Phonecards- remember those?

 Summer 1993 

If you are reading this and nodding, then like me, you are probably old. If you are googling 'what are phonecards?' you probably are not old. Plot twist- I am not old, at the point of writing I am 38- but when things that I remember are no longer in our culture and way of life, it does have a habit of making me feel a little bit... well... old!

So phonecards...

In a misty time... a time before smartphones... a time before Google... a time before iPads... an altogether simpler time... we had something call phone boxes.

Obviously you have heard of phoneboxes. We still have them now, although I really don't think anyone uses them- I haven't used them in easily 20 years. But when these were in common use- somewhere back in the late 90s- what happened when you didn't have any change to push into the telephone so you could ring your mum to come and pick you up when you were stranded miles from home?

Well... we had something called a phonecard! These were preloaded cards- just like a credit or debit card- that had a certain amount of talking time on them. You pushed them into the phone, dialled the number, and hey presto you were ready to go. Quite advanced for the time. 

Many people, nerdy people, of which I am proud to say I was one, used to collect these cards and treasure them in a phonecard holder book- a bit like a scaled down photo album that fitted cards inside. The only problem was that the British Telecom phonecards were, let's say, a little drab. Although I collected them anyway. I was a bit of a hoarder- which is ironic because these days I am stringent minimalist (it's good for your soul, you should try it some day).

So my collection was a bit dull. That as until we went on a family holiday to France in, well 1993, and I started to see that the French offerings were beautiful and colourful- like miniature pieces of art. They had film posters on, cars on, flowers, anything beautiful they had it. The fact that the British ones were dull and drab really shouted Major's Tory Government like nothing else could. This obviously heightened my collecting thirst and I collected like mad whilst I was there. 

The problem was that I could only collect on my own and my collecting abilities were a little slow. I decided to branch out. Where would most discarded phonecards be found? That's right, in phoneboxes! There was a little phonebox just outside the caravan site where we were staying. I hastily constructed a rudimentary cardboard box and wrote- place used phonecards here... (the fact that I wrote this in English and not French showed my naivety and innocence) and played the waiting game...

I lay in bed that night, hardly able to sleep. I dreamt that my little box would be overflowing with phonecards... imagine the colour! I might even have to employ my little brother to help me carry them all back to our caravan! I would surely have to buy lots more display books- maybe my parents would have to buy another suitcase for them all!? I tossed and turned all night in anticipation...

My eyes shot open- I even skipped breakfast and sprinted to the phonebox in no time. I held my breath and opened the door. I closed my eyes and... once I got over the smell of stale urine (some customs obviously cross international borders)... I looked expectantly... I could see nothing. Nothing. I ran my hand over the metallic phone casing searchingly, as if it had shrunk and was hiding next to the numbers but no... it was gone. 

I turned on my heels, closed the door and began to trudge back to my cornflakes, dejected. Then something caught my eye- there it was! My box! I ran over and gathered it in my arms, surely it was silly local French children messing about, no doubt jealous over my collecting ambitions... but no. It was empty. The perpetrator had also scrubbed out my instruction to 'place used phonecards here'. The cheek. I took my box and trudged back and began to explain my whole sorry tale to my mum and dad.

After the usual reassurances, they assured me it would be ok and to keep trying because you never know. Typical British attitude. So I carried on trying. I abandoned my box but kept checking the phonebooth. Sometimes there were actually discarded phonecards in there- which I saw as a welcome bonus. However, I began to feel dejected over the whole thing. 

During the process of writing this, I have actually realised that it was probably my mum and or dad who were planting the old phonecards there knowing I'd find them. They must have been having a little joke behind my back but I suppose it is quite sweet. Although I do feel duped and a bit dumb for not realising sooner. Amazing really how collecting a bit of old plastic can entertain someone so much. 

Those phonecard display books are sadly long gone. The victim of one of my mum's many clear outs. Odd as well that I found such joy in 'collecting' whereas now I try to avoid it at all costs for fear of cluttering up my own house. In fact I am always complaining how our garage is full of 'rubbish' although I am not sure my little boy would view this in the same way. He always manages to find an old new toy or game in there that piques his attention if only for an hour. Maybe there is a lesson there somewhere.