Albion Terrace, by Graham Pettifer

An original novel extract set in the twentieth century.

We were the only family in Albion Terrace with a television, so on the second of June 1953 the whole street came to our front room. Dad had bought the set on the never-never a fortnight before, a walnut cabinet with a screen no bigger than a library book, and he fussed over it all morning with a duster. Mum drew the curtains at half past ten, although it was broad daylight, because the picture was easier to see in the dark. Every chair in the house was carried in, then the bench from the yard, and still the Henderson boys had to sit on the floor so close to the screen that Gran kept telling them they would ruin their eyes. Mrs Kaye from number six brought a plate of potted-meat sandwiches and ate most of them herself. The room grew so hot that the window steamed up and the butter on the sideboard went soft. When the picture began to roll, I was sent out round the back to wiggle the aerial wire while Dad shouted directions through the wall. Nobody said a word during the crowning. Afterwards Mr Henderson stood up, shook Dad’s hand and said it was the best day the street had had since the war ended.

List five things you learn about the front room on Coronation Day.