Published: Wednesday, 30th April, 2008 12:00
Remember a gallon of petrol was paid in pence
Print Article
As you get older and acquire those specs with the special rose-tinted finish you realise that nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
Back in the 70s when I took over as editor of this esteemed blatt life was different.... Nearly everyone’s Mum was at home when they got home from school. A shilling a week was decent pocket money.
I’m so old now that I remember when dog poo in the street was white, and you only had to be home when the street lights came on.
All male teachers wore ties, and I’m sure female teachers had their hair done every day and wore high heels (and I went to a school run by nuns). Didn’t schools use to threaten to keep kids back a year if they failed? Didn’t we have to know how to write grammatically and count properly and apostrophes were used correctly?
Remember the days when cereals had free toys hidden inside the box, and you were allowed to eat what you liked without it killing you?
No one ever asked where the car keys were because they were always in the car, in the ignition, and the doors were never locked. The price of a gallon of petrol could be counted in pence and a race issue meant who ran the fastest.
And with all our progress, don’t you just wish, just once, you could slip back in time and savour the slower pace, and share it with the children of today?
Basically, we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn’t because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! But we survived because their love was greater than the threat.
Oh those innocent times when bike rides were never considered dangerous which brings me right up to date. I cannot remember such a bumper postbag for any other subject than the one this week in response to cyclists on the prom being described as ‘brats’ by community councillor Stewart Sutherland. We haven’t been able to include them all as our educated readers like to write in on all manners of topics.
If you can remember most or all of the memories I mentioned, then you have lived, and remember that the perfect age is somewhere between old enough to know better and too young to care.
Del.icio.us
Digg
Facebook
Reddit
Stumbleupon
When the Queen toured Largs in '58