If she saw that an older person had no seat on the tube, my mother would give me a sharp elbow jab to eject me from mine and offer it for their travelling-ease in a fraction of a second.
Then, “older” did not mean ancient and in advanced stages of decrepitude. Older simply meant older than I, a mere minor. Manners meant deference to maturity. Children stood so adults could be seated. Small children sat on their parents’ laps.
On Saturday, strap-hanging on the Jubilee Line on the London Under-ground a gaggle of girls aged (I guessed) around nine were seated while more senior travellers, several clearly way past pension age, were forced to stand. Not one of the adults in charge appeared uncomfortable with the situation.
A seat became vacant. The commuter nearest to it, a woman in her 50s, could have collapsed into it gratefully. Instead, she leaned towards another standing child who, in my opinion, appeared robust, hardy and around 12-years-old, and offered it to him.
Not for the first time, I was beset by an unsettling sensation I feel more frequently with every passing year – an utter inability to comprehend current behaviour. Since when did a grown-up think it appropriate to give up a coveted seat to a perfectly healthy pre-teen? What happened to the belief that adults work hard to pay the bills so that sturdy-legged children can be prompted to show them a modicum of respect?
My generation remembers leaping up to open doors for teachers, grand -parents and total strangers. We recall being expected to “hold our tongues” till the adults had spoken. We were kids. Our opinions were uninformed and of limited interest. Keeping them to ourselves would do everyone a favour.
When our views were required, we’d be asked for them. We were told, not consulted. Dinner was served. Our job was to eat it, minus discussion on preferred menus. We wore what we were bought, even if we looked like total plonkers. No one entertained us and the moan “I’m bored” elicited the rebuke: “If you think it’s boring, you’re boring.”
Childhood was an indentured apprenticeship to adulthood. You watched, listened and learned so when your hour of freedom finally arrived you had a decent hunch about what to do with it. OK, I loathed the repressive regime, but I believe it was the making of me and my contemporaries.
And not one of us, even now, would dream of sitting while an older person stood.
