Power cuts of the early 70s

As the current Covid-19 Lockdown approaches two months in duration it has given us all, myself included, much time to think and mull over all aspects of our existence. Relationships, the health and well being of family, pubs, sport, and other important facets of our lives come into focus. I found myself thinking as to how we would have dealt with the lockdown without all the modern-day technology which we take for granted in the world today. IPhone's, the internet and social media, thousands of TV channels, Spotify and a whole host of other technology to help ease the pain of the lockdown and social distancing. It got me thinking of the power cuts that those of us of a certain age will remember from the early 70s, borne out of the miners' strikes of the day under Heath's Tory government. These were, in effect, mini-lockdowns as the power was cut to all domestic households, from around tea-time until about eight or nine o'clock as I remember. Sure, we could mingle but with no outside street lighting, we were essentially housebound and huddled around the sitting room with the family and a couple of candles.

The winter of 1973/74 was tough, but as usual, we took it in our stride. This was a harsh era to live in, especially as a single parent family living in a council house in the East End Park area of Leeds 9, but we knew no different, we were a resilient bunch and so it wasn't really an issue. I remember the blackouts very well indeed. We'd sit around the coal fire and have a couple of candles on the go. With the flickering candlelight and the dancing flames of the fire, we thought it a good idea to tell ghost stories. That was until we needed more coal for the fire. It was my job to fetch it. Older sister thought it was beneath her and my two younger siblings feigned that they weren't strong enough. What bollocks! I was walked all over, nay trampled on, even in those days. I had to walk through the pitch-black kitchen, alone, and then round to the notorious coal-hole. It was pitch black and malodorous. It used to freak me out just looking into it during the daytime! And now, in the pitch darkness, I had to walk halfway in and start scooping coal into a metal bucket. The image of ghosts, ghouls, and other such phantoms lurking in the shadows, not to mention the webs and spiders that hung down from the low ceiling, flooded my impressionable mindset. By god I was quick, I was in and out of their like the proverbial 'shit off a shovel'! Another reason I was always quick on my feet around our house was due to the floor coverings. We didn't have carpets, it was all lino, or oilcloth as it was known as in those days. As such, especially in winter, the oilcloth was so cold that I spent my formative years in the house walking on my tiptoes and moving around at speed just to avoid the cold floor. There was no central heating or double glazing. Slippers were what posh people wore and there was only one fire in the whole house. It was like living in a bloody fridge for eight months of the year. I remember the luxury of being able to walk normally, and in a traditional manner, when we finally caught up with the 20th century and had carpets laid, although a little disappointed to discover I was a couple of inches shorter than I'd previously thought.

We perhaps made more use of the fish shop during the blackouts. Walker's fish shop was just over the road from us. I say fish shop but us kids never got to see a fish, never mind eat one. We were kids, fish was for the adults. If Mam was skint we might have a plateful of chips, with scraps, and some baked beans. If she was flush we might have fishcake and chips. How the cheeky twats had the audacity to call them fishcakes I don't know. They were essentially two slabs of potato with just a tiny amount of fish flakes in between and then battered. We loved 'em though, they filled our rumbling bellies. We never dared use the toilet (with the string) halfway through a meal as we'd undoubtedly return to a lick-clean empty plate.

In '73 I would have been ten years old and only just grown out of wearing Trews. These things were trousers with an elastic loop at the bottom which hooked under your feet. I was always convinced that these were for girls but because they were available, cheap, at Leeds Market I'd been forced to wear them to school. I was told they were unisex, (yeah, whatever!). I felt a right twat to be honest, especially when I was also forced to wear a pair of my cousin's hand-me-down red shoes! Red!!! WTF! My cousin was a girl, younger than me, and who's shoe size was two sizes less than mine. I could hardly walk in them and with large patches being sewn onto the worn knees of my 'unisex' Trews I looked like Charles Dickens' 'Tiny Tim' hobbling into school, all I needed was a battered top hat and a twatting woolen scarf! Great days!

Fortunately, the blackouts of the 70s only lasted for a few hours each day, and even then it wasn't every day, perhaps three or four days a week. It wasn't anywhere near on the same scale as the current predicament the country finds itself in. But parallels are there to be made. Today's lockdown perhaps encourages the family to huddle around the TV to watch an evening movie together. Back then we huddled around the blazing fire and spoke to one another, communicated verbally, reciting ghost stories and talking about the 'old days'. Perhaps the destiny of the human race is heading towards virtual interaction. There aspects of the 'good old days' from which we've moved on, for the better. Oilcloth, Coal-holes, Trews. But there's also stuff from the way we used to live, which perhaps would enrich the quality of our lives today. It makes you wonder if we're evolving in the right direction.

Also, just a note to mention that the sequel to Lonely Ballerina, The Girl, is now well underway. The prolonged lockdown means that the launch will quite possibly be brought forward to the end of this year. My third book, title chosen but unable to announce just yet, is also afoot. This is not a work of fiction but a series of autobiographical memoirs which charts the ups and downs of my typical life in the North.

Stay safe guys

See you on the other side.

Me and Arkid at Reighton Gap, probably September 1973. The Trews stayed in the case!!