Not Everything In The Seventies Was Black And White by Alison Wassell

Unless, like Sharon, you grew up in the seventies, some things are hard to believe. Until she was twelve, Sharon’s family had a black and white TV set, and all four of them would sit together on the sofa every Saturday night, watching the same programme. There were only three channels, and you had to get up to change from one to another. If the phone rang everybody jumped and, if it was later than half past seven, Sharon’s mum would ask who on earth was ringing at this time.

There was a show that involved a lot of white men with their faces painted black, singing and dancing, and it was considered family entertainment. Nobody in Sharon’s family batted an eyelid.

Jimmy Savile was still just a bloke with a dodgy haircut who warned women like Sharon’s mum to clunk click every trip, even if they were only popping to the shops. Otherwise, their pretty faces might not be so pretty anymore. A girl in Sharon’s class had gone on Jim’ll Fix It and been sawn in half by Paul Daniels. Sharon told everyone she knew. It was almost as good as having been sawn in half herself.

Rolf Harris was still just an Australian bloke with a beard who painted massive pictures with a big brush. Sharon’s brother Kevin could always tell what they were before she could. Rolf played an instrument called a didgeridoo. Once, Kevin said it sounded like another name for a willy, and their mum told him not to be so rude.

Sharon’s mum and dad liked a comedian called Larry Grayson who said things like ‘what a gay day’, and ‘seems like a nice boy’. They would both laugh, and Sharon and Kevin would laugh too. Kevin laughed loudest of all. Sharon couldn’t really see what was so funny.

It was a happy time, a simple time.

Even though she grew up in the seventies, there are some things that Sharon finds hard to believe. She can’t imagine her dad ever saying, ‘Don’t make me take my belt off to you, Son,’ over something he found Kevin doing in his bedroom, but her brother insists that it happened. Surely it was all just words, says Sharon. Empty threats, what people said back then.

Sharon’s dad was Old Spice, fairisle tank tops, comfy slippers, buying her the Bunty on his way home from work and helping her cut out the dolls on the back, burying her rabbit in the garden and making a cross for his grave, watching Blue Peter and saying ‘Here’s one I made earlier,’ before Valerie Singleton did.

‘Not just words,’ says Kevin, he has the scars on his arse cheeks to prove it. He’s really drunk, and they’re both crying. He starts to undo the buckle on his own belt. She stops him. She doesn’t need to see.

Sharon loves her dad, and she loves Kevin. Not everything in the seventies was black and white.

Alison Wassell is a short story, flash and micro fiction writer with absolutely no ambition to write a novel. Her work has been published by Reflex Fiction, Retreat West, Bath Flash Fiction Award, The Phare and Ellipsis Zine..

@lilysslave

@alisonwassell.bsky.social

Photo courtesy of  Mike Bennett at the oldtechnology.net website.

*

*

*