Open Features: My Arrival - Part 3
Gerry Collins's name may have been read to to the radio-listening nation on his first birthday - but he will never know.
There was little in the way of luxuries in 1930 – but my parents were the envy of all their neighbours when they acquired a ‘wireless set’.
Nothing elaborate - it ran on a type of battery called accumulators.
One radio station (there probably was only one) ran a children’s programme that would announce birthday greetings. My parents sent in my name and on the day of my first birthday invited all the family and neighbours in to hear it.
The time arrived and to much excitement the precious set was switched on and allowed to ‘warm up’. The programme started and then – horror of horrors - the sound faded away.
The batteries were down.
Grabbing the two large accumulators my father raced off to the shop where they re-charged them. Impatiently waiting for the process to be completed he tapped impatiently on the counter. Finally they were fully charged again. Paying his four pence he rapidly raced back and re-connected them to the wireless set again. The sound came through loud and clear.
“And that’s all the birthday greetings for today children - but listen again tomorrow for some more.”
Everyone could have cried if it hadn’t been so funny. Instead they cut the cake with my one blue candle and all sang ‘Happy Birthday’
So we never knew whether my birthday was announced to the nation or not, but although I cannot remember any of it I’m sure for a one year old I thoroughly enjoyed the day.
