Here’s the thing. I have a secret. And it was definitely not one I could share while I was a technology correspondent in my early twenties. But it was as true then as it is now.
My favourite piece of tech? The trusty bit of kit I would save from the waves? It is not my mobile phone. Nor is it my headphones, or even my kettle.
It’s a piece of copper. An extremely long piece of copper, to be more precise but no less vague. I am talking of the glorious, hardy and wondrous landline.
And my portable black house phone, which, unlike portable landline phones of my youth, no longer requires a metal extendable aerial. It is a humble black brick of a thing which, whisper it, always bloody works. The line to my mum, friends or our GP’s stressed secretary is crystal clear, 99.9 per cent of the time.
I am willing to go over the top on this one due to the absolute mayhem that ensued earlier this week when I tried “for ease” to have a video call with a work contact at home. Having started on my laptop at the desk I share with my husband, I ended up sitting on the floor by the window in my bedroom on my phone, trying to look professional with the side of my bed frame on either side of my face.
Yes, you can tell me to improve our Wi-Fi – we are trying and have been for five years plus – and you might also tell me to up my laptop and mobile phone game. But as I ran around trying to find the exact patch of 4G signal to squat in for the 35-minute call, I did pause and think how much my dependable brick phone would have loved to be in on the action.
I also pondered, as a radio aficionado, how much seeing each other, especially for a work call, really adds. It certainly drains more of each party’s energy and, I think, adds very little. We never needed to see each other for calls before and as a radio nerd, I would argue not seeing each other can lead to greater focus on what’s being said with zero distractions.
My friends all know of my landline affiliation. They have to store the number in their phone due to the jittery relationship my generation and those younger than us have with actually being telephoned. And sadly the sight of a landline number flashing up on your mobile raises pulses the most. Is it my employer? A relative I want to forget? Or, worse, a scammer I need to waste five minutes of my life with?
But landlines are still vital. Just this month, BT pushed its plan to swap landlines for digital phone lines from 2025 to 2027. And while it’s understandable and right that objections to the initial plans focused on older and more vulnerable people who might not be able to move to an internet-based solution, I think all of us should take some time to respectfully mourn the demise of the reliable landline.
Even those who never know what they joy they missed out on: the speaking clock, calling 1471, three-way calls when you could silence yourself. It was technical at times and also horrifying if you forgot to patch someone out of your three-way call and then proceeded to bitch about them with them still listening. (I am still shuddering at the memory, having survived this experience – though the same can’t be said for that “friendship”.)
I accept that the landline phone was also pure Luddite compared to all of the options we have at our fingertips these days and yet? IT. ALWAYS. WORKS.
As a kid I practically ran a call centre from our home on school nights. My parents despaired. How on earth could I have so many friends I simply had to call, having been with them all day at school? But call we did, until we were cut off due to the mounting bill. Or the phone was ripped out of the wall.
But the lengths we went to just to connect got quite innovative – including the spare handsets we clubbed together to buy that had a silencer and lit up when they rang. I found a phone socket in my room, disconnected all of the others and waited for my best friend Sylvia to call at hers when we were both meant to be in bed. I have zero idea what was so important but this went on for months, maybe years. We kept it brief to keep costs down, but eventually were busted as my folks could look at the times of calls on the bills.
I still try to emulate my mother on the phone front. She was my original communication idol and remains the absolute OG at phone calls. She has a phone rota, a list of female friends she calls and checks in on, week in and week out. There is so much information traded on these calls. My husband marvels at how much she knows about her beloved long-standing friends’ lives. So do I, because I know that WhatsApps aren’t cutting it.
Recently I have elevated a group of mates to my 21st century digital version of my mum’s paper list that she works her way through again and again (and woe betide if it was your turn to call and you don’t). They don’t know this, but I now call them in any snatched moment I have. And it is so much better than any other attempt at connecting.
Calling via my mobile is not as good as when I am home and can speak from wherever I want in my home without crackle or interruption from my stunning landline. But my friendships are the richest with those I feel I can telephone, even for just five minutes (sometimes those are the best), and they know how to properly do a telephone chat.
It is a skill of sorts. Nothing gets lost, no nuance is missed, and you can really hear how someone is doing on the blower. You don’t get that via a text, no matter how long-winded and heartfelt it might be.
Phone calls offer proper sunlight on your friendships in a way text messages or even the dreaded voice-note (although, personally, I am quite partial) just can’t. They are a much shallower and poorer form of communication.
The saddest thing about the slow demise of my landline and handset? I still have my late godmother’s landline stored on it, even though she died years ago. She was my most beloved phone date. My landline to her landline, loud and clear, twice a week.
“Auntie Jean” is still the first number in my phone book that comes up as I scroll through to call my mum (I cannot remember her relatively new home number, never mind anyone’s mobiles. Remember when you could?).
The sight of it brings tears to my eyes each time. But with another delay to stopping landlines, I have a little longer to savour the sight of my godmother’s name in the only place I still see it. And to call my horrified friends from my trusty London home number.