Valve

UCL has recently published a beautifully illustrated book 'Conversation Pieces: Inspirational objects in UCL's historic collections' that contains responses from people across the institution to objects drawn from the college's museums, galleries and collections. I reproduce my piece below with the original image: Glass Lantern Slide (EE222) from the Fleming Collection (an early experimental valve).

I remember, as a child, lying in my bed with the curtains drawn and the lights off, in the glow of an old valve radio that I had salvaged from the loft. It had a distinctive smell, when switched on, of dust burning on the valves. Now when I smell this I am transported, as Proust with his madeleine, to my childhood.

The illuminated dial had a romance of its own, with even then, long dead broadcasting stations, Hilversum, Droitwich, and so on. I would tune to short wave and find obscure radio stations, soviet Radio Kiev, with the latest tractor production statistics. After the news, Vladimir Pozner, who in flawless American accented English, told us the truth we had not been allowed to know. But my favourites as I drifted towards sleep were the numbers stations. Just above the static, at the far end of the dial, punctuated sequences of numbers in distant female voices. Often introduced by tones or small fragments of simple music, the 'Lincolnshire Poacher', identifying the stations. Messages to spies, perhaps, beamed to my small, suburban bedroom.

Hearing my parents coming upstairs I would hurriedly switch off, turning the mechanical volume knob until it gave a loud click. Though the dial would go dark, the valves, visible through the vents on the top of the radio would still glow, slowly cooling. I worried the dull orange, reflected off the ceiling would give away my, supposedly secret, listening.

I built my own radio, of course, with components from Radio Spares. Not using valves it lacked, how shall I put it, sensuality. Soldering was fun, though. I listened to it crouched under the sink where I had, to my mother's disapproval, scraped the paint off the copper pipes to get a decent earth. With earphones I could catch Radio One, listening to Mud and The Sweet, until the discomfort of my position led me to abandon it and go to bed. I can't quite remember what happened to the old radio. I think a valve finally blew and lack of spares consigned it to the bin.