image by webweaver.nu

I have in my possession a newspaper published on the day I was born in 1925.

 Of course the news items and advertisements are of great interest, but I am particularly drawn to the radio programmes being broadcast by 2LO, the forerunner of the BBC, and especially the “Radio Military Tattoo” from the studio at 9.30 pm. Taking part were the Wireless Military Band, the Wireless Choir, the Pipes, Drums and Fifes of the Scots Guards, and the Trumpeters of the Royal Horse Guards. An “Artillery Musical Drive” introducing tanks, Anti-Aircraft batteries and aeroplanes was promised. Pretty good for a broadcast from the studio! To quote the newspaper - “The presence of other troops and their evolutions (?) will be suggested by sound effects, and indications of what is happening will be given by the dialogue between two persons supposed to be watching the performance.”

During the day the Royal Air Force Band were billed to give four short programmes and the reason for all this military emphasis was the fact that the following day was Armistice Day.

Now, apart from the Royal Air Force Band, what other entertainment was available in 1925?

Jack Payne was probably the first of a long line of dance band leaders who would fill a great part of broadcasting schedules for many years.

Outside broadcasts from hotels were frequent, and the first UK performance of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue came from the London Savoy Hotel on 15th June.

Among the top recording artistes were the Irish tenor John McCormack and Paul Whiteman the American Band leader.

In the London theatre, three musicals were outstanding - Rose Marie which ran for 851 performances; No, No, Nanette 665 performances; The Vagabond King 511 performances.

1925 saw a large number of popular songs published, among them - Dinah, Tea for Two, Don’t bring Lulu, Show me the Way to go Home, and Always, which Irving Berlin wrote as a wedding gift to his wife

The first popular song I ever heard was Alexander’s Ragtime Band (another Irving Berlin hit) sung by my mother as she did her housework. I wonder where she learned that!!!

-o0o-

When I was a small boy, the main street of our town had very little traffic and people could safely walk on the road rather than on the pavements.

There were plenty of vans around - milk, fruit and veg., fish, baker, coal, but all horse-driven. The ice-cream van was a small 2-wheel affair driven by a cute little pony. (The owner, an Italian who had lived for many years here was interned when Italy came into World War Two on Germany’s side.)

There was an exciting time each day around 5 o’clock when all the vans would be returning to the depot. The horses of course knew that their day’s work was done, and would gallop through the town with a great clattering of hooves, taking the right-hand turn to the stables at what seemed to us a dangerous speed.

Keen gardeners were always on the alert for the sound of horses’ hooves on the street, and were ready with pail and shovel to collect what the horses left behind. I was never asked to do that, but I remember an occasion much later on, when my father had a whole cartload of manure deposited on the pavement, and I had to help carry it in to the garden. Not a pleasant job!!!
 

-o0o-

I was brought up in a town where there were no pubs or licensed shops.

This arose because the Temperance (Scotland) Act of 1913 gave people the opportunity to decide if their district should have licensed premises or not. The Temperance movement in Scotland was very strong at that time and had the support of many influential people like Keir Hardie the labour leader.

Most of my relatives were abstainers and indeed my maternal grandfather was among those who actively brought about the “no licence” result in our area. Certainly there was a great deal of poverty at that time, much of it caused by men spending their wages in the pubs, and there were many dramatic recitations and songs that warned of the evils of “demon drink”.

-o0o-

Till 1937 we lived in a tenement flat - one up, comprising a good-sized hallway, kitchen, bedroom, box room, a small toilet and the “front room”.

The front room/best room/big room was rarely used, being kept for special occasions, which seemed to be a common practice for tenement dwellers. The only time there was heating in that room was when we had visitors; the coal fire had to be lit in the afternoon, so that the problems encountered getting it started and the resulting smoke coming down the chimney could be solved before our guests arrived.

The front room became used regularly when we got a piano. My sister and I had to practise half-an-hour every day with our mother sitting beside us, not because she knew anything about music, but simply to make sure we did our proper practice and occasionally to tap out the beat with her knitting needle. I can well remember that in the winter months it was pretty cold in that room. (I suppose that was good training for us, because many years later both of us would be practising on pipe organs in bitter cold churches.)

One poignant memory of the “front room” sticks in my mind. In the 1930s there was an outbreak of scarlet fever in our area. I fell victim to it, and, after I had recovered, my sister, just a few weeks short of her 5th birthday, caught it. I can remember the day she was taken away in the “fever van”. After it had left I couldn't find my mother and I searched the house. And then I discovered her - in the front room, hiding behind the door, crying.

-o0o-