Overhead Power Lines

Some of the older generation that I meet seem genuinely surprised to have reached a ripe old age.

A conversation with them will invariably start with reference to how old they are. It is delivered with pride but then tinged with a bit of sadness as they realise that although they form part of a select demographic it is one that is dwindling on a daily basis. I do value any time spent in the company of, in particular, the 80 to 90 year olds because the life and times that they have experienced include some of the most tumultuous events in world history from the Depression to World conflict, post war austerity and boom and all points within the spectrum of social, personal, economic, health, welfare and political phenomena.

In the decade of their birth it was still very much a case of recovery from the First World War with a decimated male population and the imbalance arising which had repercussions not just amongst individual families but for the Nation as a whole.

The optimistic and flamboyant 1920's created a much welcomed tonic but by the 1930's had foundered with the emerging crises of a failing economy and another looming coming together of warring ideologies. The generation would be reduced with inevitable casualties in battle, military and civilian and not just confined to the male contingent.

Rationing and shortages persisted into the 1950's before recovery and a seemingly miraculous resurgence in industry and consumerism. It was a period of full employment, jobs for life, expansion of the housing sector from largely rented to an encouragement and means to own your own home, cheap petrol for the newest models of cars, better roads and infrastructure, a health service; indeed a Golden Age epitomised in 1957 by the sentiment that things had never been so good.

Heated arguments always seem to be about whether the 1960's that followed surpassed the previous decade. There is something of a case to side with the pro-group with increased freedoms in behaviour, particularly the sexual revolution and the much cited music playlist of that era which is an evocative soundtrack to more conflict, upheaval, coups d'état and atrocities.

However, to my age group, with a different outlook and perspective it can sometimes just resemble a big boozy and drug infused party, a letting loose of conventions and morals by a lost generation.

Like a bad hangover the 1970's were a decade of uncertainty and my recollections during my own formative years were of periodic power cuts, piles of rubbish on the street, going to school through a picket line of demonstrating public servants or teachers, the weather either persistently freezing or permanent summer, tank tops, Oxford Bag trousers, kissing girls and with everything in soft, multicolour focus whereas my memories that went before were in black and white.

If I were to say what was my most productive decade I would certainly start with the 1980's. I had a hot hatchback, reactolite prescription lenses, my first house, the job I had always wanted, a beautiful wife and a good group of friends. Yuppy or muppet are two descriptions that come to mind from that time.

The 1990's were equally productive with three children by the same beautiful wife and a venture into self employment which brought the superficial trappings of success, yes, epitomised by ownership (Hire Purchase Agreement) of a Volvo Estate Car.

Where the following fifteen to twenty years have gone, I know not where because they have flown by at an incessant pace. I have been busy and engaged, alright.

I discussed this seemingly uncontrollable evaporation of time with a gentleman of 87 this week.

He was moving out of a house that he had occupied since 1956. He had, in fact, sourced his own builder upon stumbling across an open field plot for the purpose upon arriving in York to take up a teaching post.

Now surrounded by later speculative developments of estate housing he recounted that from the upstairs rooms he used to be able to see the Pennine Hills to the west and the dancing lights of vehicles ascending and descending Garrowby, a steep hill on the Wolds to the east. From his well chosen, slightly elevated and flood free plot this was a clear view extending more than 30 miles in each direction.

It had been a good family house and his children, now in their mid to late 50's had benefitted from unrestricted roaming in the surrounding rural area. On what we now infrequent  visits to their recently widowed father they always remarked, sadly, that their street which had been on the very edge of their known world was now firmly built up and suburban. As for the electricity pylons striding across the street scene in view they were even more expressive, in a negative way, of the relentless expansion of the local area. This was to them a great disappointment.

They would not now ever consider returning to live where their memories and day dreams had become so tainted.