We made arrangements; “I’ll meet you there” was a firm commitment — and that was that.
It’s almost impossible now to imagine daily life without a mobile or smartphone.
Today, that little tech gadget allows us to carry the internet, ask AI anything, take photos, write diary or journal entries, use an endless number of apps, watch news and talk to anyone. Everywhere we go, we now have access to the wider world. It’s all there in our pockets.
But in 1960s and 70s Britain, none of that existed. Somehow, we got by; life worked perfectly well — for most of the time, that is.
Out and About
When we left our homes, there were no texts to say you were running late. No reminders of when and where you needed to be, or quick calls to check where someone was. There was no watching films or playing games on the go. No scrolling while waiting, or just checking your social media replies.
If you spoke to anyone, it might be the bus conductor when you got your fare or a polite nod of the head and chat if you passed someone you knew. When you left the house, you were simply… unavailable, on a journey from A to B. It was expected that at some point you would get to B, and until that moment, you were incommunicado.
And that was normal.
Plans Meant Commitment
We had to make arrangements in advance, often days or weeks before, and remember them. “Meet outside the pub at seven” was not a suggestion; it was a commitment. If you were late, there was no way to phone and explain. The other person either waited or assumed you weren’t coming and moved on.
This involved discipline and trust. We took it for granted that if you arranged to meet someone, they would be there. Of course, it didn’t always work out. That pretty girl who you thought you had a date with might not turn up — “You were stood up!” Friends would say and laugh, as if it had never happened to them.
Everyone knew what it was like to be “stood up”.
Getting Lost and Staying Lost
Today, if you have a smartphone, it is difficult to get lost. Assuming your battery hasn’t run out, it can provide directions with a few taps. In the 1960s and 70s, whether walking or driving, navigation relied on printed road atlases, street signs, and asking strangers for directions.
Drivers kept folded maps in glove compartments. Passengers became “back seat drivers”, giving directions when necessary. Cars didn’t have their own built-in GPS or navigation systems, either. Journeys into the unknown were planned beforehand. If you got lost, you stopped and asked someone. And sometimes you stayed lost for quite a while.
You problem-solved, paid attention, learnt and remembered your routes.
Then there were those journeys where you would have to be there if you wanted a lift from someone who had a car.
“Don’t be late; we have to get to the concert by eight — I won’t wait. If you are not there, you will have wasted your money buying the ticket.” My mate with the car taking me to a must-see concert, told me.
I was late, but only by a few minutes, and the car was nowhere to be seen.
That happened in the summer of 1977, when I bought a ticket to see a new, hot band of the time — their name escapes me now — and I was left wandering the backstreets of a decidedly dodgy area.
What I do remember is that I still got to the concert, as I walked the four miles to the gig, asking for directions along the way. I missed the warm-up act — thank goodness for support bands. The concert was well attended, and on that night, I never found the mate who left me stranded. I had a long walk home.
The Home Telephone
Most households that had a telephone had just one, usually downstairs, perhaps in the hallway (assuming where you lived had a hallway). The first home that I lived in that had a phone was in the mid-seventies. Back then, there was only one state national telecoms supplier — the GPO (General Post Office). They eventually became British Telecom and were privatised in the 1980s.
We kept that first phone on top of an old bureau, which was just underneath a dartboard, in the middle downstairs room. We didn’t have a hallway. As the years passed, both the bureau and phone showed collateral damage from flying darts that missed or ricocheted from the dartboard above. If someone was playing darts when the phone rang, in the interests of safety, no one wanted to pick it up.
If you were out and missed a call, there was no voicemail or record of the call; phones were just not that sophisticated back then. The caller might try again later, or not. Messages were often written down, not always clearly, and placed somewhere waiting to be picked up. The person who took the message didn’t always remember to tell you, either.
And what if you didn’t have a home phone? You relied on phone boxes.
Public phone boxes were essential. You carried coins in case you needed to make a call. You had no choice. Phonecards did not arrive until the early 1980s, so, if you ran out of change, that was it, unless the person receiving the call would accept “reverse charges”.
On busy evenings, queues formed outside telephone boxes. Some could be very busy, especially in areas where there was only one box. Arguments often happened.
It would start with a knock on the window of the box.
“How long are you going to be? Who are you phoning — the Queen? I’ve been waiting twenty minutes — get a move on.”
Further down the queue, people agreed, waited patiently, or decided to go home and try again later, or the next day.
Waiting was different. Without mobiles and smartphones, at phone boxes, bus stops, and in waiting rooms, people stared into space, read newspapers, maybe even a book, or simply observed the world around them. People might even talk to each other nicely — or sometimes, argue.
But those red phone boxes were not always the cleanest of places. In winter, they were cold; the glass panes were often frozen up. Chances were that if you caught a winter cold, you picked it up in a phone box; they were ideal places for viruses to thrive. And they were less than fragrant year-round. I’m pretty sure that some people used them as emergency toilets after the pubs closed for the night.
But they were lifelines when needed, and when out and about, it was all we had.
While today they are rare, I recently read that 20,000 telephone boxes, of which 3000 are red, remain, still in use, defying the smartphone age.
News and Information Travelled Slower
If something happened, you found out later, often much later. News came from television and radio broadcasts or the next day’s newspaper. Those were the days when television closed down at midnight, starting up again the next morning. When ‘Through the Night’ television began, it was mainly to show Open University lectures on the BBC.
There were no instant alerts buzzing in our pockets.
Rumours travelled by word of mouth. Plans changed slowly. Life had fewer interruptions.
Less Connected?
It’s tempting to assume that life before mobiles and smartphones meant isolation. But in many ways, people were still connected. You knocked on doors and spoke to people. We wrote letters, and visited in person, often unannounced.
But when we were out, more often than not, we could not be reached until we returned home. Regardless of age, that was expected, and people just got on with life as they knew it.
Mobiles and smartphones have brought undeniable convenience. There is more safety, accessibility, and instant communication. But they have also changed our expectations. Immediate replies are now the norm. Constant availability.
Everything happens in the here and now, with no waiting.
Looking back at 1960s and 70s Britain, much depended on memory. We trusted that people would be where they said they’d be. Life was slower, with fewer distractions.
It was, perhaps, less convenient, but we just got on with it.
More Did You Know... Life in 1960s/70s Britain, can be found here. Did You Know...
Image 1 by Dave Noonan from Pixabay
Image 2 by Jim Black from Pixabay
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