I Preserved My Freedom
In old books and films, I sometimes spot an indication that it was easier to live frugally in the past than it is today.
Ah, but wages rise with inflation you say? Well, that’s sometimes true. But there’s also the Big Mac Index to think about.
Anyway, I spotted another example today. It was in a memoir, written in the ’70s and recounting events from the ’60s. The passage refers to life in 1966:
At this time I was doing the book-keeping for Michael Rainey’s shop for £10 a week. I only had to go in a few times a week and balance the accounts, so it suited me well. I preserved my freedom at the same time as getting an income. Michael had been in the position of having no money himself and he appreciated the difficulties.
Now. There are a few things to say about this. First, there’s this business of living on a tenner a week. I am exceptionally frugal and have been connived a low-income/low-expenditure situation to arrive at weekly expenses of £130 (I spend more in reality but that’s the amount I need to stay housed and alive). A more typical figure is £628 per household per week (so £261 per person based on the UK average household size of 2.4 people). While £10 in 1966 might be a sum of money trivial enough to be called “a tenner” and to give away to a silly friend, I don’t think many of us would part with £261 a week on a similar wheeze today.
Second, I suppose the requirement to “go in a few times a week” would still hamper your freedom to an extent. You can’t just leave the country on a whim. You have to put clothes and shoes on. The phone could ring while you’re relaxing in the bath. But it’s a hell of a lot better than a full-time job. I’d do it. Also, 1966 was a more tactile, physical world: going out to accomplish things, riding buses, and physically tickling through paperwork were more normal and it wouldn’t be such an affront to freedom as it would be today with our networked digital technology. I think I’d like that physical world better in a way: all those cigarettes and pencil sharpeners and vacuum tubes would be fun. I could be wrong.
Third, working people, as a general rule, can’t afford the sort of empathy exhibited by the memoirist’s friend. We have our own troubles, our own desperate shortage of money and time and patience. Urgh. What a wretched age. Send me back in time NOW!
*opens one eye.* Did it work? No? Blast. Well, at least the Internet keeps me out of trouble. Mostly.
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About Robert Wringham
Robert Wringham is the editor of New Escapologist. He also writes books and articles. Read more at wringham.co.uk