(from ‘When I was at school’, 31 December 2007)
Ages ago I promised, or threatened, to tell the whole story of how I got my first glasses, and the hoops you had to jump through in the UK in those days before getting them.
As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to wear glasses; I’m sure this was deeply Freudian: my mother wore plus glasses full time, so I guess from infancy they were one of the accoutrements of mother love. Long before I knew I was gay I knew I had a glasses fetish; I just didn’t know the word for it, but even before puberty I was aroused by the thought of wearing them; I’d definitely have spelled SEX with a P! There was a ‘Home Doctor’ book in the house, and at some point I looked into it and under ‘Spectacles’ found simple explanations of myopia, hypermetropia and astigmatism. In the pigeon holes of a desk (which I still have) there were various old glasses belonging to my parents, including my mother’s first pair, which were pince-nez. Trying them when my folks were out, I found I could see quite well with the weakest ones, even in the distance.
Time passed…as my years in high school passed, I was studying quite intensively for exams, and was getting headaches, not severe but irritating, and sometimes blurring of the print. I had a good idea from what I’d read that this meant I was long-sighted; but although I was longing to be a glasses-wearer I was shy about saying anything to anyone. With time, though, the headaches got more annoying, and eventually I told my mother I wanted an eye test. She pooh-poohed the idea (goodness knows why, in view of her own experience and that of just about everyone else in the family) but I took matters into my own hands.
The first thing was to see the GP; in those days you couldn’t have your first eye test without a chit from a doctor. No problems there. Next day, I suppose, I went into town after school to the practice where my mother got her glasses. There were two small optical shops right next door to each other, one called Macfarlane and the other Macpherson. Ours was Macpherson’s. It was a one-man show and Mrs Macpherson acted as receptionist and assisted with dispensing; I have an idea they lived over the shop. I had expected to make an appointment, but I was shown straight in and examined – Mr Macpherson was a grey-haired man with quite smart glasses – trifocals. I don’t know if I’d heard of trifocals before but I could see the lines and knew that was what they were. After the usual tests he told me that glasses would help me as I was a little long-sighted and also had some astigmatism.
Nowadays the next step would be to choose a frame and maybe even collect your specs in an hour; but this was 1957, and the next step was for him to send the prescription of to the local NHS Executive Council for approval. Apparently a practitioner needed official approval before doing what was best for the patient: dentists had to do the same thing except in emergencies. I seem to remember it was ten days or a fortnight before the prescription arrived, stamped ‘Approved’, with a note saying I could take it to be made up.
Back to Mr Macpherson, accompanied this time by my mother, who wanted to be assured that I wasn’t ‘swinging the lead’ – my family had noticed my ‘interest’. He did his best to reassure her, and I suppose she was satisfied. On then to looking at frames. In those days there were three possibilities: NHS lenses and frames, which were called free though there was some sort of handling charge; privately supplied frames and lenses, which came really expensive and included anything rimless or semi-rimless or abnormal in size or shape; and private frames which would take NHS standard sized lenses. NHS frames were distinctly dreary; much as I’d have liked something really smart, I was enough of a realist to know that was out of the question, but I was pinning my hopes on a semi-smart private frame, the sort of thing at least one guy in my class was already wearing. No such luck! Mother was paying the bill, and I had to settle for bog standard NHS frames, brown mottled plastic, but not with the cable temples that some other first-time wearers were lumbered with. The order was placed, the bill was paid, and there was another wait.
How long it took I forget, but of course Christmas was upon us. At last the phone call came: my glasses were ready. I got out my bike, rode into town, and presented myself at the shop. I distinctly remember Mr Macpherson saying, “Now Julian, let’s see how these look on your handsome countenance” – wife or no wife, I have sometimes wondered whether he was a bit an old queen.
They made me look a dork of course; but no more so than anyone else in NHS specs. Anyway, they were the best I was getting and I was quite happy with them. I put them in their metal case covered with grey leatherette and left the shop. Out in the street I tried them on again, found things a bit blurry, and put them away. I cycled up to the Library to try them out; all was well. A school friend came in and said, “When did you start wearing glasses?” “Today” was the only possible response.
I’ve worn glasses ever since, on and off but more on than off—and that’s fifty years. I remember the date because it was the last day of the year, and I was in my last year at school; and it’s fifty years today. Fifty years of spexy Jules.
https://vision-and-spex.com/the-true-story-of-julian-s-first-glasses-t394.html