TELEPHONE BOX - press button A
Sir Giles
Gilbert Scott
was an English architect known for his
work on Battersea Power Station, Cambridge University Library, Liverpool
Cathedral and Waterloo Bridge and for designing the iconic red telephone box.
Before the advent of mobile phones, everybody used GPO telephone boxes. They often smelled rather unsavoury, were cold and draughty but provided a lifeline for those who didn't have a household phone. I well remember putting four (old) one penny coins in the slot, waiting for a reply, then pressing button A, before speaking. If no one answered, you pressed button B and got your money back. I've used them in my books and here are two extracts featuring them.
BLOOD ON THE SHRINE
"Baker had found plenty of kindling wood
around the yard behind the farmhouse and had the stove burning merrily. He put
some larger pieces in, shut down the damper and set off to find a phone box. He
assumed there would be one in Framfield so headed in the direction of the
village. He passed the gate leading down to the level crossing then continued
east. After another 10 minutes he reached the outskirts of the village and soon
spied the distinctive red form of the Gilbert Scott-designed call box. The
street was deserted and he scuttled inside, the door slowly closing behind him.
It had the usual smell of stale tobacco smoke and urine. He inserted four
pennies in the slot and dialled the number for the pub in Collinghurst, as Tommy
had said he would be waiting for his call at that time.
‘Hello?
Queen’s Head,’ a male voice said.
He
pressed button A. The coins clattered into the box. ‘Oh, hello, is Tommy
there?’
‘Hang
on.’ The line crackled. He could hear the landlord calling, ‘Tommy! Call for
you.’
There
was a pause, then, ‘’Ello? Who’s that?’
‘It’s
me, Laurie.’
‘’Ello
mate. ’Ow you doin’?’
‘I’m
alright thanks.’
‘’Ave
you been to the farm’ouse?’ Waddyer think?’
‘Yes,
it’s fine. Just as you described.’
‘Told
you it would be alright.’ Baker could picture Tommy smiling. ‘Where are you
now?’
‘Call
box in Framfield.’
Atkin’s
tone changed. ‘Anybody see yer?’ he growled.
‘No
mate. It’s all quiet here.’
‘Make
sure it stays that way. Don’t want nobody gettin’ suspicious.’
Baker
was a bit peeved. ‘Here, hang on…’
Atkins
relented. ‘It’s all right. Keep yer ’air on. Just need to stick to the plan.
You stay put and I’ll come and find yer.’
‘When
are you coming, Tommy?’
‘I’ll
be over in a day or two. Got enough grub to keep you goin’?’
‘Enough
for a day or two I guess.’ Baker sounded unsure.
‘Don’t
worry cocker, you could always go and snare a rabbit,’ Atkins chuckled.
‘Or
pop into the village shop?’ Baker said hesitantly.
‘Don’t
you bloody dare!’ Atkins sounded murderous, his mood changing like the wind. ‘I’ll bring the food.’
‘All
right, Tommy. Don’t worry, I won’t. Just don’t leave me on my own for too long.
You know I hate the countryside.’ The pips sounded on the line. ‘I’ll put some
more money in,’ Baker said, panic in his voice.
‘Don’t
bother mate, ring me tomo…..’ Atkins’s voice was cut off as the money ran out.
Baker
put the receiver down gently. The man had the ability to boost your ego or
leave you deflated and Atkins’s words had left him feeling hollow. He pushed
the heavy door open and set off back to the farmhouse."
BLOOD ON THE STRAND
"Nettie made her
way to the red phone box, pulled the door open and settled inside, making
herself as comfortable as she could for what might be a long wait. She could clearly
see several hundred yards down the track. After a number of settled days with warm
sunshine the weather was changing. The sky was now leaden and threatening; the
wind was fickle, alternating between gentle breaths and gusty blasts, shaking
the scrubby trees and almost flattening the Marram grass either side of the
track. It looked as if rain wasn’t far off. Nettie hoped she wasn’t going to
get soaked.
However, after 20 minutes, she heard the sound
of an engine: a plume of dust rose, and was then blown sideways by the wind.
She watched eagerly, just as fat blobs of rain hit the windows of the phone
box. As more raindrops fell, washing the dust off the glass, she could see the
blue Morris bumping slowly along the track. The rain was starting to fall more
forcefully now, the gusty wind blowing it at 45 degrees. She took a chance and
made a dash for the Ford. Pulling the door open she jumped inside and pulled it
closed behind her.
‘The car’s
coming!’"
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