As a kid, in my Balham flat, we had radios installed into the wall. I would avidly listen to see if my request for Nelly the elephant was ever played on Stewpot’s Junior Choice. It never was. Nor was the ending of Götterdämmerung.
Through my mother’s guidance, I discovered I preferred Motown to Right, said Fred (the song not the group); Puff the magic dragon or A windmill in old Amsterdam (a song which encouraged rodent infestations – and that’s how plagues start – we all remember 1665, don’t we?).
Your request would invariably be linked to someone’s birthday; going to big school or thanks to a nan for doing something.
I’ve been listening, as a Baby Boomer, to Boom Radio.
Having got over the shock of listening to various DJs thinking they were long dead, the requests are very typical for our generation (forgive me if you were born after 1964, and therefore not a baby boomer).
This week I heard someone hoping the replacement hip operation had gone well. When we listened to radio as kids, we couldn’t even spell hip, let alone know it could be replaced. Also, you thought lumbago was a Caribbean island and sciatica was a Greek philosopher.
Still, one song rarely requested on Junior Choice was Mustn’t grumble – probably because, when you’re eight or nine, you don’t understand the concept. However, when you’re 65…
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