Child Of The 1980’s

Margaret Thatcher is the only Prime Minister that I personally remember from my childhood. She was Prime Minister from 1979 to 1990, so when she came to power I was only six, which would explain why I don’t remember her predecessor James Callaghan. She is the only female Prime Minister (and female leader of the Conservative party) the UK has ever known, her nickname being the Iron Lady because of her no-nonsense attitude.

She was born Margaret Hilda Roberts in 1925, and went on to graduate from Oxford with a degree in Chemistry. In 1959 she became the Conservative MP for Finchley, and in 1970 became the Secretary of State for Education and Science. It was during this post that the country took an instant disliking to her when she abolished the free milk for primary school children, earning her the nickname “Maggie Thatcher, Milk Snatcher“. I guess this particular ruling must have been something that meant the government no longer footed the bill for milk, but local councils could still provide the milk if they wanted to, as I distinctly remember break times at primary school meant dashing for the milk crate for a little half pint bottle of milk and a straw.

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I dare say your school didn’t have a hand bell either, mine certainly didn’t, or at least if they did it was only for emergency use. All the schools I went to had those alarm bell style ones that a fixed high on a wall, and electronically cause the clapper to hit against a circular ringer. Having said that these old fashioned hand bells haven’t disappeared completely yet. There’s a small primary school near where I live that still uses one to get the kids in to class in the morning.

Anyway, it’s as true today as it was when I was at school that the sound of the school bell could bring joy or strike fear into your heart, depending on what that particular instance of it ringing represented. If it was to mark the end of the day or lunchtime it was pretty much guaranteed to bring joy, but if it signalled the beginning of Rugby in sub-zero conditions or double French with the schools least favourite teacher, it was probably the latter.

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There are two types of scientific findings. Those that can be backed up with hard evidence (e.g. Newton’s “for every action there is an equal an opposite reaction” - or if I run full pelt at a wall it’s gonna hurt) and those that make you wonder exactly what kind of scientist the person in question actually is. I came across an example of the latter via the Daily Mirror’s website which is attributed to Professor Marcus du Sautoy, a Maths professor from Oxford University.

In his wisdom, Prof. Sautoy is claiming that the 1980’s were a low point for human evolution! His evidence, the Flock of Seagulls haircut. I kid you not! Apparently us humans find symmetry a good thing, so much so that we believe that symmetry is an indicator of a good genetic heritage, and that symmetrical people are therefore a better mate for some reason.

Strangely enough I think I would believe him more if he had just claimed that the hole in the ozone layer was caused by the over excessive use of aerosol hairsprays during the time period whilst trying to achieve these hairstyles…

The pictured set may be a little fancier than the one I had when at school, but the contents haven’t changed a bit. As soon as you went to secondary school the first thing your new Maths teacher told you was to get hold of a geometry set for future lessons. All the kids would go home and tell their parents about this new requirement, and after your Mum had moaned a bit about “more expense” a trip to WH Smiths would follow to pick one up.

Most kids would end up with a geometry set made by stationery company Helix, which contained the following items:-

• A pair of compasses
• A protractor
• A 15cm ruler
• Two set squares
• Some pencils (if you were lucky)

You’d proudly take your new set into your next Maths lesson, only to find you didn’t need it that day, and wouldn’t actually need it for weeks to come. The poor old geometry set then sat at the bottom of your bag for the next few months, until it was finally required. Scrabbling around in the bottom of the bag you’d find the geometry set, plastic lid broken and the contents chipped and scuffed, covered in mud from your sports kit. It was now next to useless…

…for its intended purpose that is. The pair of compasses was normally pretty sturdy, and the point made an effective weapon. The corners of the set square were also good stabbing implements, assuming they hadn’t broken off already, and the protractor could be quite an effective saw for cutting your mate’s giant pencil eraser in half as well. Ah, the innocence of youth, eh?

Not really 1980’s related this one, other than the fact the building with Lego bricks was one of my favourite things to do when I was growing up. This bank holiday weekend Legoland Windsor were holding an attempt at building the worlds largest lego tower, which it appears they have managed to do, although it is yet to be officially sanctioned.

The previous record was set just last year in Toronto, coming in at 29.3 metres or 96 feet. Legoland Windsor’s attempt hits 30.5 metres, and contains around half a million lego bricks. Visitors to the amusement park had the opportunity to build their own 20cm high section to add to the tower, which was then added to the top by using a crane - obviously the builder didn’t get the chance to add their own section personally. I’m assuming part of the rules are that the bricks can’t be glued together, so that must be some weight of Lego bricks there. I wouldn’t want to be near by if it were to topple over!

The design of the tower is a slowly tapering cross, which is apparently modelled on a Viking longboat mask. This design was obviously chosen since Legoland Windsor have recently opened some new Viking themed attractions, but the main reason for the record attempt was to mark the 50th anniversary of the Lego brick. I wonder how long they plan to keep the tower at the park, because I’d love to see it for myself.

The late 1980’s saw a major rethink in the way secondary school exams (those taken by 15-16 year olds) were organised with the introduction of the General Certificate for Secondary Education exams, or GCSEs for short. Teaching for these new exams began in 1986, with the first tests taken in 1988.

The GCSE exams unified the two systems that were in place before this, these being O Levels (or Ordinary Level) and CSE examinations. Ordinary level exams were the top level of examination available to secondary school pupils, whilst the CSE exams catered for those less academically gifted children.

The GCSE system combined the two to provide a single system, which it did by introducing a wider range of possible grades. O Levels used to featured grades from A to E and U, with A to C being classed as a pass, D and E a fail and U meaning ungraded. CSE exams used to feature grades from 1 to 5, all of which were considered a pass, and U for ungraded. Under GCSEs, grades A to C were broadly equivalent to O Level grades A to C. Grade C was also equivalent to CSE grade 1. Grades D to G covered O Level D and E grades (with F and G both being the same as a O Level U grade), and CSE grades 2 to 5. Finally the U category (now meaning unclassified) was right at the bottom of the scale.

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Why is it that you always find out about things just as they are about to finish? An exhibition entitled Sweet came to my attention today, which unfortunately comes to a close on April 24th. It’s been on show since November last year, but this is the first time I’ve seen anything about it.

It’s being held in London’s V&A Museum of Childhood (which I didn’t know existed either, and sounds like it might be worth a visit), and it’s an exhibition of model buildings and other structures that have been constructed out of sweets, including some famous London landmarks. For more details check out the information on the Museum of Childhood’s website.

According to Sky TV’s website the exhibition appears to currently be accompanied by various other pieces of artwork created from those little crisp coated chocolate sweets called Smarties, including the pictured recreation of Andy Warhol’s portrait of Marilyn Monroe. I think this is a separate exhibit organised to celebrate the return of the blue Smarties, which were dropped a few years back after a health scare about the colourings used in them - or at least that’s how I remember it. Anyway, it sounds like its worth a look if you get the chance.

In the early 1980’s High Street Banks suddenly began to realise there was an entire untapped market out there ready and waiting for them to exploit serve. Prior to this most kids may have had a Building Society account that was set up for them by their parents when they were born, if they had any kind of account at all, and withdrawing money from such an account normally needed a parents signature too, assuming of course the account had any money in it in the first place of course.

The Banks decided it was a good idea to encourage kids to be careful with their money, which is an admirable aim it has to be said. They did this by giving the younger saver incentives to keep adding to their account rather than blowing all their pocket money on Polystyrene Gliders and Penny Sweets.

There were two such schemes that managed to steal the majority of these emerging customers. The first was the NatWest Piggy Bank scheme, which was best aimed at the younger, primary school age end of the market. Upon opening an account you were presented with the first in a series of Piggy Banks, which was a piglet named Woody, who was dressed in nothing but a nappy. As the budding millionaires account balance grew they would be awarded further Piggy Banks in the series, until a full family of five had been collected. There were two more child pigs, named Maxwell and Annabel. The mother pig was called Lady Hillary and the set was rounded off at the end with head of the family Sir Nathaniel Westminster.

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