The Phonebox

A couple of weeks ago, I had to take our car in for an MOT. I had an hour to spare in Crossgates on the outskirts of Leeds. There’s only so much Kwik Fit instant coffee that a person can drink, so I set myself a photo essay challenge. I wanted to pick a subject, preferably something banal. Something that everyone passes without looking at it, and document its existence. Behold, the Crossgates phone box.

The days when we used to rely on phone boxes seems a world away now. It’s almost as if we always had a phone in our pocket or bag. Rely on them we did though. When I was at University, every public phone seemed to have it’s own permanent queue of homesick students on an evening, waiting to call home.

Some time around the early to mid 90’s, the mobile phone was born & within five years, that was it for the poor payphone. Years of service, forgotten. Now they silently punctuate high streets up and down the country. Kids, who have no concept of a phone that doesn’t fit in your pocket, with the entirety of human knowledge on them ask their parents what they were. They serve to spark nostalgic conversation as the parents pause and fondly remember what it was like to not be available to everyone 24x7, or talking to strangers when you had to wait in line in the rain to call home and ask to borrow some money, or simply just to have somewhere out of the wind and rain to light a cigarette.

Who didn’t get told off for making at least one reverse charge call home to beg for a late night lift home after spending your taxi fare on “just one last pint” ?

Every time I pass a phone box from now on, I’m going to take a moment to enjoy the memories.