Authors: Paul Feeney
A 1950s Childhood (2 page)
There were, of course, big differences between urban and rural life, and in the early 1950s there was a noticeable disparity with food rationing when people in the countryside found it much easier to obtain eggs, butter and meat without rationing coupons. Most people supported the principles of rationing as a way of ensuring fair shares
for all, but some people thought that the rationing system was very unfair on the poor and on the working classes living in towns and cities. Regardless of the government’s best efforts to control the rationing of goods, there was a black market operating, and if you had money you could get anything.
Despite the hardships, there was a cosy feel to the 1950s. Mums usually stayed at home to look after the kids while dads went out to work, and they generally worked long hours. Some children had lost their dads in the war or had an invalid dad through war injuries. Mums were very important in the home, and as housewives they had a significant daily workload, but many also found part-time work to help pay the bills and to make ends meet. Mums went shopping for groceries every day. Perishable foods were bought in small amounts – just enough to last a day. It was quite usual to buy a single item of fruit rather than by the pound. Kids seemed to spend half their lives running errands for their mum or for a neighbour. You were made to eat all sorts of foods because they were ‘good for you’ – bread and dripping, black pudding, fried bread, fried eggs, mashed potatoes, sandwiches and chip butties. Everything that was put in front of you was said to be good for you, especially carrots – after all, you wouldn’t be able to see in the dark if you didn’t eat your carrots! Mums were forever baking cakes and there was always a child hanging around ready with a finger to scrape the remains from the mixing bowl and devour the remnants of the heavenly mix. We ate a lot of bread, eggs, potatoes or chips, and drank a lot of tea and milk. In 1950, bread and milk were the main components of a child’s diet and 55 per cent of young
children were drinking tea with their meals (source: Public Health Nutrition reports, National Survey of Health and Development, 1950). All mums could sew and knit. Mums were always altering clothes for growing youngsters: hems, sleeves, waistband and buttons were all moved several times before a garment was finally retired.
Mums would often dress siblings the same. This was more noticeable on girls than boys because the uniform colour, pattern and style of girls’ outfits would be seen to be the same, whereas most boys wore a boring and inconspicuous white or grey shirt, grey flannel short trousers, striped elasticated belt with a snake clip, long grey socks and black shoes or plimsolls. All boys experienced sore chapped legs in winter, made worse by the rubbing from the seams of short trousers against their bare legs. The clothes on younger siblings were usually hand-me-downs and always looked too big, whereas the older siblings either looked too clean-cut in their new oversized outfit or pitiful in their old, now too small, garments. There was nothing worse than having to wear clothes that were two sizes too big, either because they were hand-me-downs or because they were bought to last you until you grew another two inches. Young girls liked to dress in pretty clothes but there was no pressure or desire for pre-teen kids to be fashionable. For boys, brand new clothes were always an embarrassment, as was a new haircut – a sure signal for mickey-taking! Clothes were just things you wore to make you presentable and to keep you warm. Apart from the blazer, working-class kids usually wore the same clothes in and out of school. Cleanliness was a byword for most mums. They made great efforts to ensure that their little darlings were well scrubbed and clean-clothed before
leaving the house. This was followed by a compulsory check that each child had a handkerchief in their pocket, and then a lecture on how to behave when out and about. All mothers dreaded the thought of their child out in the street with socks down to their ankles and a runny nose, and the awful thought that they might even use their sleeve to wipe it. The shame of it!
Hair was a definite bone of contention for everyone. Girls didn’t go to the hairdresser’s but they were still much better groomed than boys because their mums would spend hours washing and styling their hair with curls, plaits, ringlets and ponytails. Ribbons were very popular and girls’ hair was often tied with two ribbons on top. There were no hairdryers and so girls’ hair was usually dried in front of the fire. They complained and screeched with pain continually as their hair was combed and brushed to get all the knots and tangles out. Boys were easier to deal with; short back and sides was the order of the day and if your hair touched your ears or your collar then it was too long. The unlucky ones had to endure the ridicule of their mates when confronted with the pudding-basin haircut that had been inflicted upon them by their dad. The lucky ones would be sent or dragged to the barbershop for a good all around shearing. The barber would put a board across the chair for you to climb up onto so that he could cut your hair at eye level, but what was in that silver can with the black rubber pump that he would use to dampen your hair down at the end? The barbershop walls were covered in pictures of film star hairstyles with all sorts of quiffs and waves, but when it came to your turn there was never any discussion about style; it was always the same old short back and sides. And
what was that ‘something for the weekend, sir?’ that men always sniggered about?
Young boy playing on his bike in the middle of a central London street, while behind him some girls are playing with their dolls’ pram. The only sign of any traffic is a bus passing at the end of the road.
Some well-off parents did like to show off their little darlings on Sundays and at Christmas by dressing them in adult fashions. It was all right for girls but there was nothing worse than the sight of an eight-year-old boy kitted out in a miniature two-piece suit and bow tie. They would hang their heads in shame every time they had to endure this public humiliation.
Kids in the 1950s were no angels; they got up to mischief and there were some young scallywags around, but in the main they had respect for their elders. There was no mugging of old ladies and people felt safe to walk the streets. There was very little vandalism and no graffiti. Telephone boxes were fully glazed and each one contained a set of local telephone directories and a pay-box full of tuppences. If a public telephone was out of action then it was because of a technical fault and not because it had been smashed up by vandals. Many young boys carried a penknife but it was only used as a tool to whittle wood, not a weapon. When there were fights, kids would wrestle, punch, kick and scratch, but they would never think of using the penknife that might be in their pocket. Apart from the odd playground scrap involving hair pulling, girls were generally well behaved and didn’t do much fighting.
All kinds of knives and weapons were openly sold in the high street shops and some wild teenagers did carry and use flick-knives and knuckle-dusters in punch-ups, but such fights were usually between gangs of youths and they didn’t touch the lives of children. Teddy boys were tagged as being violent and could look threatening when they hung
around in groups on street corners and in coffee bars, but many just wore Teddy boy style clothes for fashion purposes and were not at all violent. As with every generation of teenagers there was some fighting, but it was not exclusive to Teddy Boys; there were also Greasers, Beatniks and other non-descript young men that revelled in the occasional punch-up. However, any rebelliousness in unruly teenagers was generally knocked out of them when they got called up to do their National Service, which was still compulsory in 1950s Britain.
Young adults of the 1950s had lived through the terrible atrocities of war and experienced all of the post-war deprivation. This seemed to make them more protective of their own children and to value their innocence. Britain was nearly bankrupt and up to the hilt in debt to America. Nobody really knew what the future held for them and many people lived for today and were grateful for what they had. Children’s ambitions were modest and most wanted to have a practical job when they grew up. Boys wanted to be firemen or bus drivers, and girls wanted to be nurses or air hostesses. Everyone hated wearing school uniforms but for some reason kids were attracted to jobs that involved wearing a uniform, probably because they had seen them glamorised in films.
Many who look back on their 1950s childhood will remember simple little things that have stuck with them all their lives: the taste of Farley’s Rusk biscuits and thick syrupy welfare orange juice, toasting bread by the fireside, the rhythmic sound of your mum’s knitting needles, Sunday afternoon tea at Granny’s where the deafening silence was only broken by the sound of a ticking clock,
Mrs Dale’s
Diary
on the radio, and the excitement of a visit to the local Woolworths store. 1950s weather will always evoke memories: the long, hot summer days playing outside were great but the cold, dark winters were horrible, and often boring because you spent so much of your time indoors. Those that lived in large urban areas, particularly London, will remember the dense fogs that would descend in the form of yellowish smog. These were often described as ‘pea-soupers’ because they were so thick. People would wear a damp handkerchief over their nose and mouth to protect them from breathing in the polluted air. The smog was caused by cold fog combining with coal-fire emissions from homes and industrial smokestacks. It was a very serious problem and thousands of people died from the resulting pollution. In 1952, extremely bad smog shrouded London and caused the premature death of an estimated 12,000 people over a three-month period.
The 1950s was probably the last decade in which children were able to retain their innocence through to the age of about twelve or thirteen. There was no peer pressure to grow up any quicker than nature intended. You were able to enjoy a carefree life that was full of childish fun and games, and the stresses of adolescence could wait!
It’s another cold and wet Sunday afternoon and you’re stuck indoors with nothing to do. You kneel on a chair by the window, plant your elbows on the windowsill, and stare out into the street waiting for something to happen. The street is deserted. Everyone is stuck indoors, just like you! You detect a faint smell of roast beef coming from the kitchen, and in the background you can hear the dreaded sound of
The
Billy Cotton Band Show
on the radio. ‘Wakey! Wakey! Hey you down there –yes, you with the glasses!’ You cover your ears to protect them from that dreadful signature tune
Somebody Stole My Gal
.
The
Billy Cotton Band Show
has been on the radio for as long as you can remember, and it seems that you are condemned to a lifetime of Sunday lunchtime listening. There is some movement in the street, but no, it’s only next door’s cat scampering to get out of the rain. You hope that something will happen soon to relieve your boredom. Perhaps the rag-and-bone man will come down the road ringing his bell? Or what
about the knife-sharpener with a grinder on the front of his pushbike? Maybe the ice-cream man will come on his three-wheeled bike with the box at the front filled with small blocks of ice cream? No, he won’t come; it’s winter, and he never comes in the winter. By now, your knees are starting to get sore from kneeling on the chair, but at least the rain has stopped and there is a chink of light between the clouds. You shuffle about a bit to get more comfortable, and lean forward to take one last look down the street. At last! Something is happening! A Salvation Army band has stopped at the corner and they look as if they are going to pitch up and play (yes, the local Sally Army bands did go around the back streets on a Sunday). Hooray! The day is saved! The Salvation Army band drowns out the sound of the awful
Billy Cotton Band Show
. In celebration, you jump down from the chair and slide across the linoed floor in your stocking feet. Well worth the risk of a wallop and lecture about wearing holes in your socks.
This HMV auto-change portable record player with radio would have been a dream machine for any teenager to own in the 1950s.
Sunday was always a very quiet day and kids were often kept inside and told not to annoy the neighbours. Other than going to church or Sunday school and having the obligatory Sunday lunch, people just did relaxing things like reading the papers; then after lunch, snoozing in the armchair, pottering in the garden (in shirt and tie, of course) or going to the park. Apart from the corner shop that opened on Sunday mornings to sell newspapers, all of the shops were shut and the streets were generally quiet.
Even the mildest of winters were horrible because you spent so much time stuck indoors, and you longed for milder days to arrive so that you could get outside again. On cold, dark winter nights, there was nothing more warm
and comforting than to curl up by the fireside and listen to a play on the radio. Only the occasional spark from the fire and the gentle clicking sound of your mum’s knitting disturbed your concentration. Children were totally absorbed by the soft tones of the storyteller’s voice purring from the speaker cloth at the front of a big old valve-radio. Even if the reader did all the voices, it was totally believable, and your imagination took you right into the scene of the story. Anyone that was around in the mid-fifties will remember the very scary BBC Light Programme’s science fiction series,
Journey into Space
, which started on 21 September 1953. It frightened the life out of kids, but it was essential listening and had a huge audience – all those creepy sound effects and that mysterious haunting music. According to the BBC, by the time the series came to an end on 18 June 1958, there were 8 million people tuning in each week. There were loads of well-known people in it, including David Jacobs (he played many different parts), Deryck Guyler, Alfie Bass and David Kossoff.
When television sets first came into British homes they changed the traditional family lifestyle forever. The 1950s can easily be divided into two sections, the ‘radio years’ of the early ’50s and the ‘television years’ of the late ’50s. In the ‘radio years’, the focal point of any room was its source of warmth. Chairs would be gathered around the open fireplace in the living room, or near to the range in the kitchen. There was always a huge radio on a nearby
sideboard. For some reason, you got more absorbed in a radio programme if you could see the radio from your chair. In the ‘television years’, all the chairs were arranged to face the television set, and you had to sit fairly close to it because the screens were quite small. In the ‘radio years’ children happily sat at the table and ate their tea at a leisurely pace, but television created an urgent need for kids to finish tea more quickly so that they could get to see
Children’s Hour
on the television. No longer were children happy just to have the radio playing in the background while they ate their meals; television required their undivided attention. All those grey and grainy, yet mesmerising, children’s programmes, like
Muffin the Mule
,
presented by John Mills’ sister, Annette;
Billy Bunter
, with Gerald Campion;
Crackerjack or
‘Crack-er-jack!’, with Eamonn Andrews (Ronnie Corbett was a regular on the show in those days);
Blue Peter
, with Christopher Trace and Leila Williams (did you know she was winner of Miss Great Britain in 1957?);
The Adventures of Robin Hood
, with Richard Green and the lovely Bernadette O’Farrell, and in later episodes Patricia Driscoll (every schoolboy’s dream), who took over as Maid Marian for the final two seasons.
In Britain, television had been around since long before the war, but even in the late 1950s, reception and picture quality was still quite poor. Whenever there was bad interference, the remedy was for someone to carry the aerial around the room until a reasonable picture appeared on the screen. There always seemed to be some image ghosting, but you learned to put up with that. Sometimes the picture would go completely haywire, and when that happened it was useful if you had a skilled engineer in the family to give
the TV set a good whack on the top of its cabinet, which usually cured the problem. Whatever the downside, it didn’t stop the growing demand for television sets throughout the 1950s. In 1947, there were only 15,000 British households with a television set. There were 3 million by 1954, and almost 13 million by 1964.
The front room, or parlour, as it was often referred to in those days, was reserved for visitors and special occasions. It housed all the best furniture and many boasted a gramophone and an upright piano. These rooms were often just dust harbours and a complete waste of space because visitors usually sat in the kitchen or back room, which were more lived-in, warm and cosy. If you were lucky enough to have a kitchen larger than a galley, then you probably spent a great deal of time in there. The kitchen was the hub of the home, where all the cooking, eating, washing and ironing was done, and the baby was usually bathed in the sink or in a bowl on the kitchen table. Some kitchens even had a full-size bath in the corner that was covered with a board, but people living in older houses had to make do with a tin bath in front of the fire or a weekly visit to the public baths. The family pets were fed and watered in the kitchen, and that is where the dog would have its bed. Families often had hair-washing nights, when mum would mix a packet of Palmolive shampoo powder with water in an old jam jar or milk bottle; enough for the whole family to wash their hair – and in the kitchen, of course!
This smart 1950s HMV 2-band radio would have impressed the neighbours at the time.
Although magazines were full of pictures showing the latest fitted kitchens with all the appliances, in the real world kitchens were sparsely furnished with bare essentials, like cooker, sink, mangle, washboard, kitchen cabinet, and table and chairs. Stuff like Omo washing powder, Ajax powder and Robin starch were stored on a shelf under the sink, hidden behind a curtain. Fridges were expensive and still beyond the reach of ordinary families, but most houses had some form of pantry for storing food, with a wire mesh for ventilation. In warm weather, milk bottles were often stood in a bowl of cold water, and in colder weather, unopened milk bottles were kept on the outside windowsill
with a stone on top of each bottle to stop the birds from pecking at the tin-foil top. The old ‘whistle kettle’ was a permanent fixture on top of the stove, and it got plenty of use in boiling endless supplies of hot water for tea and for washing. All mums seemed to have a sewing machine for mending and making things, and again the kitchen table was, more often than not, the place where such work was done. With so much time spent in the kitchen, it was normal to find a large valve radio sat on top of a kitchen cabinet or, if it was deep enough, on the mantle shelf above the fireplace. Many kids would do their homework at the kitchen table or, if that wasn’t available, on their bed when the bedroom wasn’t too cold.
Ticking clocks were a familiar sound around the house, but somehow you didn’t notice them. There were various wind-up clocks in every room, even in the hallway. In the still of the night, the rhythmic ticking could be deafening, but nothing could keep a tired child awake.
Most adults seemed to smoke cigarettes and there were ashtrays in every room, even in the bedrooms. Peoples’ clothes and all the soft furnishings must have reeked with the smell of cigarette and pipe smoke, but again, you didn’t notice it. Air freshener products were not yet in common use and so rooms were usually given a good airing by opening all the windows to let fresh air blow through the house.
By the 1950s, many people were fortunate enough to have access to an inside toilet, but an awful lot of households still had to endure the hardship of using an outside toilet. Commonly referred to as lavatories, lavys or lavs, the outside toilet was usually situated in a small lean-to at the back of
the house. These lavy lean-tos often had no light fittings and at night you would have to feel your way around and take advantage of any reflected light from the house. More often than not, they were cold, damp and draughty places that could be quite scary for kids. There were usually plenty of gaps around the door to allow the cold air to get in, and just to make sure, air holes were drilled near to the top of the door for ventilation. In wintertime, all of the water pipes and the overhead cistern had to be well lagged to prevent the water freezing. The sound of condensation dripping from an exposed piece of pipe just added to the overall eeriness of the place. To a child, the simple mechanics of using an outside loo could be quite daunting; the toilet itself seemed to be so big! Lifting the huge wooden lid with squeaky metal hinges was a task in itself for a four-foot-nothing wimp of a kid. This exposed the seat, or throne as it was sometimes called, which always seemed to be at waist height and required a great deal of stretching on tiptoes before you could get seated. Then you had to contend with the seat’s enormous hole, over which you had to carefully perch with your hands pressed down firmly on each side of the wide wooden seat to support the weight of your body for fear that your little bum would fall through the hole and your whole body would be flushed away! Then it was time to make one of the biggest decisions facing a 1950s child; would you use the sheets of Izal toilet paper that were peeking from their cardboard box on the back of the lavy door, or instead opt for the neatly cut squares of newspaper that were dangling from a string on the wall. It was just another of those many childhood imponderables, why did we have to use these thin, shiny, slippery sheets
of Izal toilet paper when newspaper was so much more absorbent and effective? Izal had the answer emblazoned on each sharply folded sheet, with the words ‘medicated with Izal germicide’. Yes, it was more hygienic but you needed to use about a dozen sheets and it still didn’t seem to do the job! However, Izal toilet paper was see-through and could act as a good alternative for tracing paper; children regularly used it as a substitute for the real thing. And by the way, what was that piece of flannel for that was always hanging on the back of the toilet door? There was usually no sink in the outside lavy but there always seemed to be a flannel or small towel hanging on the back of every lavy door. I dread to think!