lost in time

Can you remember any of these? They were part of our lives in the 50s and 60s but mostly have been lost in the mists of time.

Women who went to the local shop in slippers and wearing curlers in their hair.

Hairstyles on men that had a ‘quiff’ at the front.

Coconut macaroons with a cherry on top, mum made them in an eggcup.

Double seats at the back of the cinema, young couples could enjoy ‘a bit of slap and tickle’ and probably saw little of the film.

Boys shouting to cyclists, ‘Get off and milk it’ and ‘Is it a bike or a bedstead?’

Dipping a small stick of rhubarb into an eggcup-full of sugar and eating it.

Your sister ironing her long hair on the ironing board in order to straighten it. Or cellotaping curls to her cheeks until they had dried and set to get a Cilla Black bob style look.

Boy scouts ‘bob-a-job’ week

Cow-horn handlebars

The ‘pop-man’ - he used to bring a truck full of fizzy pop to the street. Ours was Barrs pop.

Taking empty pop bottles back to the corner shop and getting a few pennies for them.

Making a peashooter from and empty biro pen and blowing grains of uncooked rice through it.

Knitting long woollen ‘tails’ using a cotton bobbin with four small nails in the end. The tail emerged from the hole in the bobbin.

Playing a game of ‘ponks’ with glass marbles. We used to play it in the gutter of the road all the way from school and back home.

Making a toy ‘tank’ out of an empty bobbin, a slice of candle, a rubber band and a used matchstick.

Girls doing handstands against a wall and tucking their dresses/skirts into the legs of their knickers to hide their modesty.

Seeing your breath as steam on a cold frosty morning – in your bedroom!

Making a sort of gunpowder out of weed-killer and sugar. We made a trail with it on a wall and when lit it would fizz and sparkle and work its way along the line.

Collecting empty cigarette packets and cutting the front and backs off to make playing cards. We played ‘snap’ with them and did swaps. Some favourites brands were: Bachelors, Senior Service, Capstan Full Strength, Craven A, Kensitas.

Barbers shops where men had their split ends singed off with a lighted taper. The mysterious ‘Something for the weekend sir?’

Stuffing your bra with paper hankies

Sitting on the wall by the road and writing down every car registration that passed.

Drying your hair in front of the open fire and seeing steam rising off it.

Paraffin heaters and Esso Blue

Folding cigarette cards and pegging them to the struts on your bicycle, the spokes on the wheels would make them flap and create a sound like a motorbike (so we thought).

a christmas party

I was reminded today that Christmas will soon be here and it brought back a really warm memory. I must have been about nine years old. Every year in our school, a small group of children were chosen to attend a party held by the young girl students at the local College of Housecraft. The college seems like a quaint concept nowadays. The students were taught the crafts of cooking, sewing and other domestic activities. I guess they would later progress to be teachers in what was called Domestic Science at school (a remarkably p.c. title considering it was the 1950s). That was another quaint concept whereby girls were basically taught how to be housewives. (This subject was dropped from the school curriculum many years ago but many believe it should be re-introduced now to address the problem of a generation living on junk food).

Back to the story – well I was part of the chosen group one year. As I remember, we were to give the students a carol service and they would provide us with some food that they had prepared. On the day, one of the teachers walked us out of the town and up the steep hill to the edge of the moors, where the college was situated. There was deep snow all around, which set the Yuletide theme nicely. The large Victorian building was very grand and we sat cross-legged on a highly polished floor in a large, dark and wood panelled room. Three or four young, women students looked after us very well. There was a grand piano which one of them played whilst we sang our carols. They plied us with sandwiches, cakes, buns and probably jelly and ice cream. I seem to think we played some games and the students helped us make some Christmas cards.

It was such a refreshing change for me, to be attended and cosseted by these lovely, gentle young women, instead of the usual rough treatment we got from our teachers at school. I recall it was dark when we walked back into town and a warm, happy glow filled me. One I can still feel faintly from time to time, when I remember that day.

bonfire night

Bonfire night was the culmination of great excitement that had started weeks before the 5th November. Health and Safety wasn’t the national disease it’s become nowadays and children could buy fireworks without their parents’ presence. There were few organised bonfires in the fifties and sixties but most streets had at least one, organised by the local kids. Fireworks appeared in the corner shops – the newsagents and general stores, two or three weeks previous. We spent all our pocket money on them, which were sold separately, for a few (old) pennies. They were displayed in glass sweetie jars and we pondered for minutes over which to buy. Some of the names I remember were: golden rain and silver rain, volcanoes, jumping jacks, snowstorm, Catherine wheels, and the bangers were penny and two-penny canons and little demons.

Boys bought dozens of bangers to light before bonfire night. We were often reckless but nobody wanted to get burnt. I don’t remember anyone getting hurt. We used to stick a banger in the soil, light it and put an empty baked bean tin over it and watch it launch into the air. We put them in milk bottles and threw them in the river to get a satisfying deep thump sound and a puff of smoke from the water. Not very popular with anglers!

The main activity was building the bonfire, which was normally on our vegetable garden. We called on neighbours asking if they had any old wood or furniture and usually collected a big pile. Often there was an old armchair or settee, which we made good use of before it was burnt. There was no plastic foam in furniture, so no toxic fumes to worry about. Dad usually started the building of it by lashing branches together to form a wigwam shape. The centre was filled with smaller stuff. There was competition amongst kids over the size of their bonfires. Raiding from rivals was a threat and had to be guarded against. It doubled as a den to play in before ‘the night’.

Sometimes we made a guy with the help of mum and we took it around the neighbourhood, asking if anyone had ‘a penny for the guy.’ The money bought more fireworks. Mum made toffee and parkin nearer the day. Family and close neighbours would be joining us for the fun.

When November the 5th came, we couldn’t wait to get home from school. We stuffed the bonfire with old newspapers and cardboard and dad soaked it in paraffin. All the fireworks were pooled together, ready for the adults to light. We’d be running around the houses with our torches, passing time until everyone arrived and watching the sky for signs of the first lighted bonfires. Before long the sky was glowing and filled with smoke and rockets. The fire was lit and we delighted at the crackling and spitting as it intensified. The heat could be felt many yards away and the damp soil around it steamed. After a while the fireworks were lit and we took it in turns to pick one out of the box, seeking out our own special favourites. Drinks and food soon followed: toffee, jacket potatoes, parkin, pop for the kids, cups of tea for the ladies and sometimes a bottle of beer for the men.

When all the fireworks had gone and the fire died down, we gathered around, poking at it with sticks, trying to light the ends so we could wave them around making glowing patterns in the air. We’d search around desperately to find a firework that hadn’t been lit, just to keep the excitement going. Sometimes we tried to bake potatoes in the embers. I remember the taste of spuds that were almost burnt to a cinder.

The following day we rushed home after school and went straight to the old fire. Often it was still glowing underneath the pile of ash. We poked it, blew on it and gathered any small pieces of wood we could find to revive it. We looked around for the spent firework cases that still littered the area. Throwing them on the glowing embers often caused a small fizz or sputter. It was an incredibly exciting time, almost as good as birthdays and Christmas.