Wensum Fakenham column by Jim Harding, May 16:
I have vague memories of watching the coronation of our late Queen in 1953. At the time I had just spent a year at Woking Grammar school, having sneaked in via interview following a year at the local Secondary Modern in Old Woking.
We were one of the few houses along our street with a tiny black and white television, thanks to my Dad who was an electronics whizz. He might have been a lowly railway worker in the Woking signal box but his expertise was acknowledged when he was later employed by a local company to help produce the black box recorders which became essential elements of aircrafts and other forms of transport.
In those early days there was something magical about televisions, partly because of their rarity. Nowadays we tend to take them for granted, accepting colour, massive screens and a huge variety of channels as quite normal.
In 1953, the coronation inspired a rapid rise in the number of families acquiring sets as part of their living rooms and life styles. I thought of my childhood when watching the coronation of King Charles III, both at home and on the big screen in Fakenham’s market place as part of the town’s picnic celebrations of this special day.
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We, too, had a street party all those years ago with our neighbours joining in. To be honest that was the best part of the whole event from my point of view at the time. Did us youngsters receive coronation mugs as well? I believe so. On coronation day, 2023, Fakenham rolled out the carpet in its usual, slightly low-key style.
Shop windows were decorated, flags adorned the market place and neighbouring streets and a big Union Flag was flown from the top of the parish church. I wandered down to find plenty of onlookers sitting in deck chairs to take in the ceremonials– how appropriate was that – having enjoyed picnics on set out tables.
London might have been a bit damp but for those few hours our town largely escaped the rain. I approached one lady sitting in the front row with her dog perched on her lap and suggested that she had the best seat in the house to which she readily agreed. It was all very congenial.
With age has come a kind of reckoning. Had my driving days reached their limit. The decision might have been down to me and my wife but it would clearly affect others in the family and those I had helped for some years as part of the community car scheme to get people to surgery appointments.
Ultimately, though it was hard to take, I decided to call it a day. I learnt to drive in Sydney in 1964 and managed a few remarkable trips behind the wheel of my little Triumph Herald. Most memorably by taking the coastal road down to Adelaide before embarking on the dirt track which in that era connected with Alice Springs in the heart of the country.
Overall I’ve found driving to have become increasingly challenging and some element of my psyche is relieved to put it in my past. Locally I have already become accustomed to walk and bike so these will now become my principal ‘modes of transport.’ Wish me luck.