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In many respects, elections have become pretty tame affairs but it wasn’t always that way, according to Harold Richardson, of Trowels Lane, Derby.

Those able to recall the 1930s and 40s can look back to their younger days when politics, although taken seriously, could be a lot more fun. As I remember, the local elections then were held during May while general elections always seemed to take place around November 1.

For a start, we youngsters could look forward to a day’s holiday from school. On that great day, voting day, when the school became a polling station with not a teacher in sight, we would be out early in the morning to gather outside the committee room of our favoured candidate.

These rooms, headquarters I suppose you could have called them, were front rooms of terraced houses hired for the day, which faced the school polling stations.

Derby MP Jimmy Thomas with his wife and son

The political affiliations of the rooms were easily identified by the blue, red or yellow posters pinned to the doors or stuck in the windows, along with pictures of earnest men (women didn’t get much of a look-in then) with the straight looks and trustworthy smiles that mark born politicians.

As the day warmed up, so would the activity increase with the coming and going of motor cars and of young men making appearances at committee room doorways to scatter sweets or smaller replicas of their own huge rosettes among the chanting and cheering throngs of urchins.

Such badges of loyalty would be proudly attached to jackets or jerseys and encouraged us in our efforts to return insults and shout down the opposition.

Despite the appalling living conditions of Derby’s old West End, my mother, who came from rural Shropshire, saw nothing amiss in abiding by her Conservative roots, and family bonds being what they were, my rosette was always blue.

Later in the day, as polling booths became busier and excitement mounted, home-made banners would be seen in the streets and heading parades of children, cheering or yelling out: “Vote, vote, vote for Mr ... (whoever you were championing). If you’ll only vote for him, we’ll be sure to get him in...”

Even when the voting day was in November, the coldness did not dampen our ardour.

As daylight faded, candle lanterns and winter warmers would join the processions and perhaps there would be a hot potato to hold in cold hands.

When the candles had burnt out and tiredness replaced the excitement, quietness took over in the streets and all would return to how it had always been.

Promises then, as now, made to be forgotten, were duly forgotten. But, never mind, we’d had our day of fun and perhaps there would be others to come.

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County:  Derbyshire

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