Putting The Past Out To Pasture

Swamped in a smorgasbord of media choice, will today’s children ever know what it’s like to be sentimentally attached to a book?

I had so many ‘favourite’ books. Some I loved for their stories, some for the illustrations, others for what they’d meant as a gift, and one simply because I’d saved so long to buy it.  (Another concept that might be lost on Generation Y: delayed gratification)

A book could become tatty with use, but you loved it no less.  Perhaps even more, because the tat said “much used, much loved.” My Enid Blyton books were still with me in my 20s.  Even non-bookish types have been known to secrete a dog-eared Little Golden Book in the back of a wardrobe.   Of course, we romantically imagine that any children we might have, will love them as much as we did.  

Certainly Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree trilogy has stood the test of time (although I can never forgive the PC crew for changing the names of the children – as if modern kids couldn’t handle having a Dick and Fanny on the same page, puhleeeeze). 

Eventually I shed most of mine, disappointed that my firstborn didn’t get the same buzz from The Naughtiest Girl as I did.   I’ve blogged before about my general dismay that Milly Molly Mandy and the girls of the Chalet School are barely known to anyone under 40, but we can’t keep looking back ... right?

That’s what I tell myself today as I sort through a stash of my oldest books.  It's finally time to discard “The All Colour Book of Horses”

First published in 1972, the illustrations have an old-fashioned tone to them.  Hell, it’s so dated, there’s even a ‘recent’ photo of Princess Anne competing on Doublet.  I’m not into horses anymore.  And yet ... gazing at the Arab mare and foal on the cover, I’m transported back to the Christmas when my heart rose to my throat with the excitement of receiving this gift. I remember how for years – yes, literally years – I would check in with this book, studying each photo, inventing a name for each horse.

This book has no relevance to my life now.  And yet ... it’s so hard to bin it.

Bitchin' about the Kitchen

One of the great changes to the traditional family home in the late seventies, was the kitchen being incorporated into the main living area.   Previously, kitchens had been entirely self-contained rooms in which to prepare and eat food.   Perhaps we can thank the growth of the Womens Movement for this revolution in home life.  Until then, women Knew Their Place, which was often the confines of the kitchen: preparing meals, cooking, or washing dishes; certainly not distracted by *gasp* the high-mindedness of male conversation.

Would you believe these 'used'  60s ramekins are currently listed on ebay for $50?  Quick, raid Mum's cupboard!

Formal dining rooms (and not everybody had them) were used only with guests.  All other meals were eaten at a table in the kitchen.  Add to that the typical (nuclear) family structure of the time, rules about ‘table manners’ and you realise how very different life is today.  When was the last time you heard a child being told to keep their elbows off the table?

If the aspirational kitchen of the 60s was a shiny laminated ‘mod’ experience, the 70s kitchen was quite the opposite.  The “farmhouse” look was much favoured, rich in yellowed pine.  A beaten copper rangehood was often the focal point.  Pans dangling from ceiling hooks supposedly added to the ‘country’ feel, as did decorative cake-tins hung in random formation on the walls

As the decade wore on, cupboards in walnut stain also became popular.  People with faux-Tudor leanings preferred mahogany.   A timber benchtop, though desirable, was a luxury for most and somewhat impractical, so laminates still had their place.   Favoured shades were lime green and egg-yolk yellow.  Formica did some more upmarket heavily textured laminates, the most popular by far being a dark brown flecked with red and orange, that looked like a volcano had spewed on the benchtop.

Did your Mum have cannisters like these?

At odds with the ‘au naturel’ vibe was the way women loved to display all their kitchen gadgets, especially electric frypans, electric can-openers, vertical grills (“what are they?” I hear the under 30s ask) and most of all, the beloved Kenwood Chef.  Sets of saucepans enamelled in red, burnt orange or olive green completed the ‘look.’

Earthenware dinner sets became groovy (attractive but could get very “hot!hot!hot!”) and a set of chocolate brown coffee cups or ramekins was de rigueur.

Thank goodness wallpaper was falling out of vogue (in Australia at least. Europeans and Americans stayed with it several decades more).  One of the more popular patterns here in the early 70s was a brick or lattice wall with ivy growing over it.  Into the 1980s, large block-mount photos of baskets of  gourds became curiously popular.

Window dressings?  Where I grew up, a single style raged through every kitchen in Adelaide - cafe curtains: a frill along the top, matching half-curtain below.  But the best part of the 70s house belonged to those kitchens that were still separate from the main living area but adjacent to a designated ‘meals’ area, for the two would usually be divided by a set of half-sized swinging saloon doors.  Most children (and probably quite a few dads) got in touch with their inner Clint Eastwood on a daily basis.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check on the Apricot Chicken Casserole.

Top of the Shops

Before malls became the main way to shop, every suburb had a small strip of shops, most having no particular appeal to children, except perhaps the candy counter at the delicatessen*

I grew up in the time just before supermarkets were particularly 'super.'  Rather, they were boring places with checquered linoleum floors were you bought non-perishables that were packed into large brown bags.   Meat and vegetables still had their own shops.  

Butcher shops were always fun, because butchers were always so damned happy and whistled a lot.  Presumably, hacking through bones all day with a cleaver is a great de-stressor.  Cheery chaps in striped aprons strode a sawdusted floor to add fake green ivy to their displays of meat, and no child left the shop without a free fat slice of of fritz**

Next-door was the greengrocery, a darkish store that always smelled of stale cabbage.  Shoppers would tell the  proprietor what fruit and vegetables they wanted, but the owner would fill the bag for them -  none of this ‘choose your own’ caper, folks.  The brown bag would then closed with a three-spin twist.   Into the string bag it went, as we headed on to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. 

Pharmacies were always mysteriously quiet, and the pharmacist took forever to dispense your prescription, to be sure you had time to browse their range of over-priced goods.  To be fair though, most prescription items then weren’t ready-packed, much less blister-packed.  The pharmacist would measure out the tablets into a container, or mix and a bottle a syrup from scratch.    You’d know your order was close to ready when you heard the clatter of the typewriter as Mr Pharmacist (it was always a Mr - no female pharmacists in these parts in the 70s!) prepared the label for your “Chest Elixir” or “Indigestion Tablets” or “Ipecac and Squills” ... whatever exotique concoction it might be.

And then we headed home, passing the hairdressing salon, peering in at women having their hair coiled around rollers or perming rods (a perm or a 'set' was more common then than a cut or colour).  At the back of the salon (which would usually have a pretentious French name or a French woman’s name) would be a row of women reading magazines as they sat under hairdryers that looked like enormous hardboiled eggs.

If we’d been very, very good, we’d be given a small coin to feed the into one of the dispensing machines in front of the delicatessen: a gobstopper perhaps, or for a little more, a tiny little useless toy.    A boy would be lucky to get a teeny-tiny little paratrooper figurine with a papery/plasticky “parachute” attached to it with strings; the best a girl could hope for was a garish ring with an adjustable band (that generally broke after just one adjustment)

I just realised something as I wrote the last paragraph: the condition of getting a treat was that we’d displayed good behaviour during the outing.   These days, children seem to feel they’re entitled to these treats, and parents often give them not only freely, but even to ‘shut the kid up’ if they whine for it.    And, sad to say, I think a lot of modern kids would scoff at the fact we were so easily pleased by a dicky little toy, a Freddo Frog or little bag of mixed candy.

 

 

*  Delicatessan (subject of a future blog) = corner store/candy store

**  Fritz is a.k.a. Baloney or Devon

Please Mister Crocodile ... Stop Her Wallowing in The Seventies

Before computer games,  before video games – in other words, back when indoor games were either board games or card games -  many of us “Seventies Kids” enjoyed fabulous yard and playground games.   A few of those games have survived; many have not.

Interesting place for the kiddies to play eh?

Apart from the stock-standards Chasey and Hide-n-Seek, Brandy (or Branding) was simply about trying to dodge or out-run someone who was intent on pelting you hard with a tennis ball.  The ‘branding’ was supposed to be legs only, but of course some players aimed too high (not always by accident, especially if they were taunted enough) and the game would end in tears.

I’m trying to recall whether this was the same as Red Rover -  perhaps someone can advise me?  Possibly it might now be banned in today’s politically-correct schoolyards

I doubt Clapping Games still have currency – certainly my youngest daughter hasn’t a clue what I’m on about when I mention it.   These games (usually one-on-one) involved some rather complex clapping patterns, as you chanted a ditty - “Under The Brown Bush” was the best-known one. .  My favourite was “Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?” although it could get spectacularly boring after a couple of minutes.  (A bit like this blog).

Skipping has become more of a sport than the pure fun it once was. You may remember the four basic skips (high, low, jolly, pepper) and the rope game that arose from them?  The only other one I recall is “My Mother Said.”  

Better still was Elastics (which needs no explanation for those who remember how much fun a minimum of three people could have with a long piece of elastic, knotted into a loop).  

Chalked games on the ground – variations of hopscotch – were perhaps of an earlier time, although we did some elaborate spiral variations of them.  

But it didn’t come more low-tech than standing face-out from a wall, doing clever things with a tennis ball tied into a stocking leg.  A variation on this involved tying the stocking to your ankle and artfully moving along as the ball constantly circled one ankle. 

Here’s a game that may perhaps have different versions in different states/countries: “Please Mr Crocodile.”  The rest of the chant was “may I cross the Jordan River without getting wet?”   “Mr Crocodile” would reply “only if you’re wearing the color .... “(names color).   If you were wearing it, you could safely cross the ‘river’ patrolled by Mr Crocodile, but if not, you had to run the gauntlet.  So desperate were some of us to cross safely, we weren’t above flashing our knickers if it provided the  color-match.  (I still recall my great joy when Mum one day bought me home a pair of mutli-colored knickers)

And finally Statues (a.k.a. in Australia as “Creepy Up”) – a game which has stood the test of time, though is not the daily occurrence it was in schoolyards of the 1970s.  The person who was “It” faced a wall, as the others stood in a line some distance behind, and attempted to creep up on “It,” without being caught moving (ie freezing to a ‘statue’) when “It” sporadically turned around to try and catch you out.  The goal was to reach “It” and tap him/her on the back, then rush back to the starting line as "It" gave chase and tried to catch you.  Screaming optional.

********************** PHUNKY PHOOTWEAR ***********************

courtesy http://www.vintage-heels.co.uk

The 70s was surely the most innovative decade for footwear.  Platform soles were bigger and chunkier than in any time in history and I absolutely coveted them.  I remember being 11 years old, begging my mother for a pair and not liking her arguments which featured those old chestnuts (1) “not good for developing feet” and (2) “where would you wear them?” 

 

The other newbie of the time was the thigh-high lace-up boot, especially in white.  (Yes, a reworking of something marching girls had worn years before, but not the platform heels and not with hot pants).

Nobody used the term ‘trainers’ for sports shoes; they were called sports shoes and THE one to have was the Adidas three-stripe.  Leather footwear for sport was a novelty in itself, since most of us had grown up wearing canvas ‘sandshoes’ (aka plimsolls in the UK) to play tennis or basketball.

The other fashionable sports footwear of the day was the Converse Hi-Top – then known (in Australia at least) as a ‘gym boot.’  And like many older styles, they’ve come back around in fashion decades later.   Desert boots also reigned popular for much of the 70s for casual wear.

Thanks to the hippie movement, we also saw footwear that borrowed heavily from ethnic traditions.  Strappy suede sandals and beaded moccasins, were of course lifted straight from the American Indians.  Clogs were popular for the first time outside of the Netherlands, but greatly funked-up, with only the soles being wooden.  Man I loved my clogs  - apart from the fact everyone could hear you coming *CLOG-CLOG-CLOG*

In the late 70s, espadrilles appeared (again, a resurfacing of an old fashion, formerly resort wear in Western Europe and the beaches of Miami).  And finally, we must reference Slap Thongs, those odd rectangular straw-soled flip-flops with velvet straps (which came in a few colors but we all knew it had to be black or nothing).

No fashion since has been entirely innovative; the only completely ‘new’ idea I can think of is peep-toed boots and really ... it smacks of designer desperation doesn’t it?

This post is based on memories, some knowledge and lots of opinion.  Feel free to dispute or add your own thoughts!

Chalk Talk

Discussing school days and chalkboards with one of my blog readers (do chalkboards even exist anymore?) I recalled that it was once quite a privilege to be the ‘chalk eraser monitor.’  The more loaded with chalk dust it was, the more exciting the act of banging the life out of it, forming a massive cloud of colored dust.   

These days, that would have at least half the class reaching for their inhalers.  I think maybe 2% of the kids at my (large) school had asthma.  We wouldn’t have known an inhaler from a kazoo. Nebulisers?   Never heard of them; would have thought they were some kind of alien weapon from “Lost In Space.”

 Certainly one of the most common simple ‘punishments’ a teacher could mete, if he/she saw someone not paying attention in class, was to hurl the chalk duster across the room at them, hitting them either square on the head, or leaving an impressive branding on the back of their school jumper.  Again, if we transpose that to a modern-day school, I can’t even begin to speculate the cries of protest that would arise, the throng of parents complaining and possibly laying assault charges.

When I was 14, our temperamental English teacher (a very camp gent in ultra-high-waisted slacks) one day became increasingly annoyed as he listened to a group of rowdy girls in our class  mocking novels by Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters.  “Stop it!” he finally yelped. “ You’re just a bunch of sluts!”

Well, that certainly shut them up.  It wasn’t appropriate from a teacher, but at the same time, some of the huffy reactions were hypocritical to say the least.   And guess that?  The two parents who lodged complaints about him, were the very ones whose daughters were being dropped off after school, a block shy of their homes, by guys who drove panel vans.

All Bound For Morning Town

Do children enjoy lullabies anymore?  I remember Bye Baby Bunting, Hush Little Baby (Papa never did buy me that mockingbird) Moon of Silver-White, and a special 'local' one (link at end). 

However, many of us loved to catch the sleepy train to ‘Morning Town.’  Nobody did it better than The Seekers, led by Judith Durham’s amazing voice.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foC79VwRUZw&feature=player_embedded#at=35

Bed time was rarely negotiable when we were young.  Certainly nothing on television after 8.30pm was considered appropriate for children.  We had a bunch of fun shows to watch after school if we wanted (but funnily enough, many of us preferred to go play with our friends). 

The “big” night for family TV was probably Sunday.  Who doesn’t remember The Wonderful World Of Disney, and how Uncle Walt seemed so kind (but apparently wasn’t in real life) and wondering which ‘Land’ that week’s programme would visit.  “Please don’t let it be Frontierland” we’d wish, much preferring Fantasyland and Adventureland ... Tomorrowland at a pinch. 

Australians will certainly remember Young Talent Time on a Sunday night, and singing/swaying along to Johnny Young’s “All My Loving” at the end.

 And so to bed ... In the 60s, that meant beds with padded headboards and chenille bedspreads.  In the 70s, more likely turned pine or tubular-framed beds with bold geometric-patterned quilts.  Some children had a fluffy animal-cum-‘pyjama bag’ to put their PJs in.  If we were lucky, we'd get a  bedtime story, told by a real live parent, but amazingly, we were able to sleep without a fix of TV,  Facebook or texting our friends.   And probably had more and better-quality sleep because of it. 

PS  Somebody messaged me to include Puff The Magic Dragon.  Is it a lullaby as such?  Certainly is lovely though, with those words every parent understands too well:  "A dragon lives forever / but not so little boys."

Music in the Sky with Diamonds

Is it just my bias, or was I incredibly fortunate to be a “child of the 70s,” thus immersed in the best music era of all time?  I can’t even begin to blog on how much Glam Rock, Disco, 70s Pop and Rock brought pleasure to my life.

But I was born in the sixties, so, thanks to my parents, some of that music imprinted my psyche as well. 

Certainly, the 1960s was a decade that produced some amazing hits.  Unfortunately, my parents weren’t listening to those.  Their middle-of-the-road tastes leaned more towards Burt Bacharach, Henry Mancini, Herb Alpert, Percy Faith and *passes around anti-nausea tablets*  Max Bygraves.

I can still see Dad, sucking on a can of Tab Diet Cola, as he tapped his foot to Acker Bilk and James Galway.  His funk factor stopped at Herman’s Hermits.  If only someone had airlifted me ahead to the ‘70s, to those joyful days of saving up to buy a vinyl single (45rpm) in a paper sleeve. 

Every decade has its musical duds, but I’d argue the 1960s had more than most. My ‘most loathed’ instrumental was Swinging Safari and the worst schlagermuzak of all time was Days of Wine and Roses and The Shadow of Your Smile.

Best ‘60s instrumental was easily Mason Williams’ Classical Gas.

Not until adulthood was I exposed to the finest music of the ‘60s, from artists like The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Simon & Garfunkel, James Taylor, Mamas & The Papas, The Who, Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin.

Here's what happens next: I post this blog, and realize I’ve overlooked a seminal artist/band of the sixties.  Apart from The Stones (not a fan, though I respect their work), The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell … perhaps you can think of another that genuinely deserves a mention?

Wooden It Be Nice?

I spent countless happy hours playing in the Aladdin’s Cave that was Dad’s Garage.  The raw brick walls were lined with an incredible array of shelves and drawers, all meticulously labelled, to store ‘blokey stuff.’  He loved woodwork, and built a huge bench with every conceivable tool and gadget.  My brother and I were compelled to put our fingers into the vise to test our pain threshold.  Even more intriguing were Dad‘s rifles, on a not-so-high shelf next to the bench.  He did a better job of hiding his “Man” magazines though.  Almost.

The Garage was home to Dad’s succession of cars, his favourite being a Karmann Ghia.  One day, when I was four, I decided to hop in and ‘drive’ it.  I tried to force the column shift into second gear, but since I had no idea about using the clutch, the stick snapped.  It took a good wad of glue, a roll of masking tape, and a smack on my bum to brace the stick until it could be repaired.

But it wasn’t just the familiar hulk of a vehicle I missed in the Garage when Dad left us.  Lots of interesting stuff went with him.  Tools disappeared from the shadow board, save the odd wrench and spanner.  Left behind were old jam jars full of screws, nuts, bolts and washers, which I enjoyed sorting.  I used colored chalks to draw the outline of where his car had been. 

In the gloom of the Garage, without a car or a Dad – just me putting my bike away each day – rats and mice began throwing parties in the dark corners and the cellar.  The magic was abating.

 

To this day, I miss the smell of sawdust.  On the rare occasion I visit a hardware store, I’m irresistibly drawn to the fresh timber area, where I take in lungfuls of sawdust (hopefully just the scent).  For years after Dad left, I’d sweep and sweep the shed with a stiff broom, whipping up a musty cloud in which I savoured the very last remnants of his woodwork.

Ten-Year-Old Landlord Owns Two Hotels in Mayfair

I’m admiring the conkers on my neighbour’s magnificent acorn tree, and it occurs to me that the local kids probably wouldn’t even know how to have a conker fight.   Without a doubt, those of us who grew up before the 1980s were  more connected to nature.  

  

I realise technology and safety issues have changed life for the ‘modern child,’ but  I’d wager that a day spent riding around the neighbourhood on your bicycle (a Dragstar if you were lucky), exploring the local creek, climbing forbidden trees, etc.  gave us much more joy than a day spent playing Wii, or hanging at the mall.  Certainly it kept us fitter.

You could get a physical and social workout  by attending your local Youth Club.   And almost every boy dabbled in scouting at some stage ... sadly, that’s no longer the case.  Girls were Brownies, Guides, or in Girl's Brigade. 

With family and/or friends, board games were lots of fun too.   Apart from the age-old Monopoly and Scrabble, the most popular ones  I recall  were  Hands Down,  Mouse Trap,  Tip It,  Ker-plunk,  Operation, Battleship and Cluedo..

There are several youtubes of “Mouse Trap” ads.  This one was ‘before my time’ but gives the clearest demonstration of how it worked.  WHEN it worked!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMzbRkWGLv0&feature=related 

Variations on some of these games are now available online of course, and I guess the upside is that you can always find someone to play them with.   Does that make them more fun?  I’m not sure, but it certainly makes them easier to put away.  

I imagine many kids now would “LOL” if I challenged them to a game of knucklebones or marbles.  They were simple amusements, but I often wonder how quickly the new generations’ brains can evolve, to cope with the instant availability and rapid-fire action of online and video gaming ...  Perhaps we’ll have the last laugh.