She was probably about 9. Those were the days when 9 year olds were allowed to go to the shops on their own, with just an instruction not to speak to the strange man from round the corner if they happened across him. (Out of interest she found out via Friends Reunited many years later that he had in fact been convicted of one of those offences, the question being “Was it any safer then than it is now?”). But that is not the point of this story. She was off to spend her pocket money, just as she did every Saturday morning.
How pocket money has changed
My Mum swears she only ever got 10p pocket money on a Saturday. I say she’s either got a very dodgy memory, or she’s older than she looks. Probably both. In any case, penny chews – the kind that cost 2p nowadays – used to be 4 a penny apparently. Which begs the question, how on earth did they earn their name in the first place?
Anyway, Saturday would come round, and off she would trot, with Lisa, the family German Shepherd, to spend her pocket money. A handful of black jacks, fruit salads, white mice, and a Caramac bar. Always a Caramac. Then straight home to watch Multi-Coloured Swap Shop. Thank heavens at least Noel Edmunds has remained intact, whilst DLT, Stuart Hall, and Rolf Harris and the other stars of Mummy’s childhood have fallen into disgrace. That’s how she spent her Saturday mornings, while her Dad was playing golf, and her Mum was baking next week’s biscuits.
On this particular morning, she had taken off as usual, with her measley 10p, and Lisa the dog, tying the lead carefully to the post outside the newsagent’s. She had watched her Saturday TV, licked bowls helped out in the kitchen and had a bit of lunch – apparently Campbell’s cream of tomato soup was a favourite – I knew I was adopted! The afternoon wore on, and her Dad came home and fed the dog before going back up to the shops for the ritual Saturday takeaway. Only the dog wouldn’t come for her dinner. Highly unusual, she must be sickening for something. They called, they yelled, they searched, but no Lisa. Then Mummy remembered.
She ran, Grandad drove the 2 minutes it took to get to the newsagent’s, where the dog was waiting patiently, tied securely to the post, with a quizzical look on her face…
This post is an entry into theTots100/Roosterbank Pocket Money Competition, which I’m hoping to win because it will force Mummy to finally get round to opening me a Roosterbank account, which I’ve been nagging her about for ages! That way maybe I’ll stop squandering my weekly £2 (yes £2 – I’d love to know how that equates to what Mummy used to get, given inflation over the last 57 years (that may be an exaggeration, but I’m not fessing up to anything)), and save it up for something a bit more meaningful!
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