Birthdays: my granddaughter had a birthday party at the ‘Wacky Warehouse’. The whole of her pre-school playgroup was invited. It cost the earth and I’m sure her parents couldn’t really afford it. She had stacks of present - far too many in my opinion. Even the guests were given presents!
I was 66 in September and these are the stark statistics: Birthday cards received 0; Birthday wishes by telephone 0; Birthday presents 0; Children 2; Stepchildren 2; Grandchildren 8 

Ah well it’s just as well that I never really got into the habit of birthdays – my own, that is – because there was never much of a birthday celebration during the whole of my childhood. 

Rationing, and being a step-child in a poor family, put paid to all that.

My poor mother had enough of a struggle to manage her pittance of a budget on ordinary everyday things. She never saw my stepfather’s wage-packet and had to struggle on the pitiful allowance left after his customary deductions for booze and gambling. Not that there was much variety of food to buy even if we had the money – all sweets were strictly rationed, and a cake had to be planned for weeks in advance so that we could, for instance, set aside small amounts of sugar and powdered egg for the makings. Jam butties [jelly sandwiches] were our birthday tea staple. If you were lucky there might be a jar of meat paste available, and every blue moon your friendly neighbourhood grocer might ‘find’ a can of spam ‘under the counter’ - courtesy of our North American cousins – though not free, I hasten to add. I can only remember this happening once … spam was a rare meat source, and normally reserved for spam fritters in the main meal. Post-war Britain was a nation of reluctant near-vegetarians.

Incidentally, it was never, ever help yourself. Your allocation – sandwiches and a cake [home-made of course] – were placed ready on your plate. If you were still hungry – and I cannot remember not being so – you might be able to get an extra jam butty, if you asked politely enough, and your mam was in a good mood. All the little extras which are taken for granted today – balloons, streamers, gaily coloured paper plates and serviettes, blowers etc. – did not exist, because the country needed the materials for more important things. But what you never have, you don’t miss … and we only knew of such things from the American movies, and everyone knew that couldn’t truly be real, could it?

I sometimes got a birthday present, when finances allowed. Please note the singular. It was extremely rare to get more than one gift or a present from anyone other than your parents. You were NEVER asked what you wanted, and it would have been deemed extremely selfish if you made a request. Often it was some everyday object like a jumper or a pair of gloves or trousers. And you had to like your present, and demonstrate that by wearing it. The current practice of giving a present with the receipt – so that it can be changed if not liked – is anathema to me.

I did once get a present from a distant relative. It was a plastic flute. It arrived in the post, broken in two pieces, and try as I might I couldn’t mend it. But it was a toy! To play with! I was devastated.

Things did improve gradually throughout my teenage years. Rationing disappeared, though sadly in our case the money supply didn’t increase significantly. Most of my stepfather’s wages still went to line the brewers’ and the bookmakers’ pockets. We were, however, more often asked what we wanted, though we were very careful not to ask for things we knew our mam could not afford. The only exception was when I said I would like a record-player. Rock and roll had just hit Britain like a bombshell – it really did explode the world as I knew it. Prior to that time, the concept of ‘the teenager’ simply didn’t exist. You were children in school, you left and you were young adults at work. No transition – and it was sometimes so stark that it was a mop of hair and short trousers leaving school at 4.00pm on Friday, and then onto Brylcreemed, parted hair and long trousers starting work at 7.00am on the following Monday.

But I digress [at 66 I’m allowed!] and I did get that record player. Well, not quite … my mam bought a second-hand one from the pawnshop on condition that it was for the family, though I was allowed to use it. I remember I wasn’t allowed to buy any records [though I’d saved up my allowance from Saturday job earnings] by Elvis Presley or Buddy Holly. It was a whole year before she relented on this rule. It might interest young people to know that I’d worked Saturdays and school holidays since I was eleven, and that ALL my earnings went into the family budget – I was given an allowance back depending on what my mam could afford. This practice continued until I left home to get married. It was the usual way at this time.

So ordinary birthdays were not exactly memorable highlights of my young life, but I did harbour vague hopes that the milestone birthdays might be more spectacular. It didn’t happen when I was twenty-one [forget 18, that was nothing special then] because I was given a straight choice – I could have a ‘proper do’ which would be costly, or the money could buy me enough clothes to see me through college. There was no choice really; my mother had little tolerance for needless hedonism, so I plumped for the clothes.

I didn’t fare any better for the famous fortieth either – my dear [ex-]wife vetoed this on the grounds that the kids needed clothes.

Funny that … they didn’t seem to need them a few years later when she reached forty.

The first birthday that I truly celebrated was my fiftieth. I had left my [ex-]wife, and my staff had organised a special surprise birthday party for me. It was totally unexpected – I thought I was just going to check out a possible venue for the staff Christmas Party, but they were all waiting for me when I got in the dining room. I even got chatted up – great for my severely bruised ego after my marriage break-up – by a young lass who ‘couldn’t believe I was fifty,’ I was ordering a soft drink and she asked why I wasn’t having something stronger. I explained I was driving, but she then offered to run me home at the end of the evening. “Enjoy yourself,” she insisted.

I did.  Without going into details, let’s just say it was a sensational end to my birthday.

My sixtieth was also a surprise. I had a new girl-friend, and imagined she was taking me out for a meal. I was completely gob-smacked to find all my family – kids, step-kids and grandkids all grinning broadly and waiting for the old man. Rhys [my late son] was the first to greet me that night, so I’ll always remember that time with special great affection.

So here I am, half a year from reaching sixty-seven – and I won’t be particularly worried if nobody remembers. After all, there are very few birthdays I want to remember. But if it's YOUR birthday today or any other day - have a sensational day!!