favorite video game franchise of all time?

About 15 years ago, I went to a Mario Kart 64 tournament wearing my Zelda t-shirt.

A Landscape of Early Freedom

Before moving to Barking, my world was East Ham, situated near the hallowed grounds of the original West Ham stadium, Upton Park. Growing up in the 80s, my brother and I were granted a level of autonomy that feels rare today. As long as we surfaced for meals and returned before the streetlights flickered on, the day was ours to do with as we pleased.

Our local haunt was Central Park which, at the time, felt like a vast, untamed wilderness. I revisited it a short while ago and, while it had naturally "shrunk" through the lens of adulthood, it remains an impressive green space.

Back then, there was a designated "adults-only" area, patrolled by a park keeper whose pride and meticulousness were legendary. For a group of mischievous youths, this was the ultimate challenge. We would steal inside, crouching in the undergrowth and embarking on what we perceived as epic quests—adventures that felt monumental, even if they only existed in our collective imagination.

Living opposite Central Park School offered similar opportunities. After hours, and especially on weekends, the school fence was merely a suggestion. We’d hop over to claim the playground for football or use the entire grounds for sprawling games of "Run Outs." Looking back, it was technically casual trespassing, but at the time, it was pure exploration. It required problem-solving to stay out of trouble and seamless teamwork to remain one step ahead of "The Man."

The Digital Frontier

The transition to digital adventure began when I moved to Barking around age eight. My friend Adam received an NES for his birthday, and we dove headfirst into Super Mario Bros. with such intensity that, when I got home that evening, the sensory overload and 6 or so hours of screentime caused me to violently vomit. Ah, good times!

Because I only owned an Amstrad CPC 464, Adam’s NES became my primary window into console gaming. He was constantly swapping cartridges, and by virtue of being his best friend, I was his permanent co-pilot. I remember the first time I saw the Zelda II gold cartridge. He had started the quest without me, and I watched, captivated but confused. I didn’t yet have a vocabulary for "RPGs," but the scale of it was undeniable.

My first personal breakthrough, however, came via A Link to the Past on the SNES. At a friend's gaming party, the room was stalled by the infamous wiggling worm boss, Moldorm. Having never played, I took the controller and instinctively tried a spin attack. I managed to land several hits before falling, and that small success broke the tension. The group found their second wind, and we eventually took down the beast that had been a roadblock for hours.

Handhelds and High Seas

My true Zelda epiphany happened on the Game Boy with Link’s Awakening. I had inherited a battered, original brick model—no battery cover, a scratched screen, and a history I didn't know—but I cherished it. That game, with its surreal atmosphere and portable intimacy, remains incredibly close to my heart.

The journey continued with Ocarina of Time on the N64, which I picked up second-hand long after the initial hysteria had died down. It was a revelation that, until Breath of the Wild arrived, held the title of my Favourite Game of All Time. Later, the GameCube became the first console I ever purchased on launch day, which cemented The Wind Waker as a personal favorite. While many dismissed its cel-shaded look as too childish, I saw it as a timeless piece of art—an evergreen aesthetic much like Okami.

Maturity and the Wild

As life got busier, my gaming habits shifted. I finished the Oracle games on the Game Boy Color, and though my friends generously gifted me a DS for my 21st birthday, I never quite connected with the handheld Zelda titles of that era. University life and the rise of the Xbox 360 had pulled my attention elsewhere. Even the Wii entries felt like a chore; the motion controls and waggle factor felt like a barrier rather than an invitation to play. However, when the Zelda: Symphony of the Goddesses concert rolled into London Town in 2016, my brother and I went and watched the performance as the series meant so much to us both.

With Breath of the Wild, I felt that the series had finally delivered on the promise of it had held in my childhood: if you could see it, you could go there! It was a return to form that felt both novel and ancient. I’ve since conquered Tears of the Kingdom, and the anticipation for the next mainline entry is already building.

The Heart of the Quest

Zelda has been the backdrop of my life, and I’ve passed that torch to my eldest daughter—albeit in a quiet way. I have fond memories of her being unable to sleep, sitting beside me as I played late into the night, the glow of the screen and the familiar music lulling her into a peaceful rest.

Ultimately, I think the series resonates because it taps into a primal sense of freedom. It transports us back to a time before life got in the way—before complexity and cynicism took root. It mirrors those summer mornings in East Ham, where the world was wide, the rules were few, and everything was a mystery waiting to be solved. Zelda preserves that earnest childhood belief that anything is possible, provided you have the curiosity to look over the next horizon and the hard graft to see the journey through.

So, here’s a raised glass of Schloer to the next 40 years. May the tall grass always hide a few hidden rupees.