London Calling

The Wilkes family were hopeful that public broadcasting would be the entertainment of the future . . .

LEAVE that thing alone, Roy! Your eggs is done." Eth Wilkes waved her fish slice in the air to get her husband's attention.

"Those wires of yours can wait for half an hour while you eat, love, can't they?" Roy looked up at his wife.

"It's not the wires. I can't get the new meter to work," he explained. "Hang on." The needle was kicking as the signal continued to come in, but definitely not strongly enough.

This radio receiver set was his best yet. Only that morning he had picked up a talk from a fellow on the other side of London.

The talk had been all about copper wire and it had been very absorbing.

There had to be something mechanical stopping the needle from kicking properly against the dial, Roy thought as he stared at the meter.

"Roy," Eth said in a sterner voice.

"Which set is that?" Florrie asked.

She was their only child, just nineteen and a mousyhaired, large-eyed little thing whom Roy adored.

She was pouring water into glasses at the table.

"Don't encourage him, Florrie," Eth warned.

"It's my latest set," Roy replied. "I took apart my mark three for parts to put this one together."

He patted the top of the set and a faint, tinny female voice emerged from his headphones, which lay nearby at the end of their twisted brown cord.

The meter's needle flew across the dial.

"There! Something's got it working," Roy cried.

Sometimes it just took a little thump and a prayer.

"Coming, love! I'm starving.'

It was hot in the small room, with June evening sunshine still pouring in from the back alley.

They were minutes away from the bustle and noise of Elephant and Castle, but it was peaceful in the terraced house.

Roy loved Sundays. It was the only day that the brickworks where he worked was closed.

He liked the works, and the people he worked with, but a quiet Sunday was a pleasure.