Born in 1958

Back in 1958, life felt like it was finally switching from black-and-white into Technicolor, though the smog from the coal fires still clung to the brickwork. If you stepped into the snug back then, you’d likely find us nursing a lukewarm light and bitter while the jukebox hammered out Connie Francis singing ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’ or perhaps a bit of Perry Como.

It was the year of the ‘Big Freeze’ early on, and I remember the Milkman’s horse skidding on the slush while we hounded our mums for a sixpence to see *The Bridge on the River Kwai* at the Gaumont. At home, we were all huddled around the telly for *The 6-5 Special*, feeling very modern indeed, even if dinner was still just a bit of spam fritte or a boiled egg with soldiers. The news was full of the Munich Air Disaster, which broke everyone’s hearts, but we found a bit of joy in the silly things—kids obsessed with those new-fangled Hula Hoops or trading cards of the Manchester United ‘Busby Babes.

’ It was a world of Brylcreem, stiff woollen coats, and the constant, comforting whistle of a steam train pulling into the local station. Everything felt slower, sure, but there was a real sense that the good times were just around the corner.