Did You Know… Life In 1960s/70s Britain: You Could Only Watch Three Television Channels?

 

BBC1, BBC2 and ITV — and sometimes nothing at all.

In 1960s and ’70s Britain, television was a very different experience. Today, there are hundreds of channels to choose from, with satellite, cable, and the internet giving options from around the world. It’s now possible to spend more time scrolling endlessly looking for something to watch than actually watching.

There was a time when the choice was simple.

In the early 1960s, there were just three television channels: BBC1, BBC2, and ITV. And BBC2 didn’t arrive until 1964.

And that was it.

A Nation Watching the Same Family Favourites

With so few options, television became a shared national experience in a way that’s hard to imagine today. Families across the country watched the same programmes at the same time.

Favourite programmes were watched by millions. When the weekly stats came out showing what we had watched, the top programmes would often have viewing figures of ten to twenty million.

And there were times when everyone did seem to be watching at the same time.

England’s world cup win over West Germany in 1966, shown live by both BBC and ITV, was watched by 32.3 million people.

The Apollo 13 splashdown was watched by 28.6 million.

I was too young for England’s win, but I do remember watching a number of Apollo splashdowns. Thirteen must have been one of them.

The next day, conversations at work or school often began with:

“Did you see that last night?”

And most people had.

Big moments on television felt bigger because everyone experienced them together.

BBC1, BBC2 and ITV

Each channel had its own identity.

BBC1 was the main channel. The BBC had been around for years. The first radio and then television broadcaster in Britain. It was why we had a television licence. Because of the licence, it was also advertisement free.

ITV was the commercial alternative. Each region had its own ITV channel, like Thames TV, Anglia and Grenada. It had many popular shows, but as soon as those advertisements came on, someone would shout out, “Not another one.” The steady flow of breaks for commercials were never popular.

I never came across anyone who ever said they bought something because they saw an ad “on the telly”.

BBC2 was launched in 1964, and was considered a little more experimental, highbrow, and initially not available across the whole of the country. I seem to remember that it was the home of anything a little different, not seen as mainstream.

Even Fawlty Towers was originally broadcast on BBC 2, in 1975 and 79.

No Daytime TV

And television didn’t run all day.

For much of the 60s and 70s, daytime broadcasting was limited.

There were programmes for schools, and also the Open University. Mostly on the BBC. The average OU lecture was presented by someone with long hair, a beard and wearing corduroy trousers. They might have a blackboard behind them covered in diagrams of thermodynamics, or of the vote share of parties during the Weimar Republic in Germany.

If you turned over to ITV, you might be presented with a hiss and a blank screen, nothing to watch there during the day. Screens for all channels were often blank for hours at a time, until the official start time of the days programmes.

Morning and afternoon television as we know it today, simply didn’t exist.

For children, this meant that if you were home during the day, there was nothing to watch — other than those programmes for schools. Television was something that happened in the evening, not something you dipped into throughout the day.

The lack of daytime television was in part due to government restrictions on the number of hours that television could be shown each day. The law was changed in 1972 when the Conservative government lifted all broadcasting hours restrictions.

ITV were the first to take advantage of the new law. In 1972, they introduced an afternoon schedule. The BBC didn't change. Their daytime schedule might gave us a selection of pages of Ceefax teletext, rather than the testcard, but, daytime television didn't arrive on the BBC until October 1986.

Closedown

Perhaps the most striking difference of all between then and now was what happened at night. There was no 24/7 television. No late-night scrolling. No “just one more episode to watch” of binge viewing. When the television for the night stopped, it stopped. At night, it closed down.

Except, in a way, it typically didn’t.

A few things happened to end our day.

Did You Know… Life In 1960s/70s Britain: You Had to Put Money Into a Coin Meter for Electricity?

For many households in Britain there was a time when paying for electricity did not involve monthly bills, online accounts, or direct debits.

Instead, it involved cash, actual physical money.

Electricity was often paid for with shillings and then, later, after decimalisation was introduced in 1971, a ten pence coin. As time passed and with inflation, a fifty pence coin became the norm.

Many homes had a coin meter. It was typically mounted on a wall, usually in the hallway or under the stairs. Sometimes it was hidden away in a cubbyhole. 

Unlike today, where meters are digital, the old meters had a mechanical number mechanism, that showed the number of units used. They also had a spinning wheel inside which would speed up when more appliances were in use.

At times, it would go really fast.

That coin meter controlled the electricity supply to the home, and to keep the lights on, you had to feed it with coins.

Paying as You Used It

Today, most people pay their electricity bills at the end of the month or quarterly. They are paying for electricity already used. But in the days of coin meters, it was different.

The idea behind coin meters was simple: you had to pay in advance. It was most commonly found in rented homes, bedsits and flats, or for families who preferred to manage spending week by week.

Inside the metal meter box was a slot where the coins were inserted. Each coin would add a certain amount of credit to the meter. As electricity was used, the credit ticked down. When it ran out, so did the power. There was no warning. It was a straightforward system, but it meant households had to keep an eye on the meter, especially in the evening when lights, televisions, and heaters were all in use.

The equivalent of the coin meter today is the prepayment meter. The modern version uses a card or key, which is topped up by a visit to a local shop or post office. You can pay the shop with coins, but the meter is all digital.

Unlike the old coin meters, prepayment meters allow an emergency payment. If the electricity runs out, you can use it straight away. Of course, you are charged a daily rate of interest for it, but at least the lights are kept on until you can top up again.

Not so in the 1960s and 70s. Once the lights went out, you were in the dark until you fed the coin meter again.

The Lights Go Out

For those of us who lived with the coin meters, we remember the familiar moment when the lights suddenly went out, especially at night.

Darkness.

And silence — except for the occasional cursing of the meter.

One minute you were enjoying a programme that everyone wanted to see — the next, total darkness. Shouting could be heard.

“Not now. I’m going to miss it. Anyone got a light so I can see what I’m doing?” Mam or Dad would cry out as they searched for that magical coin that would bring back the light.

And when video recorders became available in the 1970s, you could be recording a programme, and then the electricity ran out. Or you went out, set the timer, only to come home to a blank tape or the final ten minutes lost when the meter cut out.

When cooking, it became a household emergency.

“Quickly, feed that meter; there’s a chicken in the oven.”

Sometimes, someone would immediately say the obvious:

“Has the meter run out?”

Coins then had to be found, often in a hurry.

If pockets and purses didn’t have the right coins or were empty, someone was given the task of running down to the corner shop, the off-licence, or the local pub. As a last resort, you hoped a neighbour was home and borrowed from them.

On one occasion, my Dad made that trip to the pub to get some change, and two hours later he was still there.

“Well, Stan offered to buy me a drink. I couldn’t say no, could I?” Was his excuse.

Mam wasn’t impressed.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: You Once Needed a Radio Licence To Listen To The Radio?

When tuning in legally required a licence. It was a paper licence that came in a variety of colours over the years, including light blue and green.

 

Yes, for much of the 20th century in Britain, you needed a licence simply to listen to the radio. Long before the modern era of streaming subscriptions and smart speakers, and before television dominated the living room, radio was the nation’s main source of news, entertainment, and music. For years, in most homes, the radio was the height of technology.

And if you owned a wireless set, as it was called back then, you were expected to pay for the privilege. Not just for the radio itself, which was not affordable to everyone, but for a yearly licence to listen to it.

Where It All Began

The radio licence dates back to 1922, when the newly formed British Broadcasting Company began regular broadcasts. At the time, like most new technology that had the power to change the lives of people, radio was considered revolutionary. 

To fund broadcasting, the government introduced a licence fee of 10 shillings. It was intended to regulate ownership of receiving equipment. In 1923, 200,000 licences were issued. By 1930, it was three million, and by 1949, over nine million.

When the Company became the British Broadcasting Corporation in 1927, the licence system remained in place. The principle behind it was to provide the BBC with a steady, independent source of income. This would be free from advertising and commercial sponsorship. It was a principle that would shape British broadcasting for decades, and still does.

Owning a radio without a licence was technically illegal. There were inspectors who had the authority to investigate suspected evasion. Fines could be imposed for non-compliance, and there was genuine public awareness, and questioning, of the requirement.

BBC radio even had its own listings magazine. It was called The Radio Times, and for years all it listed and promoted, was BBC radio programmes. When BBC1 and then BBC2 television arrived, that changed. The magazine remains today, and although radio is now only a small part of it, the name remains as a historical, and nostalgic, reminder.

A Fixture of Everyday Life

By the 1960s and 70s, radio was part of our daily lives. As with all technology aimed at the masses, over time the cost of a radio became more affordable. Sets sat on kitchen counters, bedside tables and in the living room. Many homes would have several radios, and all were covered by one licence.

Even as television became the dominant technology for entertainment in the home, the radio remained. Families woke to the morning news, listened to drama serials, comedy, and from the 1960s, pop music. In 1967, BBC Radio 1 hit the air waves, a final recognition that there was a youth culture in Britain that had and wanted its own music. This was partly a response to the pirate radio ships like Radio Caroline.

Even after television arrived, and had its own licence, the licence requirement for BBC radio still applied. If your household owned a radio, you still had to hold a valid radio licence. This meant that most homes had two licences, one for television and another for radio. Over time, combined licences were introduced, but the radio-only licence remained cheaper.

While the funding from each licence went to the BBC, both covered the BBC, commercial television and radio. But, even if you only watched commercial television, and listened to commercial radio, like today, you still needed a licence to do so. 

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: Daily Life Before Mobile and Smartphones - The Red Phone Box Era

 

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.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: The Winter of 1963 Was Known as The Big Freeze - One of the Coldest in Britain Ever?

 

The Big Freeze that was the biggest freeze, bringing the country to a standstill.

 

The winter of 1962–63 is remembered simply as the Big Freeze. It remains one of the harshest and longest cold spells ever experienced in Britain. It was the coldest winter on record since 1740.

And I lived through it.

Now, I have to confess that despite being there, I have no memory whatsoever of that big freeze. I have an excuse, though; I was only three years old at the time. I can only imagine how cold it must have been, and life was very different back then when winter hit.

It began around Christmas time, 1962, and carried on into early 1963. It wasn’t just a few bad weeks of snow. The cold weather never seemed to end. It froze the sea and rivers; it halted transport and working life. It was a period when temperatures fell to minus twenty degrees. For a few months it reshaped everyday life, freezing homes, workplaces, schools, routines, and memories.

When the Cold Took Hold

It began just after Christmas Day, with snow falling across much of the country by Boxing Day. Falling temperatures followed and stayed that way for weeks. As we entered the new year, much of Britain was locked under deep snow and ice, with temperatures regularly below zero.

At the time, Britain was far less prepared for extreme weather than it is today. We complain a lot about the weather in Britain; it’s always a topic of conversation. British weather can change in an instant — at least it seems that way, catching us off guard. And while today, we are better prepared, it is often not enough to stop the weather at its most extreme.

But in 1963, no one was ready for what was about to happen.

Home life

Central heating was rare, and many homes relied on coal fires to keep them warm. Keeping them going was a daily struggle and, for many, costly. Like today, inflation and the cost of living were issues. Inside many homes, families often gathered around one heated room. That was usually the living room.

Other rooms might have an electric or oil heater, or none at all. To help keep the cold out in winter, extra layers of clothing were often worn to provide some heat. There was often no heating upstairs. A hot water bottle, and many blankets, would have been your warmth against the cold winter.

It was not uncommon for ice to form on the inside of windows.

And that was my home. My parents rented a small terraced house that relied on that one room with a coal fire and, occasionally, electric heaters.

I must have been wrapped up well.

It was a time when pipes froze and water supplies failed. The milk froze in bottles on doorsteps. Our milkman must have been frozen when he delivered them. I remember that many of the old milk floats did not give much protection against the cold weather. Even in the 1960s, some were still horse-drawn. This was also the case with coal deliveries.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: From Domestic Goddess to Women's Liberation - The Changing Role of Women

 

Changing expectations and the quiet revolution inside British homes.

In the 1960s and 70s Britain, housework was seen as "women’s work". If that sounds controversial, then yes, it was, but at the time, that was the norm. When it came to domestic chores — cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, and childcare were all seen as part of the assumed daily responsibilities of wives and mothers.

It was women that were expected to look after the home. Men, by contrast, were usually expected to “help out” with certain “manly” duties, like cleaning the windows or anything that might involve heavy lifting. General housework, only occasionally, if at all.

At the time, this was simply the accepted order of things in the home.

The Division of Labour

While women had been called upon to fill the void in the workforce in wartime, post-war Britain inherited a rigid division of roles. Men went out to work while women ran the home. It was still seen as an ambition for a woman to find a husband who had a good job, a trade, or profession, and get married. The married woman who stayed at home would invariably be described as a housewife.

Of course, there were jobs for and aimed at women, traditional jobs like secretary, typist, or care work. Many women worked, some even had careers, but they were still expected to be the homemaker, housewife, and mother. The war had brought about some change, but traditional expectations of gender roles remained.

My mother did both, she had two jobs.

She took care of the home and also went out to work, that is, until she became a home worker. She was a machinist, and a very good one. Anything that could be made on a sewing machine, she could do. After my brother and I arrived, she worked from home. Whether it was because of tradition or what was expected of her, she accepted the dual role. In fact, she was the “boss” in our home.

Even as more women entered paid employment during the 1960s and 70s, expectations at home only changed slowly, or not at all. If a woman had a day job, when it ended, she returned home to find that meals still needed cooking and the home and children still needed looking after. It was rare for men to do such tasks, as many would arrive home from work and expect their dinner to be waiting for them.

Home Life

Housework itself was time-consuming and physically demanding. For many people, the consumer revolution that brought technology to the home either hadn’t arrived or was not affordable. Washing machines, fridge freezers and tumble dryers are common now but back then were rare, as was the use of labour-saving devices in general. Handwashing of clothes and ironing was the norm, or a trip to the local launderette.

It all took time.

The idea that men should do their share of these tasks simply wasn’t widespread. When men did take part in domestic work, it was often described as “helping”, rather than sharing responsibility. It mattered because it implied that the home belonged to women and that men were assisting. Typical “men’s jobs” included mowing the lawn, taking out the bins, or doing DIY at the weekend. Daily tasks,like washing up, making beds, cleaning floors, were rarely part of a husband’s routine.

And for many men, this division went unquestioned. It was how their parents had lived, and how everyone around them seemed to live, too. The roles in the home had been set by tradition and expectation.

However, all of this changed in my family, but out of necessity, when my parents got divorced in the late 1960s. For a while, I stayed with my father, and he had no choice at that point but to take responsibility for the home and all domestic chores. My memories are somewhat sketchy on how good he was looking after the home; it probably helped that we did not have much to look after.

Did You Know… Life In 1960s/70s Britain : When Cigarettes Were Everywhere: Britain Before the Smoking Ban

 

Ashtrays, blue haze, and the smell of cigarette smoke were woven into everyday life.

In the 1960s and 70s, smoking was a common activity in Britain, and it was everywhere. Cigarettes were a part of daily life. People smoked at work, at home, in cafés, on public transport, and even while watching a film at the cinema. 

It was so normal that it barely registered as remarkable.

Today, it feels almost unimaginable. But at the time, it was simply how things were.

A Nation of Smokers

By the early 1960s, Britain was a nation of smokers, and smoking rates were at their peak. Around half of all adults smoked, with cigarettes heavily advertised and culturally acceptable. It was even presented as something that was desirable. Smoking was associated with sophistication, relaxation, and adulthood. For young people, it was also a sign of rebellion.

There were health warnings, and early medical reports had made the connection of smoking to lung cancer, but they were easy for people to ignore. The warnings were often drowned out by advertising that linked smoking with a life of glamour and freedom. 

It took a long time for a shift in public opinion to arrive. At the time, for many, smoking was a part of life and popular. Cigarettes were cheap, widely available, and socially accepted almost everywhere. It was the norm. In fact, you might be considered the odd one out if you didn’t smoke.

Smoking in the Home

I lived in a home where all the adults smoked. My parents, grandparents, relatives, and just about every adult who visited would quickly light up a cigarette or be offered one. My memory is of every adult smoking. Another memory that I have is of the smoke stains on the upper part of walls and ceilings. Cigarette smoke rises; it has nowhere to go but up. Brightly painted or papered walls would develop a cigarette smoke shadow.

I have never smoked, but for the first fifteen to twenty years of my life I was a passive smoker. At the time I had no idea that was the case, but later I became aware of it, after the death of the British entertainer, Roy Castle, in 1994. Castle died of lung cancer, which, as he was a non-smoker, he believed happened while working in the smoke-filled rooms of jazz clubs in the 1960s. As far as I know, my lungs survived the passive smoking years.

Smoking at School

At school, I knew certain boys that smoked. Yes, they would usually find a secretive place to go for a cigarette,  sometimes behind the bike sheds. That place was too obvious, though, and boys caught there would end up in the headmaster’s office for ‘six of the best’. 

I was never tempted.

A mate of mine was given the nickname JP, after John Player, the name of the company that made the cigarettes that he smoked. Later, we would call him ‘Wheezer’, as he would always end up coughing his lungs out when cross-country running.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: The British Staycation - The Nostalgic Charm of Holidaying at Home in a Bygone Era.

 

Caravans, B&Bs, and seaside towns — before travel overseas became routine.

In the sixties and seventies, for the majority of ‘Brits’, taking a holiday abroad was still something of a novelty. Far-off lands with exotic names were a dream holiday or not even thought about — they were out of reach. 

For most families, a summer holiday didn’t involve airports, passports, or sun loungers in exotic places only seen on a world map. Foreign travel happened, of course, but it was far from common, and holidays were shaped by cost, access, and habit.

The chances were that if you went overseas, you had money.

Instead, a British family holiday meant packing the car, catching a train, or boarding a coach and heading somewhere in Britain. It could be the countryside or more likely, a familiar holiday town that provided everything a family could want.

The big deal was a holiday by the seaside, at one of the country’s many resorts. Britain, with its long coastline and well-established holiday towns and industry, was where the people spent their annual break. In many ways, British holiday trends were well set and predictable.

The Rise of the British Seaside Holiday

By the mid-20th century, Britain already had a strong tradition of domestic holidays. Since Victorian times, resorts like Blackpool, Margate, Brighton, Skegness, and Scarborough welcomed holidaymakers. By the 1960s, these towns were at their peak, packed with amusement parks, piers, theatres, arcades, and boarding houses.

There was a time when many factories and workplaces closed for set weeks, particularly in industrial towns, creating a shared “holiday season.” Entire communities decamped and went on holiday at the same time. Special trains and buses would be arranged. In the north of England, this was known as Wakes Week, which began during the Industrial Revolution.

For working families, the annual holiday was often the only extended break from work all year. Two weeks of summer, traditionally the first two weeks in July. 

As children, school holidays gave us a long summer holiday that seemed to go on forever. I remember it lasted about eight weeks, but those two weeks away, if we were lucky, were the big event of the summer. Once I knew that a holiday to the seaside was planned, I would save my pocket money and everything that I had earned for those two weeks away. 

The call of the arcades, the slot machines, the chance to be a pinball wizard, or a hotshot on one of the gun machines was strong. Even the seaside bingo, much loved by grandparents, had its attraction. I counted the pennies, knowing that back then, a penny went a long way in the arcades.

Caravans, Hotels, and Boarding Houses

There was a time when going on holiday in Britain was cheap and cheerful. Accommodation was often simple and affordable. Holiday camps like Butlin’s and Pontins offered structured entertainment, meals included, ideal for families.

And the world of television, made fun of it, with Fawlty Towers, and in the 1980s, Hi-de-Hi. Fawlty Towers, starred former Monty Python John Cleese as Basil Fawlty. Fawlty was a holidaymaker’s worst nightmare, and we were fortunate to never meet anyone like him, but then, staying at a hotel was too expensive for my family.

We stayed in a caravan.

Privacy wasn’t the point. The holiday itself was.

Getting There Was Part of the Adventure

Travel was an experience in its own right. We had a long car journey without air conditioning, sat-nav, or seatbelts. Children were wedged between suitcases, armed with comics and sweets.

And occasionally, we would say, “are we there yet?”

But the jouney was often memorable for other reasons. I remember one year that my stepfather had just fitted an 8-track stereo player in the car. Unfortunately, he only had one tape. I can’t remember the artist, but by the time we got to our destination, we had heard those eight tracks enough to last a lifetime.

“Not that one again.” Was a regular comment from the back seat as I stuck my head out of the car window to get away from the sound.

The destination was the same each year, a cheap and cheerful place called Chapel St Leonards on the Lincolnshire coast. The chapel in the name made it sound almost French to me, but it was a very British, actually, it was a very English holiday. I can’t say the beaches were golden, or the weather was great, but there was always the arcades.

The British Weather Problem

The unpredictability of British weather was simply accepted. Rain didn’t cancel a holiday; it just changed the plan. If the beach was out of bounds, there was always those arcades, cafés, or simply walking along the beach getting wet.

“Did you bring a raincoat?” I’d be asked.

“A raincoat? It’s summer.” I’d reply as I got soaked to the skin.

Fortunately, there was enough sun, and I soon managed to dry out after a downpour.

Sunburn was a bonus. No, really. These were times when no one thought about sun cream, let alone protecting our skin from the harmful rays of the sun. Getting sunburnt was carried like a badge of honour, dumb though it was, as it stung like crazy. The antidote back then seemed to be to cover the burns in butter, or margarine. 

I’ve no idea who came up with that as the answer.

Why A Holiday Abroad Was Still Unusual

Package holidays to Europe began to grow in the late 60s and 70s, but they were still beyond the reach of many people. Flying was seen as expensive or even risky. 

Some families had never left the UK at all, and that was there choice. 

For older generations in particular, Britain was the place to go; it was a traditional holiday. Familiar food, a shared language, and no need for passports made domestic travel reassuring. Going abroad often felt unnecessary when there were perfectly good beaches and holiday entertainment to be had at home.

But by the late 1970s and into the 1980s, cheaper flights and paid holiday entitlements began to change habits. Going overseas was more of an option, and the glossy brochures, showing golden beaches, offered all-in package holidays that were now affordable to the masses. Spain, Greece, and France became increasingly popular. Sunshine became an expectation rather than a hope.

My parents finally went overseas for a holiday in the early summer of 1977. But it wasn’t to Europe — they went to the USA. It was a trip to see one of Mam’s sisters who had moved there back in the sixties. I missed out, because the dates clashed with my school exams. 

The next year, it was back to Chapel St Leonards. 

But, gradually, the traditional British seaside towns declined as families looked further afield. For those who grew up before that shift, the British holiday holds a powerful nostalgia. It was tied to routine, familiarity, and the feeling of time slowing down for one week, or a fortnight of freedom away from the grind of work.

Looking back, holidays in Britain weren’t about luxury or novelty. They were about tradition and they were affordable. It was what most British people did. They booked somewhere in a British resort, put up with whatever the weather threw at them, and enjoyed themselves for a couple of weeks.

So yes, for millions of families, it wasn’t a second-best option. It was simply what our holidays were.

 

More Did You Know stories about 1960s/70s Britain can be found here.

 

Photo 1 by Ben Guerin on Unsplash

Photo 2 by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: A Time When Missing a Programme Could Mean Missing Out Forever

No repeats, no recording — and the pain of missing an episode.

In 1960s and 70s Britain, television was often an event, but it was also unforgiving and fleeting. If you weren’t at home when a programme was broadcast, you simply didn’t see it. There were no streaming services or catch-up options, and until video recorders arrived in the seventies, once a programme was broadcast, that was it. There wasn’t even a reliable repeat. Miss it, and it was gone.

Sometimes, it was gone forever.

In the early days of television, many programmes were not recorded. It was broadcast, often live, and no record remained, as there was no copy. There were many reasons for this, including cost, but at the time, the idea of building an archive for future reference and reuse was a low priority. A big event might be recorded, but most were not.

In the home, television schedules were rigid, and families planned around them. Evening routines might be changed to fit the broadcast times of favourite programmes. Meals were hurried or delayed. A raised voice from the living room would annouce, “It’s starting!” This sent everyone racing for a seat.

The television would be in the main room of the house, known as the living room, and most homes only had one ‘telly’. In the sixties, the television looked like a large wooden box with a small screen. Turn it on, and it could take several minutes to warm up and produce a picture, which was in black and white.

By the seventies, sleeker television sets, offering a bigger picture, arrived, as well as colour. But there was still one thing that you had to do, and that was to get up to turn the set on or off, change channels, or the volume. The remote control was still a few years away.

The TV Schedule

The Radio Times and TV Times weren’t just magazines; they were essential guides, unless you were happy to rely on a newspaper. There was something else about these two magazines, in that they only gave details of their own programmes. The BBC had the Radio Times, while commercial television had the TV Times. You had to buy both to get the complete picture of what was on for the week ahead.

My parents didn’t buy them, except at Christmas, so we relied on the local paper and memory. I suppose that it helped that there were only three television channels, BBC 1 and 2, and a commercial station that showed adverts, which, in the region that I lived, was ATV.

One Chance Only

Most programmes were shown once, and once only. Popular shows might be repeated months, sometimes years, later, but that was never guaranteed. As a child, if you missed an episode of your favourite programme because you were out, ill, or late home from school, you had to rely on friends to tell you what happened. Sometimes, they would make it up, especially football results.

Once you had missed a programme, there was no way to catch up. You either saw it, or you didn’t. This made television, and your favourite programmes, something to be remembered. Each episode carried weight. Cliffhangers mattered, because if you missed it, you might never find out how they were resolved.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: A Time When You Got Paid To Return Fizzy Pop Glass Bottles

Pop bottle returns and the excitement of reclaiming a few pennies.

Long before plastic bottles, ring-pull cans and multipack deals, fizzy drinks in Britain came in solid glass bottles. In the 1960s and 70s, every bottle of pop carried a small return deposit, usually a penny or two, which you could reclaim by returning the empty to the shop. For a young boy (or girl), those bottles were far too valuable to throw away.

It was a simple system, but one that shaped a childhood routine. It could make a difference to pocket money economics. There was also the thrill of walking into a shop clutching a bag of empties, which would soon turn into a pocketful of pennies.

A Local Shop For Local People

“Where did you get them from?” The shopkeeper might ask.

I would try not to look guilty. Sometimes, I would take them back for neighbours, having agreed that I could keep the pennies. Often, I would find them. To the shopkeeper it looked like we drank a lot of pop, little of which had been bought from him.

The shopkeeper would inspect the bottles, count them, and either hand over coins or deduct the amount from whatever you were buying. A big haul could go towards sweets, crisps, or, maybe, another bottle of pop to start the cycle all over again. A few bottles might buy a comic.

The local shop was central to this system. Many had wooden crates stacked by the door, out the back, or behind the counter. The shopkeeper knew exactly which bottles belonged to which company and which were acceptable for return. Some were stricter than others. A bottle from the “wrong” brand might be rejected with a shrug. Others took them all. It depended on the shop, the supplier, and if your parents were a regular customer.

The Twelve Posts of Christmas — Day Nine: Did You Know… A Christmas Carol Is the Most Remade Movie of All Time?

 

The many faces of Ebenezer Scrooge and a timeless tale of redemption.

It’s that time of year. Christmas television in the UK would hardly feel complete without at least one version of A Christmas Carol appearing on our screens. For many, it has become as much a part of the festive season as mince pies, tinsel, and repeats of The Great Escape.

Every Christmas, A Christmas Carol will make an appearance.

Written by Charles Dickens in 1843, the story began life as a short novella. Set around Christmastime, it tells the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, an elderly and bitter miser whose only true love is money. Scrooge is rude, dismissive, and, regardless of whether it is Christmas, joyless. He treats everyone around him with contempt, especially those that he employs, his long-suffering clerk Bob Cratchit. 

Any stranger who dares to wish him a Merry Christmas is greeted with “bah humbug”, while those seeking charity donations are shown the door.

Over time, Scrooge has driven away friends and family alike, and he appears not to care. That is, until one Christmas Eve, when he is visited by three spirits: the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.

Each ghost shows him different aspects of his life, his past, and who he once was, and the man he has become. The final vision is the most chilling of all. The spirit tells him that if he refuses to change, he will face a lonely death, unmourned. No one will miss him when he is gone, and many will cheer. Faced with the consequences of his past choices, he decides to change. The story, at its heart, is about redemption, compassion, and the possibility of change.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: A Time When The UK Top 40 Music Chart Was Only Announced Once a Week.

 

No streaming stats — just the suspense of Sunday evening on Radio 1.

 

A long, long time ago, before Spotify charts, YouTube views or midweek updates on social media, there was just one moment in the entire week when Britain found out what the biggest hit songs in the country were. 

And on Sunday evening, Radio 1, we settled down next to the radio as the new Top 40 was revealed in real time.

The Weekly Appointment Everyone Kept

Imagine a typical Sunday evening back in the 1970s. Tea was over, or about to be served, homework for school, I hoped, completed. And the adults of the house were settling into that slightly melancholic weekend-almost-over, back to work-tomorrow vibe.

But the radio was on, and we were waiting patiently for that moment when the countdown to the number one record of the week would begin.

Then came the build-up: the BBC Radio 1 jingle and the DJ’s voice of the official chart show. At the time, the DJ’s were big names, Alan Freeman, Tom Browne, Simon Bates and Tony Blackburn.

This was a world where listening to the chart countdown actually felt like an event. A collective experience that would be shared by millions of households across the land. No algorithms had their say, no real-time stats, no leaks. The whole nation found out at the same time who was going up, and who was going down. We were told the new songs that made the top 40, and who sat on top — the nation’s number one.

And then it began — the official countdown of the nation’s favourite songs, all wrapped up in an hour or two, of jingles, sighs, and cheers. 

At first, it only covered the top 20, but from 1978, it was expanded — Top 40 down to 1. In an age of instant information like today, it’s hard to convey just how exciting the drip-feed of the countdown was. The slow reveal. The rising tension.

We all had a favourite artist, the bands, and singers that we hoped would be in the charts or move up. And the ones we didn’t like, we hoped would fall. 

The top 40 was the ultimate chart of mainstream music; it was based on actual sales in the shops. There were no downloads, digital stats or online listenin, just the sale of records. And they were vinyl records, the seven-inch single. You had to go out and buy them at an actual shop for it to count!

And vinyl records back then sold in their millions.

The Mystery of Chart Movement

Sometimes we wondered why a record was successful.

Here are a few typical comments that might be heard as the weekly chart revealed itself.

“Why’s that gone up seven places?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“How on earth has that dropped to 18?”

“Who is buying all these records?”

“Why would anyone waste their money buying that?”

But the chart was open to anyone who could sell records. Alongside the big names like The Beatles, Queen and ABBA, one-hit wonders could make their mark. Novelty records often became big hits. There was always a surprise or two in the charts.

Here’s a selection.

Bobby “Boris” Picket and the Crypt Kickers had a hit with Monster Mash in September 1973.

Sylvia had a holiday-themed hit with Y Viva España in August 1974, reaching number 4. “We are off to sunny Spain, Y Viva España…”

Actor Telly “Who loves ya, baby?” Savalas, with his lollipop got to number one with If in February 1975 due to the popularity of his Kojak character on the telly.

And actor David Soul, who played Hutch in Starsky and Hutch, did even better than Savalas. He had a million seller with Don’t Give Up On Us in 1976. Actually, he sold a lot of records. Between 1976 and 1978, he had five UK Top 20 singles, two at number one, and two Top 10 albums.

Jilted John, otherwise known as comic actor and singer Graham Fellows, (John Shuttleworth), had a hit with Jilted John reaching number 4 in August 1978, singing that Gordon was a moron.

Did You Know… Life in 1960s/70s Britain: When People collected 'Green Shield Stamps' to Get Their First Toaster or TV

 

Collected from supermarkets and petrol stations, saved in books, then traded in for household goods.

Another journey, back in time to the 1960s and 70s.

Before we had loyalty cards, club points, air miles and shopper loyalty schemes, there was one system that reigned supreme for Britain’s shoppers: Green Shield Stamps.

For those of us who remember the time, these little green stamps were as much a part of everyday life as the weekly shop or the big catalogue that introduced the world of buying on credit. The stamps were everywhere and much sought after. Picked up at the till at the local shop or supermarket, or when filling up the car at the petrol station, they were tucked away into purses and wallets, taken home and stuck in a little book.

For millions of families, eventually, you would have enough for a new kettle, transistor radio or even the first colour TV. Consumerism, and the life of your dreams, was just a stamp away.

A Brief History.

What were Green Shield Stamps?

They were introduced in the UK in 1958, with a very simple idea:

Spend money = Get stamps = Stick them in a book = Swap books for goods. 

It wasn’t complicated, and millions did it. Supermarkets like Tesco, and other retailers, big and small, joined — thousands of them. Petrol stations were encouraged to take part as well. They all handed out stamps based on the amount you spent.

Each book would hold 1,280 stamps, and one stamp was equal to six pence spent. That was pre-decimalisation, 1971. In new pennies, a stamp was given for every two and a half pence.

An occasional trip to the local shop might yield dozens, while the big weekly shop could earn a sheetful. Over time, you’d collect enough sheets to fill up a Green Shield Stamp Saver Book. It was a chunky little booklet with a grid layout that, over time, got fatter and fatter as the stamps were added to it.

But adding the stamps to the book was a weekly job that no one wanted. Licking them was often given to the kids to do, with the comment, “Make sure you put the stamps in straight…” The stamps never went in straight.

It was a novelty at first, until that horrible taste of glue got the better of you. Licking several hundred stamps lost its appeal after a while. No one told us that using a damp sponge in a little soap dish was the way to go.