I came from a council estate in South London. We were very poor as my dad had multiple sclerosis and eventually became too ill to work, so we were put on benefit. My mum was very house-proud, and to get a bit more money so we could have "nice things", my mum worked long hours sowing key-rings for the "Key-ring Man". We had to pull the curtains three quarters closed because she said if the neighbours saw us they report us to the police and would put her and my dad in prison. I couldn't understand why they would report us, because I didn't think we were doing anything wrong, but she said people get jealous.
At one point my whole family was making key-rings: My dad, my brother, and myself were all gluing them for my mum to sow. We weren't allowed to tell anyone, not even our friends. I felt shame!
Our whole house had become a factory, with leather fobs, industrial sized cotton reels, medallions, and latex glue all over the place, with my mum all day on the sowing machine, and with the rest us all gluing the fobs together, along with their medalians.
I only did it for a few months, because I would put in loads of hours but only ever get paid about a fiver (£5.00) for a week's work, and even though I had no money, I didn't think it was worth it in the end. But my mum slogged away sowing them for years, though, with my dad gluing them together for her. But we were able to afford a colour TV set, and have fitted carpets downstairs, although my mum had to fit them herself.
I ended up becoming a lifelong socialist, but nowadays I understand how life was tough for the Key-ring Man as well. A very competitive world.
Our council estate was not as bad as some in London, and we were on the outskirts, by the countryside, which was nice. Children were allowed out to play without adult supervision in those days, so we had a fabulously time getting up to all sorts of mischief.
This photo was taken at about the time we were making the keyrings. This is my dad, Bill, with me.
My mum, Dawn, with me and our dog, Peppy
Peppy: A bit of a rough diamond, this one.
My brother, Mark, with our grandparents.
13 comments:
A very interesting and moving story. They would have benefited from a job guarantee, that's for sure.
Actually, a JG is meant to preclude people from working for themselves or for others for 40 hrs/week.
Hey Kevin that golf polo shirt has come back!
Andrew Anderson -- not sure if your post was in response to mine: working on voluntary basis for a living wage for a standard work week (or less if the individual prefers) seems like it would good deal better than work for or as the "Key-ring Man".
Just give them their portion of fiat creation beyond that created by deficit spending for the general welfare (a Citizen's Dividend) and let them work as they please.
I.e. paying people to waste their time is a waste of fiat, time, energy and human morale.
Are council estates the UK equivalent of US food stamps?
As in, a means of shaming a select demographic.
Pete here is a song lyric:
“ Saturdays kids live in council houses
Wear v-necked shirts and baggy trousers”
Heres the song:
https://youtu.be/Zhn2CQHA3jI
Paul Weller great outstanding artist documenting the era..,,
This type of art is GONE... I fear for the future...
Kevin did you wear v-necks back in the day?
(Parents dressing you in a horizontal stipe button up here...,)
“ A very competitive world. ”
Darwin....
Yes, that's what I think. My mum wasn't allowed to work because we would lose the benefit. But she wouldn't have been able to earn enough to look after us all. A job guarantee would have been perfect.
Even I wasn't allowed to earn more than £5 a week, so my mates got good, well paid Saturday jobs, but I had to carry on with my paper-round. But paper-rounds were really a young teen's job.
I really liked that shirt!
That so called “competitive world” has nothing to do with Darwin. You talk about Social Darwinism which is something else and not what people here has been talking about.
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