Younger readers, brought up in the age of the mobile phone, may perhaps be baffled by this week’s extraordinary outpourings of affection for that increasingly unnecessary item of street furniture — the public telephone box.
Many people may ask why there are so many campaigners fighting to keep these past-age relics from going extinct. And why do so many of my generation (I’ll be 68 later this month) hold such a special place for them in our hearts?
All week, since the decision by the communications watchdog to protect some 5,000 of BT’s public phone boxes from closure, radio stations have been deluged with calls from listeners, recounting fond memories of the part these boxes have played in their lives.
A typical example was the story told by Geoff, who rang the BBC’s Today programme on Wednesday to tell how he had been banned from playing his saxophone in the flat when he stayed on the Isle of Wight 25 years ago.
The neighbours couldn’t stand the din, because it was a ‘big echoey place’ — and as he frankly admitted, he was new to the saxophone and ‘not making a very good noise’.
Shelter
So one winter’s evening, he took his music and started practising in the telephone box opposite, where at least he had light and shelter.
‘Nobody seemed to bother me,’ he said. ‘Occasionally people went by and looked at me as if I was a bit mad.
‘A policeman stopped once and said, “I suppose it’s OK so long as you vacate the phone box if someone needs it” and passed on his way.’
But you don’t have to listen to phone-ins to hear stories of some of the unusual uses to which phone boxes have been put. And, no, I’m not thinking only of their once widespread use as places for prostitutes to advertise their phone numbers and (to judge by the smell) for antisocial tramps to relieve themselves.
When I asked around this week among my friends, it surprised me to find out that the same fellow I have always thought of as the soul full of respectability had lost his virginity long ago in a telephone box.
All week, since the decision by the communications watchdog to protect some 5,000 of BT’s public phone boxes from closure, radio stations have been deluged with calls from listeners, recounting fond memories of the part these boxes have played in their lives
I really wouldn’t recommend this to anyone. This not only sounds ridiculously inconvenient to me but it is highly unlikely any copper will be willing to look the other way.
My friend also told me that the only spot he could dry his feet for the night while hitchhiking from Devon to Devon was a phone box. This was before a passerby saw him in the tiny space, and offered to take his place.
As for my own experience of telephone boxes, they were a lifesaver during my childhood in rural Berkshire, when my parents’ decrepit car was forever breaking down. I would have to be sent by foot to locate a public telephone number from which the AA could call. It was a welcome sight that I could not describe as more than the illuminated sign above the red phone saying “Telephone”.
Another fond memory from those days, which I share with many others of my generation, is of nipping into phone boxes to press button B, which returned users’ coins when they failed to get through to the number they called.
It was possible that an earlier user forgot to press the button. If so, two old pennies would drop into my clutches — enough to buy eight chewy sweets, at a farthing each.
As a cub reporter, I was sent as an assignment to find the closest phone line to reverse charge the copytakers. They would then type my words back to me at the office. The process could become long and tedious, so I had to sincerely apologize for the inconvenience caused by those who were waiting outside.
Memories
The story of a friend from rural London that sums up telephone boxes’ central place in community life is the one she told me. I was told by her that her village had a bench beside it, which she would use to meet her friends after school.
Their mums all knew the number on the box and would call it to call their children for tea.
The nearest child to the phone would answer it with the word ‘Bench’, in the way that company switchboard operators answer calls with the name of their firm.
It’s a wonderful way to remember. This was all before the advent of mobile phones, which made the public kiosks virtually obsolete for the majority of us. Today 96% of UK adults own a cell phone. Nine out of ten children below 11 years old also have a mobile phone. Payphone calls have dropped from 800,000,000 minutes in 2002, to seven million in 2020.
Younger readers, brought up in the age of the mobile phone, may perhaps be baffled by this week’s extraordinary outpourings of affection for that increasingly unnecessary item of street furniture — the public telephone box
Indeed, if you’re anything like me, you can hardly remember the last time you made a call from a public box.
It is not true, sentimental memories aren’t enough to keep beloved telephone call boxes working.
The fact they look great will not detract from their beauty. (I’m thinking here of those which have evolved from the beloved K2 design drawn by the architect Sir Giles Gilbert Scott in the 1920s, whose successor the K6 is regularly voted one of the country’s top ten design icons, along with the Spitfire, the Mini and the London Underground map).
Nor can we comfort ourselves with the thought that this week’s ruling by Ofcom will save more than a few thousand of the 21,000 that remain.
Indeed, the watchdog’s ban on closures applies only to phone boxes in accident blackspots and areas with poor mobile coverage, greater than average use or high rates of suicide.
Lifeline
As Selina Chadha, the Ofcom director of connectivity, explains: ‘Some of the call boxes we plan to protect are used to make relatively low numbers of calls.
‘But if one of those calls is from a distressed child, an accident victim or someone contemplating suicide, that public phone line can be a lifeline at a time of great need.’
As for the rest of them, let’s face it, there is precious little hope that many will remain, as adornments to our streets, unless alternative uses can be found for them.
This is a good thing. Spurred on by BT’s offer to sell phone boxes to community organisations for as little as £1, if they put them to approved socially valuable use, enterprising folk have come up with all sorts of ingenious ideas.
Some boxes were used to house defibrillators and have since been converted into cubicles that can be used to help heart patients.
Other people have discovered a new use for their books and videos: they can exchange them with others. Some have also been used to showcase conceptual art.
So let’s keep those ideas coming — and save as many of these icons as we can.
Just one word of warning: if I were you, I wouldn’t suggest using call boxes as love nests, dormitories for hikers or even as music practice rooms for aspiring saxophonists.
My feeling is that it would not be approved by the local planning authority.