WHAT WAS IT LIKE IN THE OLDEN DAYS, GRANDPA ? © 2007 Don Read
Pass me my pipe and slippers, lad/lass and I’ll tell you what life was like during the war in 1940
Your parents had family and friends round for Sunday tea and your mum used her last 20 food coupons on a tin of John West salmon which she augmented with half a loaf of breadcrumbs to conjure up a delicious salmon salad. Afters would be a slice of Del Monte tinned pineapple and you were expected to consume a large portion of thinly sliced bread and margarine to fill you up.
Your mum knitted you a swimming costume but holes appeared at the elbows and knees.
Eighty per cent of films were in black and white. Eighty per cent of life was in black and white but the white bits were fun.
Viagra was a mispronounced water feature in Canada
A Big Mac was a size 44 raincoat.
French Fries were what a Chinese man in Paris would call an insect.
Drugs were what Americans called medicines.
Trams and trolley busses were as popular as proper buses are today. but were more open to the elements to promote healthy living. Trams had notices on the upper deck (where men sat) announcing, “Spitting prohibited, fine £5” All vehicles had their headlights shrouded with hoods with just a + slit to enable a feeble light to guide the way, an efficient means of keeping the speed down. The expression, “Going off the rails” originated when drunken tram drivers took a sharp left turn.
A car heater was an overcoat. A wireless in a car ? unheard of. You don’t get into a car to be entertained.
Cinema performances in major cinemas lasted up to three hours, sometimes longer and were continuous from 1pm until 10pm giving you just time to catch the last tram home. Sunday cinema opening only came in in 1944, started no earlier than 4pm and show only old films you had seen five years before.. Apart from the main feature you got a B movie-usually made on a shoestring budget by a tiny Hollywood company called Monogram (the Bowery Boys and high school jinx), a documentary on how to avoid piles, a travelogue (“Come with us on a journey through the leafy glades of Dorset”), a Ministry Of Food information film on how to make an appetising meal for fifteen out of a spoonful of self raising flour and a current. All this plus Pathe or Movietone news and the mighty Wurlitzer played by Norman Longbottom “of broadcasting fame” in a selection of popular melodies. We sang heartily following the bouncing ball as it skipped over the words of well known wartime ditties such as “Roll Me Over” (never could understand that one) and “We’re Going To hang Out The Washing On The Zeigfield Line” projected on the screen as we queued for our 2d tubs of ice cream.
On a Saturday night we queued outside the Odeon with our mates whilst the commissionaire in pseudo general’s uniform strolled down the rain sodden patrons announcing in a stentorian voice, “I’ve got two seats left in the one and nines” as if he owned the cinema. A chorus of “Here” would be heard from half a dozen love sick couples. “But they’re five rows apart”, responded the ex-drill sergeant, revelling in his assumed authority. “You go, luv”. “No, I’m not going in without you”. “No use you waiting any longer, big picture’s just started.”. bellowed the bluff voice of Mr Odeon.
American war films always had a young rookie with a name like Sikowsky. At the height of a bloody battle the lad would take out a photo of his sweet looking girl friend back home in Milwaukee, show it to his buddy and promptly get shot. Hollywood cliché 1265.
In Westerns John Wayne would instruct his deputies to “Get up a posse and head ‘em off at the pass”.. Hollywood cliché 3251. Female stars maintained their immaculate make up and hair styles whilst crawling through a cess pit.
Roy Rogers would sing to his horse, Trigger, as they moseyed through the tumble weeds passing the same three rocks endlessly en route to, “Heading ‘em off at the pass”. Trigger showed no emotion but the educated equine could, allegedly, count up to ten with his front offside hoof.
Back in real life high school was surrounded with a wall which prevented the boys’ school inmates hoggling at the girls’ school lovelies. On the school bus the girl occupied the lower deck and the lads upstairs and never the twain shall meet in case a lass accidentally got pregnant by sitting next to a boy. Well you could in those days.
ARP (Air Raid Precautions) wardens patrolled the street bellowing , “Put that light out!” when a chink of illumination percolated through your black out curtains. The Home guard went out at night on “manoeuvres”.
Political correctness was the ability to get the Prime Minister’s name right. Burglary was rare. We had nothing worth. Road rage was when you swore at a pothole and car jacking was confined to the activity of changing a tyre.
A band comprised a minimum of at least half a dozen musicians who could read music and play proper songs. not just two singers like those two who work in a pet shop.
People went to ballrooms or the more down market baths with a portable floor covering the empty space where the water would normally be. Couples made physical contact whilst dancing (and probably afterwards). You danced to the mesmerising delights of the quickstep, waltz,foxtrot, and tango. After each set of three dances an MC requested you to, “Clear the floor, please”. There would be an “old time” segment which embodied a Palais Glide, Gay Gordons (if you’ll pardon the expression) and a Schottische (whatever that is). The females sat or stood with their handbags at one side of the room and the chaps at the other all eyeing up the talent. The lads, having selected a prey would stroll over towards the lasses only to change their minds half way over and head for the Gents.
At school your mum got you moved so that you could sit next to someone who didn’t have nits. To instil a modicum of equality the teacher would shuffle everyone round so that you eventually wound up sitting next to that smelly girl with even more nits.
Wireless was the home entertainment device. Ours was a Marconi (his prototype ?). If you opened the back it was jammed packed full of wires so prosecution under the trades description act must have been a constant worry for the manufacturers. We glued our ears to the wireless for programmes such as “Monday Night At Eight”, a valuable reference point for those listeners who couldn’t afford calendars and clocks.
On Saturday nights at 6pm a programme called “In Town Tonight” started with sounds of posh people and chirpy cockney sparrows mingling in London’s busy thoroughfares. Traffic, newspaper boys (“Read all abhart it”) and flower sellers, (“Violets, lovely violets”) echoed through our loudspeakers. Suddenly a booming voice yelled, “STOP” (I thought it was God).and a soft spoken pansy voiced presenter with a plumb in his mouth said,” Once again we stop the roar of London’s traffic to bring you some of the interesting people who are in town tonight, don’t you know”.
You couldn’t move for bobbies on the beat. “Move over you bobbies and let ordinary folk pass,” was a common cry.
We were too poor to have stress. We had to make do with worry.
If your parents couldn’t afford to get you a bike you got a hoop. If it broke or was stolen you just had to find alternative means of getting home.
When you did get your first grown up bike it came complete with a ringing device known as a bell which enabled you to warn old ladies and dogs that you were descending on them at twelve miles an hour. A brilliant idea that somehow went out of fashion sometime in the seventies.
Strange men called at your door offering to sell your Mum dusters from a suitcase. Not much change there, then.
Ladies’ hairdressers offered Marcel Waves (Hi, Marcel !), Eugene Perms (I’m not surprised) and shampoo and sets. (shampoo is Indian for….). The hairdressees sat and read “Home Chat” with its copious knitting patterns, whilst their hair was fried.
Working class women wore curlers in their hair during the day so they could look nice for t’dance t’night. Of course far more people saw them in daytime that at t’dance. They stayed in Friday nights to wash their hair and have their weekly bath in 5 inches of water.
Tying dustbin lids together was the extend of anti social behaviour.
Most people, no matter how sparse their education, pronounced the eighth letter of the alphabet AITCH and not HAITCH. Try explaining that to half the present generation.
We played 10 and 12 inch diameter breakable shellac records on our gramophones which were operated by a wind up clockwork motor. This was long before Trevor Bayliss invented his wind up clockwork wireless.
Of course, in the thirties there were wind up cars. You pushed a starting handle in to a hole in the front of the vehicle and wound it up.
The gramophone had a horn through which the sound was projected. Fox terriers were prone to sitting for hours with their heads tilted listening to the music. Halcyon daze !
Pass me my pipe and slippers, lad/lass and I’ll tell you what life was like during the war in 1940
Your parents had family and friends round for Sunday tea and your mum used her last 20 food coupons on a tin of John West salmon which she augmented with half a loaf of breadcrumbs to conjure up a delicious salmon salad. Afters would be a slice of Del Monte tinned pineapple and you were expected to consume a large portion of thinly sliced bread and margarine to fill you up.
Your mum knitted you a swimming costume but holes appeared at the elbows and knees.
Eighty per cent of films were in black and white. Eighty per cent of life was in black and white but the white bits were fun.
Viagra was a mispronounced water feature in Canada
A Big Mac was a size 44 raincoat.
French Fries were what a Chinese man in Paris would call an insect.
Drugs were what Americans called medicines.
Trams and trolley busses were as popular as proper buses are today. but were more open to the elements to promote healthy living. Trams had notices on the upper deck (where men sat) announcing, “Spitting prohibited, fine £5” All vehicles had their headlights shrouded with hoods with just a + slit to enable a feeble light to guide the way, an efficient means of keeping the speed down. The expression, “Going off the rails” originated when drunken tram drivers took a sharp left turn.
A car heater was an overcoat. A wireless in a car ? unheard of. You don’t get into a car to be entertained.
Cinema performances in major cinemas lasted up to three hours, sometimes longer and were continuous from 1pm until 10pm giving you just time to catch the last tram home. Sunday cinema opening only came in in 1944, started no earlier than 4pm and show only old films you had seen five years before.. Apart from the main feature you got a B movie-usually made on a shoestring budget by a tiny Hollywood company called Monogram (the Bowery Boys and high school jinx), a documentary on how to avoid piles, a travelogue (“Come with us on a journey through the leafy glades of Dorset”), a Ministry Of Food information film on how to make an appetising meal for fifteen out of a spoonful of self raising flour and a current. All this plus Pathe or Movietone news and the mighty Wurlitzer played by Norman Longbottom “of broadcasting fame” in a selection of popular melodies. We sang heartily following the bouncing ball as it skipped over the words of well known wartime ditties such as “Roll Me Over” (never could understand that one) and “We’re Going To hang Out The Washing On The Zeigfield Line” projected on the screen as we queued for our 2d tubs of ice cream.
On a Saturday night we queued outside the Odeon with our mates whilst the commissionaire in pseudo general’s uniform strolled down the rain sodden patrons announcing in a stentorian voice, “I’ve got two seats left in the one and nines” as if he owned the cinema. A chorus of “Here” would be heard from half a dozen love sick couples. “But they’re five rows apart”, responded the ex-drill sergeant, revelling in his assumed authority. “You go, luv”. “No, I’m not going in without you”. “No use you waiting any longer, big picture’s just started.”. bellowed the bluff voice of Mr Odeon.
American war films always had a young rookie with a name like Sikowsky. At the height of a bloody battle the lad would take out a photo of his sweet looking girl friend back home in Milwaukee, show it to his buddy and promptly get shot. Hollywood cliché 1265.
In Westerns John Wayne would instruct his deputies to “Get up a posse and head ‘em off at the pass”.. Hollywood cliché 3251. Female stars maintained their immaculate make up and hair styles whilst crawling through a cess pit.
Roy Rogers would sing to his horse, Trigger, as they moseyed through the tumble weeds passing the same three rocks endlessly en route to, “Heading ‘em off at the pass”. Trigger showed no emotion but the educated equine could, allegedly, count up to ten with his front offside hoof.
Back in real life high school was surrounded with a wall which prevented the boys’ school inmates hoggling at the girls’ school lovelies. On the school bus the girl occupied the lower deck and the lads upstairs and never the twain shall meet in case a lass accidentally got pregnant by sitting next to a boy. Well you could in those days.
ARP (Air Raid Precautions) wardens patrolled the street bellowing , “Put that light out!” when a chink of illumination percolated through your black out curtains. The Home guard went out at night on “manoeuvres”.
Political correctness was the ability to get the Prime Minister’s name right. Burglary was rare. We had nothing worth. Road rage was when you swore at a pothole and car jacking was confined to the activity of changing a tyre.
A band comprised a minimum of at least half a dozen musicians who could read music and play proper songs. not just two singers like those two who work in a pet shop.
People went to ballrooms or the more down market baths with a portable floor covering the empty space where the water would normally be. Couples made physical contact whilst dancing (and probably afterwards). You danced to the mesmerising delights of the quickstep, waltz,foxtrot, and tango. After each set of three dances an MC requested you to, “Clear the floor, please”. There would be an “old time” segment which embodied a Palais Glide, Gay Gordons (if you’ll pardon the expression) and a Schottische (whatever that is). The females sat or stood with their handbags at one side of the room and the chaps at the other all eyeing up the talent. The lads, having selected a prey would stroll over towards the lasses only to change their minds half way over and head for the Gents.
At school your mum got you moved so that you could sit next to someone who didn’t have nits. To instil a modicum of equality the teacher would shuffle everyone round so that you eventually wound up sitting next to that smelly girl with even more nits.
Wireless was the home entertainment device. Ours was a Marconi (his prototype ?). If you opened the back it was jammed packed full of wires so prosecution under the trades description act must have been a constant worry for the manufacturers. We glued our ears to the wireless for programmes such as “Monday Night At Eight”, a valuable reference point for those listeners who couldn’t afford calendars and clocks.
On Saturday nights at 6pm a programme called “In Town Tonight” started with sounds of posh people and chirpy cockney sparrows mingling in London’s busy thoroughfares. Traffic, newspaper boys (“Read all abhart it”) and flower sellers, (“Violets, lovely violets”) echoed through our loudspeakers. Suddenly a booming voice yelled, “STOP” (I thought it was God).and a soft spoken pansy voiced presenter with a plumb in his mouth said,” Once again we stop the roar of London’s traffic to bring you some of the interesting people who are in town tonight, don’t you know”.
You couldn’t move for bobbies on the beat. “Move over you bobbies and let ordinary folk pass,” was a common cry.
We were too poor to have stress. We had to make do with worry.
If your parents couldn’t afford to get you a bike you got a hoop. If it broke or was stolen you just had to find alternative means of getting home.
When you did get your first grown up bike it came complete with a ringing device known as a bell which enabled you to warn old ladies and dogs that you were descending on them at twelve miles an hour. A brilliant idea that somehow went out of fashion sometime in the seventies.
Strange men called at your door offering to sell your Mum dusters from a suitcase. Not much change there, then.
Ladies’ hairdressers offered Marcel Waves (Hi, Marcel !), Eugene Perms (I’m not surprised) and shampoo and sets. (shampoo is Indian for….). The hairdressees sat and read “Home Chat” with its copious knitting patterns, whilst their hair was fried.
Working class women wore curlers in their hair during the day so they could look nice for t’dance t’night. Of course far more people saw them in daytime that at t’dance. They stayed in Friday nights to wash their hair and have their weekly bath in 5 inches of water.
Tying dustbin lids together was the extend of anti social behaviour.
Most people, no matter how sparse their education, pronounced the eighth letter of the alphabet AITCH and not HAITCH. Try explaining that to half the present generation.
We played 10 and 12 inch diameter breakable shellac records on our gramophones which were operated by a wind up clockwork motor. This was long before Trevor Bayliss invented his wind up clockwork wireless.
Of course, in the thirties there were wind up cars. You pushed a starting handle in to a hole in the front of the vehicle and wound it up.
The gramophone had a horn through which the sound was projected. Fox terriers were prone to sitting for hours with their heads tilted listening to the music. Halcyon daze !
