Born in 1954

Back in 1954, you could finally feel the grey shadows of the war properly lifting, mostly because that July was when we finally tore up the last of the ration books. I remember the queues at the sweet shop; kid you not, children were practically weeping with joy over a simple Mars Bar they could buy without a coupon. It was a proper turning point.

We all huddled around the wireless to hear about Roger Bannister smashing the four-minute mile, feeling like anything was possible, even as the smogs still clung to the brickwork of the terraced houses. If you were lucky enough to have a telly, you’d be shushing the whole room for *The Grove Family* or watching the very first weather map on the BBC. We weren’t exactly posh—supper was often a tin of Fray Bentos or a nice bit of fried bread—but life felt solid.

The kids were out in the bomb sites playing with hula hoops or wooden spinning tops, while the cinemas were packed out for *The Dam Busters*. We’d hum "Sh-Boom" on the way home, dodging a summer that was, frankly, a bit of a washout, but it didn't matter. The world was turning colourful again.