Austerity Britain: the way we were

Austerity Britain: the way we were

I’ve embarked upon the history of my time.  David Kynaston’s Austerity Britain is the first in a planned history of post-war Britain that begins on VE Day in 1945 and will finally close in 1979 with the election of Margaret Thatcher. I was born in 1948, so Kynaston’s remarkable project almost exactly mirrors the years of my birth, schooling, university student life, and entry into the workforce as a college teacher in the 1970s. Kynaston is a contemporary, born in 1951, the year in which this first volume ends.

Reading Austerity Britain is quite different to reading more conventional histories of a particular period.  Although Kynaston deals with the full range of topics you might expect from a social or political history, he is less concerned with the political manoeuvrings between or within parties than with trying to capture the feel of daily life as experienced by individuals of all social classes, drawing upon sources, many of which give voice to the anonymous majority who go unrecorded by the histories. Continue reading “Austerity Britain: the way we were”

A madeleine for you: Are you sitting comfortably?

A madeleine for you: Are you sitting comfortably?

1950s family listening to the radio

‘The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.’

If you want proof of LP Hartley’s dictum, listen to the audio clip ‘Introduction to Listen With Mother’ on this page.

The time is a quarter to two. This is the BBC Light Programme for mothers and children at home. Are you ready for the music? When it stops, Daphne Oxenford will be here to tell you a story. Ding-de-dong. Ding-de-dong, Ding, Ding! Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin!

If you were a pre-school child in the 1950s these words will instantly have the same effect as Proust’s madeleine. A generation sat before a big old radio set every afternoon at 1:45pm to listen to a fifteen minute programme of stories, songs and nursery rhymes for children under five. To anyone who didn’t grow up in the 1950s it will be difficult to comprehend how something so bland, so stilted and so posh could ever have attracted an audience was over one million children.

But it did, and consequently was etched in a generation’s memory.  That memory was revived for me the other day when I read in The Guardian the obituary of Daphne Oxenford, who died before Christmas aged 93.  Oxenford was the voice of children’s stories on Listen With Mother through the 1950s, and right up to 1971. When she spoke, it was the most comforting sound in the world: ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin’. Her name remains deeply evocative of childhood  for a generation of postwar children who grew up in homes without television.


Listen with Mother’ was first broadcast on 16 January 1950 on the Light Programme (now Radio 2), later transferring to the Home Service (Radio 4). Daphne Oxenford’s meticulously modulated opening phrase was eventually included in the Oxford dictionary of quotations.

Radio Times January 1950

The programme is associated in my memory with the afternoon nap – something which was statutory for very young children in those days, enforced not just by mothers but also in the reception class at primary school.  Since my retirement it’s a practice which I have returned to on occasion, and found remarkably refreshing.

This paragraph, from, will almost certainly jog a few memories:

With nursery rhymes set to music by Ann Driver and sung by George Dixon, a senior schools producer with a long and distinguished career in broadcasting, and Eileen Browne, the songs were often unaccompanied. There cannot be many children who did not march up and down the hill with ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’.

Meanwhile ‘Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary’ was growing neat rows of silver bells and cockleshells in her garden, while the King of Spain’s Daughter regularly visited a ‘Little Nut Tree’ which only grew a silver nutmeg and a golden pear. Humpty Dumpty and “Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross” were other favourites.

Then, helping us to count was ‘One, two. . . . three, four, five; Once I caught a fish alive; six, seven. . . . eight, nine, ten; Then I let it go again’ and the rhyme ‘Ding, Dong, Dell, Pussy’s in the Well’ all turned out for the best once we had found out who put her in and who pulled her out! So ‘Polly Put the Kettle On, We’ll All Have Tea!’

Another particularly memorable song, which featured at least once a week, ended: ‘This is the way the old men ride, Hobble-dee Hobble-dee Hobble-dee and down into a ditch!’

And here’s another madeleine to stir the memory: the little piece of piano music that ended the programme (‘Berceuse’ from Fauré’s Dolly Suite for piano duet):

See also