The other day in a restaurant I watched some Thai youngsters who appeared much more interested in their smartphones than what they were eating. Their obvious phone skills made me quite envious but also just a little melancholy -- a reminder of how much things have changed since my early days, otherwise known as the Stone Age.
In my first 10 years I grew up in a house that didn't have a phone. That is hard to imagine these days when it is impossible to escape the wretched things.
In the early 1950s our family had to use a malodorous public call box about five minutes away from our housing estate. It was one of those red phone boxes, the sort that still appear in just about every movie or TV series set in England.
It wasn't a satisfactory arrangement, particularly for my mother who worked as a "supply-teacher", someone who filled in at schools when the regular teacher was sick. On occasions in the 1950s she taught at my school when there was a shortage. But because our house had no phone I would be summoned by the headmistress and sent home to fetch my mother. I would run all the way rather like Forrest Gump, although not as fast.
Eventually in the mid-1950s we acquired our own phone. It was a standard black issue and proudly took up its place in our hallway at the foot of the stairs. The historic inaugural call was from my mum to her mum, the first of many such marathon conversations.
Ring my bell
Later that day we were sitting in the kitchen when we received our first incoming call. It was quite a shrill ring and we all jumped in fright. For a moment we sat there frozen before I was given the doubtful honour of answering.
I recall nervously picking up the phone and announcing our number, not having a clue who I would be speaking to. As it turned out it was only my grandma wanting to talk to my mum again about how exciting it was to have a phone.
Only a few houses on our cul-de-sac possessed a phone and it wasn't before long that neighbours were regularly knocking at the door with "mind if I use your phone?" or "dog and bone" as one Cockney exile insisted on calling it.
Golden voice
As a child, just for fun I would dial 123 for the Speaking Clock. At the other end a lady would politely reply every 10 seconds: "At the third stroke the time will be…" The voice was that of Jane Cain a telephonist dubbed by the Post Office as "The Girl with the Golden Voice". Her dulcet tones were heard from 1936–63 and she was a minor celebrity.
The Speaking Clock became part of English culture and in one episode of Fawlty Towers Basil throws a tantrum because he can't get through to it. With modern phone technology the demand for the Speaking Clock has naturally plummeted, but it is apparently still popular on New Year's Eve when people want to get the countdown exactly right.
Dylan's dream
The Speaking Clock also gets a mention in Bob Dylan's terrific "Talkin' World War III Blues" from his Freewheelin' album. Dylan is relating to a doctor a scary dream in a which he is the only person left after World War III. One verse goes:
"I was feelin' kinda lonesome and blue/ I needed somebody to talk to/So I called up the operator of time/Just to hear a voice of some kind/ 'When you hear the beep it will be three o'clock'/ She said that for over an hour/ And I hung up."
The way the world is going one fears we could all soon be experiencing Bob Dylan's dream.
Loos news
One thing we have phones to thank for are some wonderful misprints in newspapers. In the old days when public telephones were used by reporters, if the line was bad it could lead to unfortunate results. It was such a phone call many years ago that led to a respected "community leader'' appearing in a Bangkok newspaper as a "communist leader" which sparked a few "lively" calls.
A bad phone line prompted the following apology in a British newspaper: "A report on the Irish church leaders meeting should have stated that Cardinal Conway's use of the word 'horizon' was 'prophetic'. Because of a mishearing it appeared as 'pathetic'.
Perhaps the most entertaining slip appeared in the Times of London some years ago. Explaining why it is necessary to charge entrance fees to art exhibitions, a British minister was quoted as saying: "You expect to pay for going to the loos." The next day an irate reporter had to explain to a red-faced sub-editor who transcribed his call about the existence of the Louvre museum.
Heavens above
A dodgy telephone line prompted the following splendid correction in an American newspaper: "It was incorrectly reported that today is T-shirt Appreciation Day. In fact it is actually Teacher Appreciation Day."
The telephone was again blamed for the following correction in a US provincial newspaper: "The sermon at the Presbyterian Church this Sunday will be 'There Are No Sects in Heaven'. It was incorrectly printed in yesterday's edition as "There is No Sex in Heaven".
Contact PostScript via email at oldcrutch@hotmail.com