16/11/2025
There was a time, not so long ago, when life felt softer around the edges — back in the days of tanners and bobs, when mothers carried endless patience in their aprons and fathers returned home each evening with the dust of honest work still on their sleeves. Families didn’t have much, but they shared what mattered most. Football teams wore hand-me-downs without shame, and the old television in the corner offered only two channels — just enough to gather everyone close.
It was the era of three-penny bits and school nurses who gently checked your hair for nits while humming old tunes. Winter meant cold cheeks and warm wool — jumpers knitted by someone who loved you. Snowballs were never weapons, only laughter in disguise, and sliding on frozen pavements was a sport no grown-up bothered to forbid.
Those were the days of hot ginger beer warming small hands, when childhood lasted longer than a fleeting moment and children listened — truly listened — to the wisdom of older voices. “Pot” was nothing mysterious; it was simply the thing kept under the bed to save you a midnight walk to the loo.
Afternoons were filled with “Listen with Mother,” that soft radio voice that felt like a hug. Neighbors chatted over fences; they knew your name, your dog, your mum’s best recipe. Cars were rare enough for the street to double as a playground. Doctors came to your door with a reassuring smile, and policemen strolled the neighborhood like patient guardians rather than strangers.
It was the age of Milligan’s Goons on the radio, when butter tasted like butter and every song carried a tune you could hum forever. Dinner meant dumplings, tea meant trifle, and the annual holiday was a single magical day at the seaside — sand in your shoes, wind in your hair, and joy that cost almost nothing.
We lived in the world of Dixon of Dock Green and Crackerjack pens, when Lyons ice cream melted too fast and children wore their National Health glasses with pride and innocence. Teachers stood at the front of their classes, chalk in hand, ruling with kindness and the occasional raised eyebrow.
Our “mobiles” were bits of painted cardboard that hung from the ceiling, gently spinning in the draft. School meant woodwork and pottery, the happy mess of clay under your fingernails, and dreams of one day winning the pools and becoming rich beyond imagination.
Back in those dear days — when I was just a lad — life felt simple, steady, and full of wonder. I smile now when I think of it: hopscotch chalked on the pavement, roller skates clattering over stones, snowballs ready to throw at any willing friend.
Yes… back in the days of tanners and bobs, we didn’t have much.
But somehow, we had everything.
