Jean's Journal: Why I love London
by Jean Farrell
I’m sure that many of you, like me, went to London in the 1960s or '70s. Do you remember the big novelty everything was?
Do you remember seeing Boots Chemist shops, as well as huge stores like Marks & Spencer?
Do you remember the English money, so different from our own? Irish coins had pictures of fish, birds and farmyard animals on them. English coins had images related to royalty on theirs. Do you remember the red post boxes, as well as the red telephone kiosks?
Some phone boxes had pictures of prostitutes in them, advertising their services. Small cards with photos of girls who had sexy names like ‘Luscious Lips’ and ‘Asian Beauty’ were stuck onto the walls, inside the kiosks. These had phone numbers attached.
This was quite shocking to us innocent young Irish girls, as we rang home from these telephone boxes. And I was very innocent indeed, having spent six years living with nuns.
The oldest amongst us, called Josephine, was a ‘Child of Mary’ and most assertive. As we passed each phone box, she went in and removed these cards. They were an ‘occasion of sin’ as far as Josephine was concerned. She threw all the cards into a nearby bin. How courageous she was, I thought, at the time.
In hindsight, how foolish (and self-righteous) she was! A pimp could have been watching and have attacked her!
Do you remember the shock of seeing magazines on sale with naked women in them? I think that only those of us who are older than 60 can fully understand just how very different London was to small town Athlone, or rural Ireland, back then. We were reared as good Catholics. Our Church and State made sure that we were not exposed to any corrupting influences, at all, at all! (For corrupting influences - read ‘sex.’)
We found the Tube truly fascinating. We had never used escalators before. As we sped along the Piccadilly, Bakerloo or Hammersmith lines we observed the people on our trains. Here we saw folk from many other countries for the first time in our lives, including black people.
No wonder we were fascinated by London, which had just come through ‘The Swinging Sixties.’
Years later, when I told my teenage daughter that we were in London in 1970, she was very impressed. She asked had we met Jim Morrison, lead singer with The Doors? We never heard of him.
She asked had we met The Beatles and The Rolling Stones and Mary Quant and Lulu and Twiggy? Had we been to Carnaby Street?
My answer to all her questions was, sadly, “No.” We got jobs in a hotel and tentatively ventured out into the big unknown city. We knew nothing about places like Carnaby Street. Personally, I was fearful and anxious of all this newness. How very sad!
I’ve read since that “Carnaby Street was a fashion haven, in the 1960s. Shops there sold psychedelic unconventional clothing that appealed to the youth of the day. They were eager to break free from the conservative styles of the previous decades.” It symbolised ‘The Swinging Sixties.’ Sadly, we weren’t ‘swinging!’
Do you remember how fascinated we were at English closing times in bars? The landlord would announce that his pub was closing in five minutes. Ten minutes later, we were all out on the street and the doors were locked.
At that time, here in Ireland, if a barman announced that it was nearly closing time, it was a signal to his customers to go up and order three more rounds!
I thought of all this when I arrived in London at the beginning of July. My three sisters and two brothers went there for a few days. Four of them planned to go to Wimbledon.
Nothing was a novelty anymore, for we have caught up with London. Boots' Chemist, as well as Marks & Spencer, are just up the street from me. On my way there, I meet people from all over the world, here in Athlone town.
I love London and enjoyed walking around the centre of the city with my brother. (Neither Michael nor I had any interest in tennis.) We saw number 10 Downing Street, Westminster, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park, Piccadilly, The Mall, and much much more. We also visited Carnaby Street. At no time did we ever feel remotely unsafe.
My three sisters and youngest brother, Pearse, left our hotel at 4 o’clock on the morning of July 2, to queue for Wimbledon. With thousands more, they queued for six hours, in the rain. They finally got into the grounds at 10.30. Play was delayed because of the rain. They said that they enjoyed the whole experience but that far too many people were allowed in. The whole place was absolutely packed, leading to long queues for the toilet, coffee and more. They did see some tennis!
One thing that hasn’t changed is the strict closing times in pubs. Just like in 1970, we were all out on the street at five past eleven!
The red post boxes are still standing, as tourists attractions.
I brought a twenty pound note with me but no one wanted it. Every single shop insisted I use my card. In the end, I left it as a tip for the chamber-maid in our bedroom. I did this because I, too, was once a chamber-maid in a London hotel, when I was young and innocent!
jeanfarrell@live.ie