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One of the memories of Mrs Kathleen Burdett (nee Hinde) who was born in London in 1940.
When the war was over my sister and I used to love our Saturday nights. We would be taken up to the local market, 'Chapel Street', where there was a stall that sold comics. We were allowed to buy some and then go to the sweet stall and buy lots of sweets. Then we would have our Saturday night bath and go to bed early with our comics and sweets. My sister and I would swap comics and read each other's.
In the week, we would go to Green Man Street, where there was a run down old shop. This shop sold sherbet dips, cocoa powder with sugar, and all sorts of goodies. We would lick our finger and then dip it in the powder and then suck it off our fingers.
The shop also let you swap your comics, so you would give your new comics over for someone else's but we also had to pay money to the shop man. The comics were also swapped with other children in the flats where we lived. So if a friend had a comic that you had not read, you swapped it with them before you went to the shop.
The past time of the day was the local pub for the adults, but the pub at Islington Green had a passage at the side of it. The walls were all tiled. As you walked through the passage one side was engraved windows where the people drank, but we walked through to the back of the pub, to the 'Collin's Music Hall'.
This was magic. They would have all kinds of people singing and dancing on stage and very often they would do what they called a spotlight. They would shine the spotlight onto someone, and you would go up on stage and collect a parcel, usually this was food. So soon after the war it was very welcome.
One night they shined the spotlight on me and I had to go on stage. I guess I was only about 5 years old, and they told me to curtsey. I was the last recipient and I did a bow instead of a curtsey, of course everyone laughed. I never knew why at the time, until I joined my Nan and my sister and they told me what I had done wrong.
There were other music halls, there was one at Finsbury called the 'Empire', where we saw many a good singer there in later years. I recall Billy Daniels, who used to sing 'That old black magic', also Johnnie Ray who used to cry when he sang. 'The Little White Cloud That Cried' and 'Cry' were just two of his songs.
The radio, or wireless as we called it, was great as you had to use your own imagination and as you know this is always the best, your own imagination, wow. The scariest programme was the 'Tales From The Crypt' or perhaps it was the voice of the man who told the stories.
He would begin, 'This is Valentine Dyall, your storyteller, the man in black', and my sister and I would have the light off and just the glow of the fire. We would frighten ourselves but would still listen to his stories.
When we were younger there was a man called Tommy Hanley and he was a comedian on the wireless. He had a situation every week, where a Mrs. Mopp would enter a gentleman's office and the catch phrase was 'Can I do you now sir?'
There was Dick Barton - Special Agent, Snowy White and Jock. These were detectives and they met in a milk bar, to unravel mysteries. Then of course there was Paul Temple, another detective, who every week had a mystery to solve. It was so exciting for a child to listen to.
Another memory was 'Sparky' the talking piano. This piano spoke with the chords of the piano, up and down the chords, and it only spoke to its owner. Then there was the 'Clithroe Kid'. This was in fact an adult lady, but she was small and her role was to be a kid. The Father was her husband.
That sparks another memory, of Old Mother Riley and her daughter. These were in fact a husband and wife team. They made many pictures and were shown a lot on Saturday mornings. The husband was in fact Old Mother Riley. His real name was Arthur Lucan and his wife was Kitty McShane.
Every Saturday morning we would go to the pictures. These films were solely for children. They were 'Minor's' matinees. We would join the Carlton Cinema or the Odeon Cinema and each of them would have a serial. Perhaps Superman or Flash Gordon. These guaranteed that you went every week.
Of course there were always the cowboy films, Roy Rogers, Gene Autrey or Bill Boyd - they each had wonderful horses. Then there were the 'goodies' and the 'baddies' and we would jeer or cheer the side that was winning the cause of the time.
After the pictures, if your Mum had given you the money, the ritual was to go to the local Pie and Mash shop down New North Road. This ensured you out of the way all Saturday morning while your Mum shopped and did the housework.
On Sunday dinner times we would listen comedy programmes on the radio. Firstly there was the 'Navy Lark', then 'The Goons' and midweek there was a programme called 'Workers Playtime'. They would visit the works canteen with a cast of comedians and singers, and this was recorded over air.
There was Peter Brough and Archie Andrews, a ventriloquist and his dummy. Another midweek comedy was 'Round the Horn' with Kenneth Horne, wonderful times. I almost forgot the great Wilfred Pickles and Mabel, who did a game show, most probably the very first. He would ask contestants questions. If they got them right, his catch phrase was 'Give em the money Barney'.
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