Everyone has a story to tell - do you?
Memories of the 1940s, 50s, 60s... I'd love to hear your stories - maybe about your first school, first date, first home, your favourite TV programmes, Christmasses or summer holidays past, life in a pre-fab, your favourite food (was it prawn cocktail, Arctic roll, Kunzel cakes?); pop star crushes - did you meet your dreamboat singer?
Please use the contact form on my website for more details as to how you can share your stories on this page.
For all little girls in the 1960s who were mad about horses and ponies, then the Princess Pony Book was the essential Christmas present
How's this for a first car in the 1980s? An Austin Healey Sprite with – how could I forget? – a detachable steering wheel. It still passed its MOT though!
When we moved into our old farmhouse on Gunby Lane in a small village in North Lincolnshire, in 1969, the whole area had no mains electricity, so every cottage or farmhouse for miles around had generators. Each generator had its own unique signature noise; some were old Perkins single cylinder affairs with a distinct very slow, ‘phut... phut... phut’, others had a steady ‘bob, bob, bob, bob’, while ours was a fairly modern diesel 4 cylinder ‘brrrrrrr...’. You could identify whose generator was whose and know whether they were in or not by just standing in your garden and listening to the medley of chugging, phutting and bopping drifting across the fields.
There were disadvantages to generating your own electricity. One was that mother could never put the cooker on while you were watching children’s TV after school. We would be half way through Lost in Space when the picture would be reduced to the size of a postage stamp and we’d all shout in unison. Also no one wanted to be last to bed, otherwise you’d be responsible for switching the ‘genny’ off. It got so bad sometimes that people didn’t say good night but drifted silently off in case it started a stampede for the stairs.
There was a black box on the wall just by the back door where the cold winter air would blow in under the gap in the door that was wide enough for mice to cartwheel through. I was barely able to reach it in the early days but you had to hold your thumb on the spring-loaded button for about a minute while the engine slowly wound down to the last ‘bop’. ‘Brrrrbobobob… bob... bop….. bop……. bop………. bop……….. bop.......................’ and if you didn’t wait for the very last ‘bop’ before releasing the button, the cursed engine would slowly ‘bop’ back to life and you had to wait until it was up to full speed before pressing the button again. Your thumb would be banana shaped as you stumbled your way through the kitchen in the pitch black, stubbing your toe on the step and banging your hip on the corner of the kitchen table on your way through to the stairs. It was wonderful when we finally got mains electricity...
Simon Leake, Lincs
A full-sized Jonathan Harris as Dr Zachary Smith with his 'co-star, in Lost in Space
PIC CREDIT: Copyright: August 1968 CBS TV
My Dad used to waltz my Mum round the room to The King and I
This view hasn't changed much over the last 50 years or so...