Talking of radio: Home Service, The Light Programme, The Third Programme.
Children’s Favourites and Uncle Mac, Three Billy Goats Gruff, Sparky’s Magic Piano, The Laughing Policeman, Big Rock Candy Mountain, Nellie the Elephant*, The Runaway Train,
Children’s Hour, Workers’ Playtime, Mrs Dale’s Diary (woe betide anyone who came calling while my mother was listening!), the crackly fading in and out of reception when any overseas link was tried. I remember Australia sounding a very long way away!
And TV? That in the 50s was something very special. We all went to one of my aunts in South London and sat in a room with the curtains drawn and all the lights off, huddled around this great big wooden box with a tiny 9 inch black and white screen and watched the Queen’s coronation. That particular aunt also had a glass cabinet with a miniature gold carriage in it, which I was allowed to take out and play with carefully.
Lyon’s Corner House and blocks of solid ice cream with a wafer. Even then I realised that the pink ice cream in Neapolitan blocks tasted nothing like strawberry and was pretty disgusting.
Being in hospital with a bout of pneumonia and the girl next to me being in an iron lung with a mirror on the lung so she could watch what was going on behind her head. She was always cheerful.
Convalescing somewhere on the coast with my Mum and staying in a boarding house and sitting at the table while she had supper and I had a glass of milk and a slice of white bread.
Watching the woman in the window of the local dry cleaners darning nylon (or silk maybe?) stockings, picking up the ladders with a fine electric needle.
My mother in hospital outpatients with her arm in a tray of hot wax to ease the pain (of what I now think was rheumatoid arthritis) while my brother and I played.
Our GP - an elderly Scotsman - sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, smoking a pipe and chatting to my Mum, because he had the time to make house calls.
Tramps coming to the back door (usually servicemen from the war unable to fit back in society) and being given some small change and a sandwich by my Mum, because there was a secret mark on the gate that said our family was one of the ones that would help them.
Sitting wide eyed at the dining table with two (very) black non-conformist ministers from somewhere in Africa having lunch with us because they were on an exchange with our church.
- I regret remembering that one. I’ve now got an ear worm and I’m shocked to find I can remember all the words, when I can’t remember what I did yesterday!