19. The Television Age

A WIDOW WOMAN Part 19

  Jane found another job easily enough. Jonah somehow knew that the local Co-op had a vacancy and she was only too happy to fill it. It meant that her widow’s pension was no longer paid to her, but her wages more than compensated for that.

But a new job wasn’t the pinnacle of excitement that it might have been, even though she immediately loved it, And the influx of modest funds tripped a switch in her head. Having passed her half century she decided that, with more money coming in, she could afford a television set. So she went to the nearest shop that rented out television sets and was greeted by the friendly face of her old friend Mildred, looking efficient and very unMildredish in her uniform.

“So this is where you’re hiding?” she greeted her old friend.

“Jane! How wonderful! It’s ages since we had a good natter!” exclaimed Mildred, carefully eyeing the small office where the Manager lurked, keeping a weather eye on his terrain.

“How’s Melvin? Are you still friends with him?” asked Jane.

“Sort of, but not close any more,” confessed Mildred. “Though we never did do anything improper,” she added, and Jane got the message, for this was still an age when men staying the night and sleeping in the same bed was considered highly improper by above half of the population. “How about you?” she added.

“You know me, Mildred. After George passed away there’s been nobody, though not for the want of one one or two trying! The old chap who lived across the road would have had a go, but he was conscious of only having one you-know-what, testicle. He lost one in the war … the Boer war at that! But he passed away, which was sad. Then there’s the vicar. He gets on edge sometimes and I must admit to being a bit naughty and leading him on, but I see less and less of him as time goes by.”

“You, naughty, Jane? That’s not like you!”

“I miss George. At night, you know, feeling his warmth next to me on cold winter nights and hearing his breathing when he wasn’t coughing, before he passed on. You get used to sharing your bed. It seems the most natural thing in the world.”

“I wish I had that knowledge, love. But tell me, Jane, what brings you into my place of work? Mr Edgerly’s likely to get tetchy if he thinks we’re just gossiping!”

“Oh. Of course. I’ve come to enquire about renting a television set.”

“You’ve come tot he right place then, love! Look here, at this set…” she led Jane to what was an obviously more expensive set, “I’m supposed to show this to new customers first, but it might look good yet the works inside are very much the same as the cheaper models, which I’ll show you after I’ve shown you how this works…”

Jane spent a good half hour in the shop, the time mostly spent enjoying the company of an old friend, until she opted to rent an already used model at a low price. Mildred arranged for the set to be delivered that very afternoon.

“But as for an aerial,” she said, shaking her head, “you live in one of the steel houses, don’t you? We can’t fix an aerial to the chimneys there, so we’ll have to put it on a pole behind the house. Don’t worry, everyone in those houses is in the same position.”

“I’ve seen them,” nodded Jane, “look: if they’re bringing it this afternoon I’d best hurry off home. We’ll have to keep in touch, though.”

“I’ll pop round one evening.” promised Mildred, and Jane left the shop minus the deposit she paid for the television rental.

As good as Mildred’s word, the television set arrived that very afternoon, together with a small set-top box that converted it into a two-channel set. The new channel, ITV they called it, was starting soon and up to then the standard television set was limited to the one BBC channel.

The one noticeable thing after the arrival of the new television was the way Betty and Roger stayed in more. There were programmes on it that their friends watched in their own homes, and it was good for them to have something in common to discuss.

The next bit of excitement that year involved the monarchy.

The new queen was doing a tour of the area, giving as many people as wanted to do so a chance to see her sitting in her limousine and waving at them as she was driven majestically past them.. Schools took their children to line the route she was taking and there was a kind of worshipping excitement in the air.

By then both Betty and Roger were well into the last stage of their education. Betty had opted to stay on into an embryonic sixth form whilst Roger was on the cusp of leaving school altogether and going out into the big wide world of work. His interests were less academic than were those of his sister.

Since their junior school days they had moved into a secondary school, or at least into two adjacent secondary schools, one for boys and the other for girls. They were newly built and shared some areas including the dining room and kitchen, and the playing field. When it came to dining the girls had first sitting, and never the twain should meet. It was harder for the school authorities to monitor the odd clandestine meeting between girls and boys at the far reaches of the playing field, though, and an invisible line was constantly being breached.

And it was during one of those breaches that Betty met Ian Worsley

Ian was about as average as a teenage boy could be. He was average, height, average build, average attitude (if there is such a thing) and the one thing that set him apart from a host of other teenage boys was his far from average smile. Added to that the fact that he was drawn to Betty and the consequences were quite predictable.

On the first opportunity to legitimately be with her he ensured that when his class was lined up to cheer the pretty new queen, he edged close to her without being seen.

Then, when he could, he gently felt for one of her hands and held it, squeezing her fingers as delicately as he could.

And Betty looked up to see who had touched her fingers, and smiled, and said “Hi, Ian” and he looked at her and smiled his special smile and said “Hi, Betty,”

And at precisely that moment the television camera vehicle trundled past.

© Peter Rogerson 03.07.21

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