Bonfire Night in 1970s Britain - Is Halloween Taking Over?

 

 

Last night was the 5th of November, and I prepared myself for a night of fireworks and loud bangs. But this year it has been quiet — eerily quiet. For the most part it sounded like any other night. Usually in the run-up to bonfire night, the bangs and sparks of fireworks could be heard and seen for miles.

But not this year.

For children growing up in Britain, there was a time when November 5th was one of the most eagerly awaited nights of the year. Long before Halloween became the commercial celebration we know today, Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night, was the big event of autumn. We looked forward to the smell and crackle of a home bonfire, with fireworks exploding overhead. Only Christmas beat the excitement of standing around a garden fire on a cold night with a sparkler in your hand.

For many of us who grew up in the 1970s, Bonfire Night brings back some very particular memories. It was a night when families, neighbours and friends came together, often in someone’s back garden, to celebrate an old British tradition.

Regardless of how much we knew about the history that gave us bonfire night, it meant having a good time and sometimes a party.

I wrote about bonfire night before.

A memory stirs.

Somewhere in Middle England, late 1960s

A boy in a 1960s backstreet, outside a corner shop, clutching a homemade “Guy” and hoping that someone will give him a penny or two. His “Guy” is made from a bundle of old clothes stuffed with newspaper. It wears a hat perched at a slight angle and has a paper face meant to resemble one of the most famous villains in British history: Guy Fawkes.

“Penny for the Guy?” the boy calls, hopefully.

A man passes, uninterested. The boy tries again. “Penny for the Guy, please, sir?”

A young woman looks over, smiles, and rummages through her basket. She pulls out a purse and produces a big copper penny and then another pre-decimal coin that felt like real money.

“Be careful with those fireworks,” she says kindly.

He grins, pockets the coins, and can already hear the whoosh and bang of rockets in his imagination.

I was that boy, out on dark nights, asking strangers for a few pennies so I could buy fireworks to celebrate a tradition that, at the time, I had little understanding of. Except we were told that Guy Fawkes was a bad man.

History hasn’t changed, but something has.

When the High Street Was King: Shopping in 1960s and 70s Britain (Part Five) - Christmas Shopping

 

On a recent shopping trip to my local city centre, I visited the local Argos store. It is a big one. Gone are the days when you looked for your purchase in a catalogue, filled out a small form and took it to the counter, and waited for your number to be called. Today, the shop has terminals. You place an electronic order and then go to the counter.

But the shop was almost deserted. I remember a time when it was bustling.

I also noticed something else as I entered the shop. Right ahead of me was a Christmas tree. Not with full trimmings, tinsel, glitter, and baubles on it, but it was still a Christmas tree.

In the middle of October.

The 1960s/70s Christmas Shopping Experience

Christmas was perhaps when the high street of the 1960s and 70s came alive. Like today, shops stayed open later, their windows transformed into displays designed to tempt you inside. But staying open late was rare for shops back then. There was no 24/7 shopping, and on Sundays, the city centre was deserted. Most shops were shut.

When the High Street Was King: Shopping in 1960s and 70s Britain (Part Four) - The Newsagent

 

For children growing up in the 1970s, the local newsagent could be almost as important as any other shop.

As a young boy, I had my favourite local shops — the toy and sweet shop. But the local newsagent, a shop that doubled as an emergency sweet shop, also had something else that took money from my pocket — comics. They had many to tempt me, including The Beano, The Dandy, Whizzer and Chips and Buster. If they didn’t have it, they could order it for me.

That made a kid feel important. I could order something? Only adults did that sort of thing.

One day I was in my local newsagent’s searching the shelves for a new comic that a schoolmate had told me about — a football comic called Scorcher. He let me read his copy, and I liked it.

There was one character called Billy — the story of his weekly adventures was called Billy’s Boots.

Billy was a schoolboy with big dreams, like me, of being a footballer. He was, however, a poor player until he found an old pair of football boots in his grandmother’s loft. The boots had belonged to a famous player called Charles “Dead Shot” Keen. They had magical qualities, turning Billy into a star player.

I identified with Billy because I too played football in an old pair of boots. They were a secondhand find, but the only magical quality they had was to give me blisters. I was a much better player once I got a new pair that fit.

I assumed that Scorcher would be available at my local newsagent. At least, that’s what I thought. I decided I would buy it on my next visit.

But I was out of luck. 

The Writer's Life: The Freedom of Writing for Its Own Sake

 

As writers, we need to find our own reasons for doing what we do. I’ve asked myself that question many times. 

There is certain freedom in writing without worrying too much about the outcome. Somewhere along the way, however, enjoyment can become tangled with performance. We compare ourselves with others. We set targets. We become frustrated when progress is slower than expected.

For some, writing is a career. They may be the lucky ones. For others, it is a creative outlet, a means of self-expression or a way to preserve memories — a form of legacy that will remain long after the writer has departed. Some want to entertain, while others want to inform or make sense of the world around them. There is no single definition of success that fits everyone, and I suspect that for most who write, there are a mix of reasons for doing so.

And it isn’t always about the money! 

I concluded long ago that writing is like the creative world in general. There is an elite at the top who do very well, followed by a few who might make a decent living out of it. The vast majority probably struggle to make anything.

Did You Know Snippets: 1960s and 70s Britain - The Golden Age of the Electric Milk Float

 

Electric milk floats were first seen on the roads and streets of Britain in 1932. The Express Dairy Company introduced a small fleet of electric vehicles in London that eventually replaced the more traditional horse-drawn milk float. 

By the 1960s and 70s, electric milk floats were everywhere.

Early each day, long before most of us were awake, the soft humming sound of an electric motor powered milk float signalled the arrival of the milkman. There was no engine roar and no exhaust fumes. Just a steady, reliable hum delivering fresh milk to doorsteps across the country.

It’s easy to forget now, but these electric milk floats were, in many ways, decades ahead of their time. Long before electric cars became the future of transport, they were quietly going about their business through the streets of Britain every day.

Their near-silent operation meant milk was delivered without waking the entire street. At least, the low hum wouldn’t wake you. Occasionally the rattling of crates and bottles reminded us that the milkman was on his way. But their silence was not the reason electric vehicles were used.

Electric power did the job in a way that petrol engines couldn’t match. Milk floats were typically battery-powered, designed specifically for short, frequent journeys. And that’s exactly what was required, as the float was constantly stopping and starting. The milkman would make dozens, sometimes hundreds, of stops on his round every morning.

Did You Know Snippets: 1960s and 70s Britain - When Pirate Radio Changed the Airwaves

 

In 1975, our annual family holiday took us to the Lincolnshire coast of Chapel St Leonards. I took a small radio with me, as I had plans to listen to the pirate radio station, Radio Caroline. 

In 1964, Radio Caroline began broadcasting to Britain from a ship offshore. It was a direct challenge to the radio monopoly of the BBC. Caroline, an unlicensed station, was the first of many off-shore pirate broadcasters that offered something different. 

The pirate stations appealed to a younger audience. 

But only if you could find them.

I had been told that it was possible to listen to Radio Caroline, even inland. But I doubted that was true. It was difficult enough to pick up another popular radio station back then, Radio Luxembourg, but find Radio Caroline? A ship that was somewhere off the coast of England. I was never quite sure where they were. 

No one seemed to know.

When the High Street Was King: Shopping in 1960s and 70s Britain (Part Three) - The Toy Shop

The local toyshop, just around the corner from my home back in the 1960s, was a treasure trove for local children. It seemed that every toy we could ever want was in that small shop. 

Mind you, at the time it didn’t look small. 

To a small boy, though, it was big, stacked from top to bottom with every toy imaginable. I only discovered, years later when I revisited the area, just how small the shop was. It was in a row of local shops, conveniently next door to my favourite sweet shop.

I would visit the toyshop several times a week, mostly window shopping, but occasionally I would pluck up the courage to go in. As you walked in, the left side of the shop sold toys for boys. To the right, girls' toys. Needless to say, I never crossed the boundary to the right. 

The shopkeeper would look in my direction. 

“Hello again.” He would say, in recognition of my many visits. “What interests you today?”

“Just looking." I would reply.

“Well, don’t look for too long, because next time you come in, what you want now might be sold.” 

The shopkeeper tried his best to encourage me to spend.

When the High Street Was King: Shopping in 1960s and 70s Britain (Part Two) - The World of Cash

 

Buying something on 'tick' is a British idiom that means to buy on credit. 

It might be used alongside other idioms, like to buy on the “never-never”. Often people would use both. 

Another way of paying later that was popular in pubs was to buy drinks and then ask the barman to "put it on the slate”.

It probably helped if you were friends with the publican.

In many ways it was a system based on trust.

Buying on “tick” and the “never-never” or “putting it on the slate" were all forms of credit, but not in a legal sense. Typically, it was often a private arrangement, and perhaps most importantly, there was usually no interest to pay. In other words, you just owed the shopkeeper or publican money for goods purchased. It was one way of helping customers through the week until they got paid. It worked as long as you settled your bill on time; otherwise, you might end up being banned or barred.

And it was different from purchasing items by using an actual credit card. The first credit card was introduced in Britain on 29 June 1966 by Barclays, but it would take a long time for their use to become widespread. For the most part even paying by cheque was rare. Most people didn’t have a chequebook or that type of bank account. 

In fact, many people didn’t even have a bank account.

And debit cards were also some way off in the future as well.

The 1960s and 70s were a time when cash was king.

When the High Street Was King: Shopping in 1960s and 70s Britain (Part One) - The Weekly Shop

 

Back in the 1960s and 70s, Saturday was the big day of the week when people went shopping. The weekend often began with a shopping trip.

“Up town”

Even if you lived in a city, a shopping trip was typically referred to as going “up town”.

I still make those Saturday shopping trips to my local city centre, but things look very different now. The side streets have just as many closed shops as open. It has been that way for many years, and the city centre today is nowhere near as busy as it was in the past. While there are calls to revitalise city centres, it tends to overlook that people have more choice as to where and how they shop today.

There wasn’t as much choice in the 1970s. There were local shops and markets, but out-of-town (or city) shopping centres were still only a town planner’s dream. The first arrived at Brent Cross in London in 1976. Out-of-town superstores had been around for a while, although I only rarely visited one.

We mostly went “up town” to do our Saturday shop.

There was a time when the high street and the city centre were the place to go when it came to shopping. Before online shopping and before everything could be delivered to your front door with the click of a button, most of us went shopping in person.

That meant a car or bus journey, sometimes a walk.

On Saturday morning, the town centre was often "packed" by nine o'clock. Shops were full, queues long, and buses arrived every five minutes. If you wanted a new pair of shoes, you went to the shoe shop. If you wanted a record, you went to the record shop. If you needed a birthday present, you went into “town” and looked around the shops. Christmas shopping was hectic, and it didn't begin in October either.

As a young boy, if I wanted toys, which was most of the time, I would visit an actual toy shop. I remember one in the city centre that was massive and had every toy I could ever want. The fact that I would always leave the shop empty-handed, with a “Maybe at Christmas” comment from my parents, gave me hope that often failed to deliver.

Santa must have forgotten.

Life in 1960s/70s Britain: The Comfort Foods That Kept Us Going - Bread and Dripping: So Good It Caused Riots

 

If ever there was a meal that perfectly reflected Britain’s frugal past, it had to be bread and dripping. Perhaps hard to believe now, but there was a time when it was seen as a nutritious and desirable meal. A meal that was eaten regularly across the land.

But what was bread and dripping?

Back in the 1960s and 70s, for many it was almost a staple meal. In our house it was served as a once a week event, on Sunday. That was the day when a traditional beef roast was cooked. When finished, the fat left in the roasting tin wasn’t thrown away. Instead, it was poured into a pot and allowed to cool. It was then used to spread on bread, or as a cooking fat.

When I went to live with my gran in the early 1970s, she would always serve up a couple of slices of bread and dripping after Sunday dinner. There was a skill to getting it right, though. The right balance between the leftover meat juices and fat was key. Often the rich meat juices settled underneath the layer of fat, creating an extra burst of flavour. Out of the pot, it would be spread onto bread or toast, sometimes with a little salt and pepper.

Too much fat, though, could spoil the sandwich — or maybe that was just me? I was not that keen on too much fat. It could be served at any time, as a filling afternoon snack or as a simple supper. In an emergency, it was a lunchtime sandwich to take to school.

To modern eyes it may sound unhealthy, and it was. A sandwich, the contents of which were mostly fat - and it wasn’t good fat. Exactly the opposite, it was loaded with saturated bad fat. But the truth was, many people were blissfully unaware of the dangers of too much saturated fat back then. 

And who was going to tell us anyway? 

We were years away from healthy lifestyle information being readily available. This was a time when many people were more concerned about wasting what was seen as perfectly good food than its fat content. The dripping from a roast dinner was simply an opportunity to make more meals. 

And then there was the cost.

With money and household budgets often tight, we ate what was available. Leftovers often became the next meal. Throwing food away simply wasn’t an option. It’s another reminder that previous generations often had to make every penny count and that austerity was nothing new.

People have even rioted over dripping.