Not so much Murphy’s Law as a Murphy no more …
Yesterday I had a poignant brush with the past – my own, and possibly also that of others of a similar age and state of mind.
Eons ago, well approximately 52 years ago when I was being educated in a boarding school far away in the country, in one circumstance or another – probably a deal for a £ or two struck one lazy weekend – I acquired from a fellow pupil an example of what I now know to have been a Murphy A122 radio.
These monsters were nothing like today’s tiny, light and highly-efficient DAB radios – or indeed any other of today.
Built from the late 1940s onwards, in keeping with the fashion of the times, Murphys were large, heavy – almost a piece of furniture on their own.
But what made them really special is that they had a resonance and tone that was deep, impressive and – with the volume turned up – could summon herds of cows from a mile and a half away [assuming, of course, you were ‘broadcasting’ some sort of bells, or other call or sound, that was attractive to those possessed of hooves].
It was my pride and joy.
About two and a half decades later, due to personal circumstances, my kids and I decided to move away from our five-bedroomed semi-detached house in south-west London into a flat – a home where I have remained ever since.
At the time, downsizing in a big way, only a fraction of our family possessions could be housed in our new home and so they were farmed out to relatives for safekeeping and/or use – at least until (if ever) they were called for and retrieved by me or my kids.
A couple of weeks ago I was contacted by one of said relatives – they were thinking of binning a number of items I’d stored with them 26 years ago, that is, unless I still wanted them.
One was said the Murphy radio. I arranged to retake possession of it it. Once it arrived, excited in anticipation to show it off to those who might visit my home, I plugged her in and switched her on.
She wasn’t working – specifically, the knob by which one moved the ‘line’ from one radio station wavelength to another clearly was no longer ‘connected’ to whatever it should be connected to, because turning it wouldn’t make the ‘line’ move.
Yesterday I took the Murphy to my local electrician shop and asked whether it could be repaired – and how much might that cost.
After taking off the back of the radio – a vintage piece in every respect and undoubtedly worthy of my adoration – he took five minutes to pronounce that in effect (to borrow from a famous Monty Python sketch) it was a “dead radio”. Apparently, once your ‘wavelength changer’ knob had ‘gone’, you are snookered.
I’m still devastated about the news this morning.
