This is a scheduled post, and I will reply to any comments tomorrow.
Sam bought me this ‘retro’ phone for one of my Christmas presents. I absolutely love it!
When I was 18 back in 1975, my parents acquired their first phone. It was mustard in colour, and resembled this one apart from the hash and star buttons of course (my 18 year old self asks – what are they for?). It dials a little faster than I remember, but when it rings, the sound reminds me of my teenage years and the excitement of the new-found delight of talking to my friends for as long as I was permitted to. If I chatted on the phone for too long, my mother would appear in the hallway and ask whether I thought her name was Baroness Rothschild.
We’ve kept the more modern phones as well, but this one sits pride of place on my desk. I recently read that when a phone like this one was shown to a teenager of today, they didn’t know what to do with it. When Boris permits my grandchildren to visit me again I shall put that to the test and ask them to dial a number. The receiver is reassuringly solid, and there’s still that telltale ‘click’ if somebody listens on one of the other extensions.
Okay, so who remembers phones like this one?
And if you do, do you remember the old red public telephone boxes? The ones in London always smelt of urine, and when I was a kid I didn’t have enough strength to push twopence into the slot to make a call. As I grew older it was difficult to find one that actually contained a working phone. The last box was taken to our village hall a few years ago and used to keep a defibrillator in. A sad but I suppose useful ending for such a British icon.