LONDON CALLING

This story is by Dorothy Lowry, and has been added to the site with their permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions. The story was collected by Joyce Gibson, transcribed by Elizabeth Lamont and added to the site by Bruce Logan.
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I’m sure you will share many of these memories.

We were a very “wireless” oriented family — not that we each had our own “wireless” in our bedrooms as families now tend to do. No, ours was a family job — a round, bakelite icon called and “Echo”. It was about 16” in diameter with a sort of fretwork front and it sat in almost hallowed state on a little table in the living room. It was electric: I think it had valves. I have a memory of an earlier one with a wet battery but I think this one was electric.

My ear still carries in its memory “Here’s to the next time” — Henry Hall’s famous farewell theme. We didn’t have to wait long for the next time, for in between we had plenty more big band music: Geraldo; Ambrose; Harry Roy; Jack Payne; Billy Carlton and even Glen Millar. And do you remember singers like Al Bowlby (killed by a landmine), Gracie Fields, George Formby and, of course, Vera Lynn. We felt we had them in our homes.

The blackout, and very little transport, meant that many people stayed at home in the evenings. The wireless was their main entertainment. It was said that if Hitler had invaded Britain between 8.30 p.m. and 9.00 p.m. on a Thursday, he would have been unnoticed because everyone was listening to Tommy Handly, It’s That Man Again.

Do you remember “Can I do you now sir?”, or “It’s being so cheerful as keeps me going” — said in the dreariest voice?

We had Arthur Askey too, with his “Busy Little Bee”, and do you remember Sandy Powell with his “The day war broke out my wife said to me ‘You’ve got to do something’”, and there followed different tales of asinine attempts at bravery. Do you remember Stanley Holloway’s “Sam, Sam, pick up that musket”, or “The Lion that swallowed our Albert”?

Children had Uncle Mac on Children’s Hour, and the housewife had lots of advice and recipes from the Ministry of Food.

But, come the evening time, our house came to a halt. Everything was put aside. Homework, ironing, playing table-tennis on the dining room table, even arguments — everything stopped. Silence was expected and respected. It was time for the Nine O’clock News. Night after night our hearts went out to the people of London, Coventry, Liverpool etc. before and after we had our own taste of tragedy. Sometimes the mellifluous tones of Alvar Liddell, sometimes the more authoritarian tones of John Snagg, but sometimes that powerful voice which always sounded as if a little bit of saliva needed to be swallowed — Winston Churchill — urging us to gird our loins, expect the worst, and we could achieve anything.

When the Nine O’clock News ended, it took us all a little time to get readjusted to the trivialities of the house.

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