The Magic Box

The radio has been the soundtrack to my life for as long as I can remember. We weren’t really a TV kind of family - dad had returned home with one when I was 7, though it was only switched on when one of us really wanted to watch something - but we did love the radio. Actually, that’s not quite true. My mom loved the radio. It got switched on when she got up, and turned off when she went to bed. The rest of us were just used to the noise in the background. I believe it was called the Home Service, which makes me think of wartime, Dads’ Army and ration books. Radios One, Two, Three and Four didn’t appear until 1967, so the Home Service was my station of (Hobson’s) Choice. Of course, I’d heard snippets of Woman’s Hour, usually when I was off ill from school, but it was a very tame version compared to how it evolved over the next sixty years. The programmes I most enjoyed when laid in my sick bed, trying desperately to act ill enough to have another day off school, were dramas, usually broadcast in the afternoon. They were an opportunity to snuggle under the covers and let my imagination run riot.Listen with Mother was my first actual memory of radio. I was four years old and hadn’t yet started school. I can hear the presenter’s voice now, it gives me a wonderful feeling of calm and thoughts of a much simpler life. ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’ I believe that started as an ad-lib but was so popular they kept it in. I’m glad they did. I can still hear that voice now. To be honest, I don’t think my mother was sitting comfortably or listening. I think she probably had a quick whizz round the kitchen with a tub of Vim, then disappeared into another room with a cup of tea, a sigh and an opportunity for five minutes peace. From there she wouldn’t have been able to hear my elder brother answering Daphne Oxenford’s gentle questions with rude and silly comments, and laughing uncontrollably. These days, of course, a four year old would be much more likely to be playing on some electronic device than sitting quietly and listening to the radio. I’m all for technology and its progress but these children will never know the excitement of that daily oasis of stories, songs and calming voices.I’m not sure what happened in other families at Christmas, but In the 1950s, when I was growing up, we had a stocking left at the end of the bed, stuffed with a tangerine, some chocolate coins, a couple of little inexpensive toys and possibly a bar of soap and a small selection box. The excitement was real. It was a proper nylon stocking, probably one mom had been wearing the previous day, bulging with (mostly) mysterious shapes. I can’t remember when I stopped believing in Father Christmas, but it didn’t mar the stocking experience, which signalled the start of a day of unadulterated fun, huge quantities of food and endless festivities.However, I digress. Our main present (yes, always just one) was to be found wrapped under the Christmas tree downstairs. This particular year I was about nine, my brothers eleven and five. For the first time we all had the same present. A portable transistor radio. Our excitement knew no bounds. A whole new world was about to open up. I can still smell the navy blue plastic cover that encased the whole unit, with press studs to keep it secure. We inserted the batteries and tuned in. I knew what I wanted to hear. I’d been brought up with that comforting drone of background conversation for as long as I could remember. The first thing I did when I received my radio was make a little cloth cover for it, with a strap that went over my shoulder. Sixty-odd years later I can’t remember why I’ve entered a room but I remember that cloth cover vividly and with great affection : navy blue and white moquette (I guess it was a spare piece from something my mom had been making) It was a totally inappropriate fabric to use, being stiff and unyielding, and needing constant repairs, but oh how I loved that radio with its fraying cover. It came with me everywhere. The Archers, Woman’s Hour, Quizzes and Dramas accompanied me constantly. Every night I took the radio up to bed with me, and once my mom had gone downstairs and I heard her clattering about in the kitchen, I would slide under the covers, turn the dial and listen in with one ear, whilst the other ear was trained on the creaky stairs - and impending trouble. Once a week there was a drama - I’ve been reliably informed by my younger brother that it was the Monday Play which he also used to listen to under the covers, before trying to stay awake for ‘I’m Sorry, I’ll Read That Again’ at 10pm. One Monday night I was tucked up in bed, radio and earphones at the ready. The Monday play was announced. I snuggled down, ready for the next hour’s entertainment. Within 20 minutes I was so terrified that I didn’t know how I was ever going to sleep that night. I can’t remember the details of the play or even the subject matter, all I know is it was something very scary. I needed my mom but I couldn’t tell her the real reason for my terror. I turned off the radio and placed it on the bedside cabinet with the earphones. Then I shouted to mom till I heard her racing up the stairs. I’m ashamed to say I told her I’d had a nightmare - which I had, in a way. In true mom form, she tutted and sympathised, stroked my brow and tucked me in. She wasn’t daft, she probably guessed what had been going on.Monday nights were never quite the same after that. They became reading nights, same technique, under the covers but with a torch. Much safer. The Magic Box
Hand hovers over pocket
Feels for the small box
With the knobs and wires
It’s the box of voices
Songs
Music
The haunting melody of the Shipping Forecast
The box of magic
Fingers find the dials
Turn slowly
Until that first slight crackle
The sound that signals life
Like a strange fluttering bird
Ebbing and flowing
First soft ,then loud
It takes a while
But finally
The jolly tones
Of weatherman Jack
Informing us of snow to come
Stay safe, Keep warm
The News
In contrast
Dark and Sombre
And next
The Wednesday Play
Dial paused
Earphones in
Imagination fired
Relax
Tune in
Enjoy
Thanks for reading... Jill
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