“Concluding the Days leading up to our First Electric Radio"

Every Friday evening while Mum and Nan were away at the cinema it was Dad’s job to bath us children. This he did using a grey elongated galvanised bathtub. The bath was placed on the kitchen floor, in front of the range fire. To fill the bath Dad had to heat water in several large containers. Large saucepans and kettles were used for this purpose. They were heated on the range fire and on top of the gas stove. We were all washed and dried thoroughly and dressed in our clean pyjamas, ready for bed.
Dad would then have to drag the bathtub and the dirty water that it contained to the back door. From here Dad tipped the bath water down the outside drain. He would then rinse the bathtub clean and then hang it on an outside wall of the house until the following week.
During his weekly ritual of bathing us Dad always had our old radio on in the background. A large square battery and a similar size jar containing acid and known as an accumulator powered the radio. The radio was housed in a large brown and cream wooden cabinet. On the front was a glass panel, which was illuminated when the radio was switched on. The glass panel had markings on it showing the name and frequency numbers of the stations that could be tuned into. Main frequencies that could be heard were on the Medium wave band (MW) Long wave (LW) and Short wave (SW). Among the most popular stations at the time were the ‘Light Programme’ (1500 metres LW) and the ‘Home Service (1100 metres MW). Today’s equivalents are ‘Radio 2’ and ‘Radio 4’respectfully. Reception in those days, and on that type of set was not very good especially after dark when there was a lot of interference from foreign stations. The old radio always stood on a small sideboard in the kitchen, alongside the blue and white enamel breadbin.
There was no mains electricity at Cotswold Gardens until around 1947/8. Gas supplied the power for lighting and cooking. The meter for the gas supply sat in a cupboard under the stairs, where it was fed a diet of old pennies and shilling pieces.
Periodically a representative of the gas board would call on us to read and empty the meter. Colloquially known as ‘The Gas Man’. Every three months or so the cry would go up around the estate, ‘have you seen the ‘Gas Man’ around?’
The gas board representative was a tall thin man. He always wore a flat military style hat, with a black shiny peak on it. He always removed the cap on entering any house on his round. He carried a black attaché case, which contained his receipt book and record book. The other item that he carried was a bulky looking metal case into which he placed the coins after he had emptied the meter, counted the coins and put them into piles on the table. The pennies were bagged separately from the silver coins (shillings). Each bag of counted coin was then folded over at the top and then placed in his metal box and locked. He would then issue Dad or Mum with a receipt. If there was money over, from what was required, the amount in coinage was left on the table to be used again in the meter.
The ‘Gas Man’ also wore a full length navy blue raincoat, the collar and cuffs of which were of a paler blue. The breast pocket contained the gas board logo. Under his coat he wore a white shirt and black tie. His black greasy looking hair was parted on one side and combed straight back on the other. His complexion was very pale and ghostly looking. The eyes were strangely black and seemed to be set deep in his face and surrounded by thick and bushy eyebrows. His rather long and pointed nose cast a shadow over his pencil thin moustache. The left cheek of his face was stained yellow with nicotine, caused by a constantly held-lighted cigarette in his mouth.
Our landlord, in those days was ‘Stroud Urban District Council, eventually had all of the houses on Cotswold Gardens wired so that we could be connected to the national power supply. It was sheer luxury. Being able to illuminate the house at night by just pressing a switch. Instead of having to light a waxed taper, turn on the gas supply and apply the taper to the gas mantle in the hope that you didn’t break it, it was so fragile. For many years after the electricity was installed Mum still preferred to use the gas stove to cook on.
Shortly after the new wiring was completed Dad decided that this would be the ideal opportunity to replace our old radio with a brand new electrical one. In retrospect I wish that Dad had kept the old set, instead of giving it to us to play with after he had taken out the battery and accumulator. It might have been worth a few pounds today!
On the day of its intended installation I remember rushing home from school, full of excitement. Longing to set eyes on this new edition to the house, wondering what it would look like, if it would sound any better. Wondering how it could possibly work without a battery or an accumulator. Looking forward to ‘Children's Hour’ at five o’clock on the Home Service. Oh, isn’t life exciting?
As I impatiently opened the front door, and ran into the front room, I stopped dead in my tracks. Where was the new radio? The spot designated for it, on top of our best sideboard was bare, a void, nothing!
Swiftly I moved into the kitchen, hoping that it had been placed in there, where the old radio had once stood. Again, nothing! Only the old set sat in its usual place. Had Mr Andrews forgotten to deliver, from his electrical shop in Long Street? Had Dad changed his mind, or had he got his date of delivery wrong? Surely not? Where was our new radio? I felt deflated.
Mum was in the kitchen, busily preparing an evening meal for when Dad arrived home from work. Preparing carrots, potatoes and a lovely green cabbage, all grown in Dad’s back garden. With the oven on and saucepans simmering on the rings of the gas stove, the kitchen began to resemble a sauna. Windows were steamed up and the cream painted walls ran with condensation. A shallow cloud of steam hung close to the ceiling, around the electric light. This over a period of time caused the paint on the ceiling to flake off. Poor Mum, she seemed to spend most of her days in the kitchen when we were growing up. Although Dad did help her out when he could, especially at the weekend.
“I’m off out Mum”, I shouted as I reached the back door.
“Don’t you get going far away, your tea will soon be on the table”, shouted Mum, invisible in the very steamy kitchen.
“I shan’t be long, I’m only going up to the playing field, on the swings”. I retorted.
What could have happened to that radio, why wasn’t it in the house? These thoughts occupied my mind as I walked down the road with no clear idea of my destination and ignoring all that encountered me. I sat slouched on the swings at the top end of the playing field. Oh, I’m fed up!
I was suddenly aware of my name being called.
“Terry! Terry! Come on now, your tea’s on the table”.
I was abruptly brought back to reality with the realisation that it was Mum calling me, in her very articulate voice, from the gate at the bottom of the playing field.
Rather slowly and lethargically I made my way back down the field towards Mum. She still wore the blue and white striped apron that she had been cooking in, when I left the house. Mum was a short woman, slim with black curly shoulder length hair. Her face was round with rosy cheeks and brown eyes. She always wore a broad smile, no matter how she was feeling. Traces of flour could be seen in her hair and on her cheeks. While mixing the ingredients for a cake or one of her home made tarts Mum had a habit of pushing strands of hair, that fell across her face, back into place with the back of her hand causing the flour to stick to her face as well as her hair. Hand in hand we walked slowly home together. We walked in silence for much of the way, as I still felt down in the dumps about the non-appearance of our new radio set.
As we approached our back door, from a narrow path that ran up the side of the house from the front gate, I was more than surprised to hear rather loud music. What was this music, where was it coming from? It couldn’t be a record, as we didn’t own a gramophone. Only Nan had one of those.
We entered the house, past the pantry on the left, and found the place drowning in loud music. Dad was sat at the kitchen table reading his newspaper. Looking up from his paper and seeing us stood there Dad’s face took on one of the broadest smiles. Looking around I could see that the music wasn’t coming from our old radio set – as its usual place was still vacant. I was temporarily confused.
“Where’s that music coming from Dad?” I asked quizzically.
“From the radio of course son, where did you think it was coming from?” Asked Dad teasingly.
“I don’t believe you. How can it? There’s no radio here now.” I uttered agitatedly.
“Come on into the front room then, if you don’t believe me and see for yourself.” Dad beckoned, still smiling.
I followed Mum and Dad through the kitchen door, into the front hallway past the hall stand and the elongated wall mounted barometer, across to the door of the immaculately clean front room. A room that we children were never allowed into, except on special occasions like Christmas or when we had visitors. The setting sun shone through the half-opened curtains highlighting the highly polished wood grain on the dining table. It also enhanced the floral pattern on the deep pile carpet. Minute particles of air borne dust could be seen – as if suspended – in the shafts of sunlight through the curtains. As Mum drew back the curtains the whole room exploded into colour and reality. Freshly painted cupboard and door panels, cream coloured with chocolate brown surrounds. Full length matching velvet curtains adorned the two windows – back and front – each with a deep valance and tiebacks. A large glass bowl of fresh fruit (oranges, apples and a hand of bananas) stood in the centre of the dining table, on a doily. Large bronze coloured Chrysanthemums with cream centres, freshly cut from the back garden, stood proudly in large glass vases, on the mantelpiece and on the windowsills. Mum’s pride and joy in that room was her new three-piece suite. This had taken her several years to save for out of her meagre housekeeping money. Mum looked upon this suite as her jewel in the crown.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the brightness of the room, there it was! Sitting proudly on a large doily in the middle of our new sideboard was our brand new ‘Philips’ radio set. I was speechless and excited again! Wow!
The new radio was housed in a strong plastic like material, known as ‘Bakelite’. It was dark brown in colour, with cream trims. The set was about sixty centimetres wide, forty-five high and thirty centimetres deep. There were two knobs on each side of set. On the left side was the on/off control, next to that was the frequency control – Long, Medium and Short Wave. The two knobs on the right side were for volume control and station selection. Set at a forty-five degree angle on top of the set was a glass panel. This panel had printed on it, in green lettering, a list of all the stations that the radio could pick up. When the radio was switched on the glass panel was illuminated for easier reading. Mum and Dad were the only two people allowed to operate our new radio.
Because our new radio was kept in the front room, this meant that we were unable to listen to it in the kitchen. So Dad had to make arrangements with our retailer (Mr Andrews) to come and connect an extension speaker in the kitchen for us. This he did by soldering two wires onto the speaker of our new set. He then drilled a hole in the wall, from the front room into the kitchen. The two wires were then passed through the drilled hole and then soldered to the extension speaker, which was then mounted on the kitchen wall. The arrangement worked perfectly.
It was during these ‘bath nights’ that I first began to enjoy listening to the radio.
Dad would usually start our baths to coincide with him listening to his daily serial, ‘Dick Barton’ special agent, which started at six forty five each evening and finished at seven o’clock. These episodes were pretty scary for me to listen too, at a mere six years old. To keep us on the edge of our seats, each episode would end in an exciting situation. Dick Barton and his sidekick ‘Snowy’ would get themselves into some sticky situations, but deep down you knew that they would always get themselves out of it. Later, when we moved over to Dursley, every kid on the estate disappeared for a quarter of an hour, just to listen to ‘Dick Barton’. This series finished in 1951, to be replaced by ‘The Archers’. This programme celebrated its fiftieth birthday in 2001.
After having my bath on a Friday night I was usually allowed to stay up late, at least until Mum and Nan came home from the cinema. I sat, curled up in my pyjamas, in the deep and luxuriously comfortable armchair that we had in the corner of the kitchen. On the radio after ‘Dick Barton’ was a news and current affairs programme, ‘News and Radio Newsreel’. Usually presented by Alvar Liddell, Frank Phillips or Ronald Fletcher. If, as was sometimes the case, I fell asleep Ted Ray aroused me from my slumbers, with his comedy show called ‘Ray’s a Laugh’. This was on the Light Programme, Radio 2 of today. Beryl Reid co-starred in this show. Other programmes that I enjoyed listening to as I grew up were ‘Life with the Lyons’, a sitcom starring Ben Lyon and Bebbie Daniels, with their children Barbara and Richard. ‘Variety Bandbox’, comedy and music. ‘Take it from here’, comedy including sketches from ‘The Glum’s (Ron and Eth) played by Dick Bentley and June Whitfield with Jimmy Edwards as the father-in-law. Not forgetting ‘How Much Binding in the Marsh, with Kenneth Horne and Richard (Tricky Dickie) Murdoch.
A few of the daytime programmes that I remember, because Mum usually had the radio on when I came in from school were ‘Music while you work’, no vocals just instrumentals of the popular music of that time. Last but not least there was ‘Children’s Hour’, with ‘Uncle Mac’ alias Derek McCullough. The stories and plays were the thing that I enjoyed most about ‘Children’s Hour’.
Our new ‘Philips’ radio set was to accompany us, as a family, for many years through the many trials and tribulations of our lives. Both in Wotton-under-Edge and later in Dursley.