Recalling the luxury of a phone

I’VE often commented about mobile phones. I have one myself but it never ceases to amaze me how so many people chat into them incessantly, especially when they’re driving.

But, you know, it’s not too long ago that phones of any kind were a luxury. When I was in the top class at junior school the headmaster — Norman “Pop” Scholes, an Oldham man who went on to be chief scout at Manchester United — asked how many of us had a telephone at home.

I think only two children out of around 40 put their hands up, and one of those was the son of the Dukinfield Town manager.

The reason for Pop’s interest was that the school phone was in our classroom. He was occasionally out when it rang so he wanted one of us to be able to answer.

A lad called Michael — not me — was eventually picked and instructed to say: “Ashton 1300, Moravian County Primary School, Dukinfield, can I help you?”

Of course we had to wait weeks for Michael to have his moment of glory, but eventually the phone rang when Mr Scholes was elsewhere.

All eyes focused on Michael and around 20 giggling youngsters followed him as he made his way behind the piano, to where the phone was kept.

So far nearly so good, but then Michael’s phone manner deserted him. He picked up the phone and blurted: “What do you want?” Well, it was probably the first time he had spoken into a phone.

After all, even if you had a phone, whom did you ring? And when?

You were probably at work all day and everywhere shut at five and there was no Sunday working.

If my mam needed something from the town hall she went round there in person.

On the very odd occasion you did need to ring someone you went to a phone box.

And when I was in the cubs they used to give us lessons in using one. Can you imagine that now? A five-year-old could probably rig up a VOIP link to Beijing.

I can just about remember the old Button A and B phones, but when the newer ones came out, around 1963 I think, I could never get the threepenny bit in as the pips went.

We finally got a phone at home in 1970. My sister worked in a bank in Manchester and had friends in posh places like Stockport — you know, where they have fruit on the table when no one’s ill.

It took weeks to arrive and then we had to wait four months until they connected us.