In Good Company: Phone Me
Enid Blackburn wrote this column in the innocent days which preced the arrival of mobilel phones - or cell phones, as some folk insist on calling them.
What a marvellous invention, the ubiquitous telephone is. A voice can be heard from the other side of the world – clearer than across the valley.
In my youth the only telephone owners I knew were film stars, and our landlord. The nearest public telephone was half a mile away – a cosy box which became a bus shelter on wintry nights. Being without one never bothered me. Whom would I phone? Liz Taylor was far away and the only thing I had in common with our landlord was the rent book and his patch of missing pansies.
When the corner shop was closed once, my friend and I did indulge in two pennorth of verbal excitement. Choosing a number at random she dialled and when a bossy female voice demanded ‘Who is that?’ the receiver was handed to me like a hot potato. I stood there speechless. A black cat stared in curiously from the wall outside. ‘Er – have you last a cat?’ was all I could manage. She soon got the message. ‘Put that receiver down before you land in serious trouble.’ I thankfully obeyed and fled.
I have never been able to take the telephone seriously. It always seems ridiculous, being expected to stand and talk sense to an instrument. I still feel slightly uneasy when I do. (Not uneasy enough, my husband would probably like to add).
Sadly our family do not share my inhibitions. During holidays our phone is permanently mid-air. Urgent requests - ‘What time? What are you wearing? Etc’ tweak consistently.
Ours rang one night awakening me from a deep horizontal hold. I knocked three cups over on the journey from rug to phone, to hear a cheerful voice say ‘Forgot to tell you, it’s my turn for a party, can I bring the gang back?’
Such a boon in a crisis, though. Our 14-year-old made three successive calls recently – one to a bowling club I had just left – one to ours I had not yet arrived at – and one later when I had - to ask if a friend could stay overnight.
A quick dial and all manner of information is at our finger tips. ‘What colour of knickers are you wearing?’ was an inquiry I received recently. Now, I have since thought of ear-scorching replies I could have given. Or perhaps a Marge Proops’ ‘Now lad, what’s your problem?’ or possibly an aggressive ‘Who wants to know’ approach. But on a Saturday morning in the middle of preparing lunch, let’s face it this is the last question one expects to be asked by a stranger with asthma. ‘Why didn’t you sing?’ was a deterrent suggested afterwards. Totally unprepared I simply followed my instinct and replied ‘What colour are yours?’
From then on I gave him tit for tat till eventually utterly thwarted, confused and cursing he rang off. A police chief told me since two or three sharp blasts on a whistle has the same effect.
Yes, a marvellous medium – when you know who’s on the other side!
