Without a Cause

A Story by A R Lowe

When two generations meet...

Without a Cause

Glyn was an angry old man without a cause. Glyn's was angry because he felt that he wasn't getting his just desserts; hadn't even finished his main course, according to him.

“Work, work, work; and suddenly you're old and have got nothing to show for it.”

I'm just the wrong side of thirty and Glyn is sixty-five; not even properly old. One day I put it to him that people of his age in countries like ours have had less to complain about than any generation in the history of humankind.

“Bollocks!” he said, as he sometimes did.

I explained, “Glyn, you were born, I believe, in 1946. I was born in 1979. Let's compare.”

“Compare away. Let's see what twaddle you come up with this time.”

“You were born in the age of the returning banana.”

“What?”

“The war was over, people had suffered. Then came austerity and optimism; the perfect combination.”

“Only saw bananas at Christmas; oranges too.”

“Exactly. They were a treat and you were grateful, and you knew that you'd see more and more of them. There would be more and more of everything.”

“But you had to work for whatever you wanted. I had a paper round when I was twelve.”

“Perfect. You learned to work and you learned to save up for anything you wanted.”

“H.P. was a dirty word back then.”

“And so it should be. So you hit your teens in the Sixties and it was time for you to start work.”

“Proper work back then.”

“I know, and lots of it. You could choose your trade.”

“Plumbing for me.”

“I know, and it could have been one of a dozen other trades. Any hard-working man could make good.”

“The Seventies was a bad decade.”

“Bad for slackers. Every decade is bad for slackers. You were married by then and had bought a house.”

“In sixty-nine.”

“When was it paid for?”

“Eighty-nine.”

“Worth more now?”

“Twenty times more, but the pound's not what it was.”

“And now you've retired and you've got two pensions.”

“I've paid for them both.”

“I know, but who wouldn't? Now look at me. I studied till I was twenty-two and I've only just paid off the loan. I've had five different jobs and the pay never improves and the contracts get worse. Me buying a house is about as likely as you buying me a pint. Paying into a pension scheme would be like pissing into the wind �" we've seen what the banks are �" and it's going to get worse and worse. You've nothing to complain about; no-one ever had it as good as your generation did, and they never will again.”

“I'm still getting old.”

“Law of nature, I'm afraid.”

“Do you want another?”

“I don't mind if I do.”