Christmas past

So Christmas 40 years ago was a curious mix of traditional celebrations and modern consumer boom. There was plenty of non-seasonal fare to interest the Evening Press reader in December 1962. The front page headlines were consumed by Prime Minister Harold Macmillan's plan to buy Polaris missiles from the Americans.

His fellow Tory MPs were outraged by a group of young satirists who were given a weekly BBC TV platform to mount verbal assaults on the establishment. Politicians called on the Beeb to withdraw That Was The Week That Was, despite its massive popularity.

The Evening Press didn't like that. "We are among those whose appreciation of this lively, irreverent, sophisticated commentary is tempered by reservations, because of its occasional bad taste, the virulence of its attacks and the one-sidedness and political bias of its approach to certain topics," said the leader comment on December 17 1962.

The same night's edition also reported the loss of a local legend.

"Mr Frank Laughton telephoned yesterday from the United States to his brother Tom - who runs the Royal Hotel at Scarborough - to tell him that their famous brother Charles had died 'peacefully and painlessly' in his sleep," the report began.

"Charles Laughton, the screen's best-known character actor, remembered for a variety of great roles, had been ill for some time with cancer of the spine. He was 63."

Meanwhile, Britain's population was growing fast. A Government White Paper predicted there would by 68 million of us by 2001.

If the news reports failed to tell you it was Christmas, the adverts were quick to plug that gap. The message was the same as today: for a merry Christmas, buy, buy, buy!

Electrical gadgets were all the rage. Among the firms advertising in 1962 was Telefusion on Church Street, York. For an outlay of 41 guineas, you could have a new radiogram, it promised, and 11 guineas bought the latest thing in radios - a transistor.

Christmas is about the kids, of course, and Boyes had all the answers. Meccano sets were priced from 13s and threepence, while 31s 11d bought you a children's typewriter, "a gift to delight all girls".

As for the special lady in your life, Marshall & Snelgrove on Davygate implored: "Make the present a fur".

An advertising feature had more gift ideas. It reminded shoppers that all the stores in Coney Street were experimenting with late-night opening this year. For one night only you could shop until 7pm.

The article had advice on which slippers to buy (serviceable leather or glamorous Turkish-toed) and the correct denier of sock for the older woman (heavy 60).

"There will be opportunities for buying 'family gifts' too, which can range from a modest but attractive little trolley-cloth or small table cloth in Irish linen, for well under 10s, to a luxury television set, all ready for the switch-over to 625 lines."

What about the kids? "Older girls might also like a gift of costume jewellery - and remember, if you left your own schooldays behind quite a time ago, that the 'older girls' category nowadays starts at about 12."

For her older brother, "he will join the growing band of males who know that masculine cosmetics can be clean and freshening without being pansified".

No wonder the streets were packed with eager shoppers. "The Christmas rush is on," reported the Evening Press the week before the big day.

Fog had deterred people earlier that month. "But they have made up for it this past week," declared the manager of a Coney Street men's shop.

"We were almost cleared out of handkerchiefs on Saturday." A manageress of a neighbouring store predicted chaos on the last weekend before Christmas.

"That's when we shall get all the children in, buying presents for their parents. They always seem to leave their shopping late.

"Children seem to go for sweets more than anything else. I suppose it's because they can buy them as presents, yet they can expect to share them as well with the person they are giving them to."

She was right about that last-minute rush. The Christmas Eve edition of the Evening Press reported that York was heaving with present buyers. That was despite the fact that the fog had been replaced by freezing temperatures: "gulls walked over the River Foss which was frozen from bank to bank," the paper reported.

But it wasn't all about a shopping spree, as another item proved. "Every Christmas Eve for several years now, an envelope from an anonymous donor has arrived at The Yorkshire Evening Press office containing £10, to help bring a little extra cheer into the lives of a few of the city's aged people.

"Today was no exception. Inside an envelope addressed to the Editor was another sealed envelope bearing the words 'For the old age pensioners' and containing a £5 note and five £1 notes."

Those looking for entertainment in December 1962 could have gone to see The Magnificent Seven at the cinema. Otherwise it was panto time.

Dick Whittington at the Theatre Royal was eschewing the old traditions, reported stage correspondent TS Williams.

"The topsy-turvydom of pantomime, in the Italian tradition - the hero played by a girl, the dame by a man - is well on the way out as far as principal boys are concerned. There are fewer girls playing principal boys than ever this year.

"Maybe the right mixture of manly swagger and feminine allure in one person is harder to find nowadays. More likely reason the notion that has got around theatre managements that audiences want the Prince to be a real young man - just as if anything should be really real in pantomime."

But the dame was still a man, and a comely one at that. "Peter Schofield as Deborah Doughnut is a treasure," reported TS in his review, under the headline "York Rep goes gay in Dick Whittington".

"Deborah's homely cottage-loaf outline, rosy-apple cheeks and auburn curls are so wholesome a picture of a woman that one is at once cheered by the sight; and Mr Schofield steers well clear of female impersonation."

Given the plunging temperatures - they dropped to 18F on Christmas Day, or 14 degrees of frost - folk were seeking indoor entertainment.

Fortunately, Coronation Street was running a melodramatic storyline; too compelling for one York vicar who had to cancel his carol service because "people prefer television programmes like Coronation Street to carol singers".

Others were seeking to dance themselves warm, reported columnist Mr Nobody. The latest craze was the Madison, followed by a certain Latin caper. "I learned that the Bossa Nova, just coming in, is unlikely to become as popular as the Twist or the Madison, as it calls for more skill.

"But I take the view that these dances are essentially novelties. Crazes come and crazes go but the well-tried dances like the waltz, foxtrot and quickstep stay with us all the time - which is a relief to 'squares' like me."

Updated: 12:19 Monday, December 23, 2002