Lest It Be Forgotten After I Am Gone: Comparisons - 4
Raymon Benedyk concludes his comparisons of the changes which have occurred during his lifetime.
As a child I loved to go to the cinema, there being little television until the late thirties and then only for those who could afford it. There were three categories of film provided by the film censor, this being U for universal showing for any age, A for adult showing only or a child if accompanied by an adult, and H for horrific, strictly adults only.
My parents could not always take me to the 'pictures' or 'the flicks' as they were called in those days, and I would have to get into the cinema if it was showing an A film as best I could. The normal way was to go along a cinema queue and, finding a sympathetic looking person or couple, ask them "Would you take me in please?" It was almost always answered affirmatively when one would hand over the few pennies needed to buy a ticket to the 'nice person' and walk in with them. I assume that would be considered a most dangerous act nowadays but then it was quite normal and I was usually one of several boys and girls seeking out a likely person in a cinema queue on a Saturday afternoon.
Another thing that has 'bugged' me for years is the fact that Empire Day, or Commonwealth Day as it became after the 1939-45 conflict, is not celebrated as we used to, with a special gathering of the whole school around the Union Jack flag flying on its flag pole in the school grounds. A local dignitary would make a suitable speech to us youngsters and, more often than not, almost certainly with the Headmaster's permission, the children being granted the rest of the day off. (Maybe that's why it was always an enjoyable memory.)
And the other more serious thing that has really hurt me for many years is the changing of the November 11th Armistice Day parade commemorating the war dead on whatever day the eleventh fell, to the Sunday nearest that date and calling it Remembrance Day. Before the 1939 war, November 11th was almost sacrosanct as the day in which the dead of the Great War were remembered. The parade of members of the armed services, or veterans of the war, commemorated at the Cenotaph in London's Whitehall, as well as war memorials all over the country, with a local Minister of religion conducting the solemn service, was always the most moving imaginable. Since it was moved 'for public convenience' to a Sunday, it has become just another 'important day' in the life of those dignitaries concerned. After the first world war, and right up to 1939, everything would stop at 11 am on the morning of November 11th, with car drivers as well as commercial vehicle and bus drivers all stopping, getting out of their vehicles with the passengers, and standing at attention beside them for the full two minutes of silence from the moment church bells began their eleven chimes. In the centre of London, Big Ben in Parliament Square sounded its eleven chimes and the big guns were fired in Hyde Park at the beginning of the period of silence, until its completion when the guns were fired again. In school and places of work, all children and employees stood in similar silence at their desks or in their workplace in sincere respect. In many cases, it was an opportunity to recall the death of a deceased relative who had been killed in the war, husband, father, grandfather, uncle, brother, son, nephew. In those early post 1914-18 war years, who hadn't lost someone? Even I did when, in 1917, an uncle (mother's brother) was killed in France aged just 23 years.
In the late twenties, I recall all too clearly the sight of men with a sign displayed around their neck that they were disabled ex-soldiers in need of financial help, sometimes minus sight, an arm or leg, or both, or with a hopelessly disfigured face, sitting on a mat outside a public place, a public house or a station, holding a tray of boxes of matches or razor blades to sell for a few pennies as a means of augmenting their army pension - if they got one. Or others singing - or supposedly singing - in the street on corners also for a few pennies given by sympathetic passers by. They did not get the financial support and compensation that most military personnel seem to get these days, and were left largely to make the best of their situation.
Television as we know it today was another miracle when it was first seen by the public around seventy-five years ago. There were very few sets made in those days, and probably only a very few of them were ever purchased at some astronomical price. However, I can recall in 1936 joining a crowd of people standing outside a shop watching a dance band with a singer performing on the screen of a set placed in the shop's window. It was just like being at the 'flicks' except that the screen was tiny, perhaps a nine or twelve inch one which, compared to today's monsters, was a nothing. But it was cinema in the home for the future. Even the wireless, as it was called, was only being broadcast at certain times of the day. From soon after lunchtime and during the afternoon it was silent until 5.00 pm when Children's Hour came on to engage the interest of children before their bed-time.
Doctors and hospital medical staff today seem too busy or stressed to form any relationship with those in their care, hi 'the' old days' a doctor was looked upon with almost the same reverence as a Minister of Religion. One just knew that if you had a problem, your doctor would know how to sort it out, or could direct you to someone who could. Today's GP can give you just ten minutes. It was so much more congenial years ago when your GP was your confident and trusted friend. True he was paid for his services, but in many cases he waived those charges for his very poor patients.
These are some of my memories, and others do continue to come to the surface. But how many others can recall their childhoods?
