Born in 1947

Back in 1947, if you stepped out of your front door, the first thing you’d feel wasn't the warmth of a post-war glow, but the biting, wicked chill of the Big Freeze. Good grief, the snow was up to our windowsills for months! We were huddling round single lumps of coal, yet somehow, there was this incredible spirit in the air.

You’d hear Vera Lynn or maybe Al Jolson’s ‘Anniversary Song’ crackling on the wireless while Mum tried to make a ‘celebration’ dinner out of whale meat or Mock Duck—and let’s not talk about the snoek! We were all still clutching our ration books, even for sweets, which was a tragedy for us kids playing conkers or kicking a rag-stuffed ball in the bomb sites. But then came the summer, and we all gathered round the one neighbour lucky enough to have a tiny, flickering television to watch the Royal Wedding.

Seeing Princess Elizabeth and Philip sparked a bit of real magic amidst the grey. We’d head to the cinema for a tuppenny rush to see *Brighton Rock*, then maybe nip for a mild and bitter that didn't cost more than a few pence. It was a lean time, sure, but we had each other.