The Very First
Like many kids that grew up in the 1980s, my
first contact with a computer was at school. At Highfield County Primary School in
Bolton, like thousands across the country, computers were being introduced to
classrooms as part of the government’s ‘Micros in Schools’ scheme. With traditional
British industries in a state of steep decline, hopes were pinned on the
fledgling computer industry to help Britain find its feet again as an economic
force in the world.
Our headmaster, Mr. Williamson, opted for
the BBC Model B computer. This was a
wise choice for two reasons:
1. The BBC Model B was a powerful computer for its time.
2. The BBC (the broadcaster not the computer) had recently launched the Computer Literacy Project to ‘provide the opportunity for viewers to learn how to program and use a microcomputer.’ At the heart of the BBC’s project as a weekly TV show called 'The Computer Programme’ which was ‘designed to be useful to viewers in schools and colleges’ and was based around the BBC model B.
1. The BBC Model B was a powerful computer for its time.
2. The BBC (the broadcaster not the computer) had recently launched the Computer Literacy Project to ‘provide the opportunity for viewers to learn how to program and use a microcomputer.’ At the heart of the BBC’s project as a weekly TV show called 'The Computer Programme’ which was ‘designed to be useful to viewers in schools and colleges’ and was based around the BBC model B.
Unfortunately, in the early 80s British
schools were rather cash-strapped and Mr. Williamson could only afford one
computer. This meant that opportunities for kids to use it were very limited.
It lived in the library on a specially made trolley and was only wheeled out
now and again for the most trusted of students.
I have a few vague memories of typing in simple BASIC programs and
playing Granny’s Garden – a game so terrifying it’s a wonder that it didn’t
frighten a generation of kids off computers for life - but that’s about it. Using the school’s BBC was good fun but the
chances of getting your nine-year-old sticky fingers on it frequently were
slim. I quickly realised that the only
way to get regular access to a computer was to have one at home. This meant
persuading my parents to buy me one - so that’s exactly what I did.
In the early-80s, computers were thought of
as not only expensive but also rather exotic so it wasn’t going to be easy to
talk Mum and Dad round. Fortunately, Government education secretary Kenneth
Baker made it somewhat easier by announcing that computer literacy was
essential for the prospects of British children and after months of mithering,
Mum and Dad finally gave in.
After some deliberation between the Oric 1,
Mattel’s Aquarius and the Commodore VIC-20, Dad chose the Commodore
computer. Compared to some of the other
budget machines the VIC was pretty high spec. It had colour graphics (unlike
the ZX80 and ZX81), decent sound, a 3.5K memory and a proper keyboard. A proper keyboard was important to Dad for
two reasons. Firstly, he had some notion of giving the computer thing a whirl
himself - and his big fingers would’ve struggled with the keyboards of the
other computers - and secondly because the majority of programs for the
computer would need to be typed in as this was a much cheaper way of obtaining
software than buying it.
In 1983 the average price of a computer
game was £6.50, which was quite expensive, and I’d have to save up my pocket
money for weeks before I could afford to buy one. The cheaper option was to buy
one of the many magazines which offered type in listings. Mags such as
Commodore Horizons, C&VG and Commodore User could be bought for as little
as 75p and contained a wide range of programs which included games, simple
spreadsheets and home accounting packages.
I can remember vividly the day Dad brought
the VIC-20 home. It must’ve been a birthday present as it was a windy autumnal
day when Dad proudly strode through the front door with it under his arm.
We carefully unsheathed it and opened the
polystyrene box. Inside was the computer itself – encased in cream coloured
plastic with dark brown keys and four fat orange function keys. The box also
housed a heavy fudge coloured wedge shaped thing, a small silver tin box, a
couple of black cables and a spiral bound manual. We laid out all these pieces
on the coffee table in the front room and gazed upon them in wonder as if they
were the parts of a space ship that had crash landed in the back yard.
After a quick consultation of the manual,
we attached the computer to the fudge coloured wedge – the PSU - then plugged
in the silver tin box (the modulator) but then hit a problem. The computer came
with a regular UK three pin plug but back in the early 80s our house was in
desperate need of a rewire and we still had the old circular plugs with the
three round pins that went in a horizontal line. Fortunately, Dad had an
adapter. It was currently employed to connect the radiogram (I know it was the
80s but our house was still stuck in the 60s) to the house power supply. Dad
disappeared behind the armchair for a moment then returned triumphantly with
the adapter. The next task was easy – plug the other wire (the one which
connected the modulator to the TV) into the telly’s aerial socket. I took that
duty upon myself and pulled out the Ferguson TV from the corner of the front
room (this was quite easy as it was on casters), removed the TV aerial and
pushed the computer cable into the telly’s aerial socket. Done.
This was it. The big moment. Mum was called
in from the kitchen and Our Susan was summoned from her bedroom to witness the
momentous occasion.
“Ruth! Ruth!” Shouted Dad to Mum.
“Susan! Susan! We’re switching the computer
on!” I yelled upstairs.
Soon the family was gathered around the
computer and the excitement was building. I could hardly contain myself.
“Well, go on Martin, switch it on,” said
Dad.
After a quick check that all the cables
were secure, I flicked the switch on the side of the VIC and a red LED light
blinked into life. There was a sudden increase in tension in the room. I
clambered around the coffee table, careful not to trip over the 2-meter-long
wire that connected the computer and the PSU to the power socket, and switched
on the TV.
This is it! I thought. It was like lighting
a firework. I had lit the fuse and now it was time to stand back and watch the
splendour and magic unfold before our eyes.
Unfortunately, like so many fireworks, we
were rather disappointed when nothing happened.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Mum.
“I don’t know.” said Dad.
“Let me have a look,” I said.
I checked all the cables but everything
looked fine.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” said Our
Susan rolling her teenage eyes and disappeared back to her bedroom and Duran
Duran.
I picked up the manual again, had another
read through the first few pages and spotted the error of our ways. The TV had
to be tuned to the computer’s signal. The manual recommended using Channel 6 or
above as channels 1, 2, 3 and 4 were engaged with television stations. I
pressed the 6 button and flipped open the little secret door on the front of
the telly that hid the tiny wheels that you used to tune the stations in. The
manual recommended leaving the computer on so that you could find the signal
easily and after a bit of wheeling - first all the way down and then quite a
long way back up - a ghostly image eventually slid into view and as I slowly
tweaked the wheel to get as sharp a picture as possible this appeared on the
screen:
Mum and Susan were summoned once again and
this time both were suitably impressed. Everyone had a go at typing their name
in and we all wondered in disbelief at how we could make our own name appear on
TV.
After a shaky start, the VIC was a hit and
a few minutes later we stared at it with further astonishment when Dad learned
this impressive piece of early BASIC programming from the manual:
10 PRINT “HELLO”
20 GOTO 10
RUN
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
HELLO
Now that blew our minds.
*
If all of the above seems a bit unlikely,
you have to remember that this was three decades ago. Before computers existed,
you could only watch the television – you had no way of affecting what was on
your TV screen, you just switched it on or off and watched whatever was being
broadcast at the time. You were passive. But this was different. Now you could
make whatever you wanted appear on your TV screen. You were active. Empowered.
It was a revelation. A revolution.
Unlike consoles such as the Atari VCS,
which played cartridges that were plugged into them, the 8-bit computer was an
open invitation to get involved, it handed control over to the user. Yes, you
could buy ready-made software on cartridge, disk or tape but you could also
create your own. With a bit of time, patience and brain work you could even
produce a video game and make money. It was the beginning of a revolution that
was to sweep across the world over the next 30 years and give birth to what
grew into the biggest entertainment industry in the world.
I loved my VIC-20 and had lots of fun with
it. At the time my best mate Collin had a ZX81 and next to that the VIC looked
awesome. Over time I built up a collection of decent games which included
Avenger, Blitz, Amok, Chariot Race, Mickey the Brickey, The Perils of Willy.
Menagerie, Skram-20, Hunchback, Shadowfax, King Tut, Shamus, Gridrunner,
Metagalactic Llamas Battle at the Edge of Time and the legendary Jet Pac. All
these games and many more I hungrily devoured as my new-found love of computer
games blossomed.
Yet although I adored playing games on my
VIC-20 I’m not sure that Mum and Dad were quite as enamoured. The machine was
supposed to help me develop my computer literacy skills, yet all I really did
was play games on it. In fact, rather than helping me with my schoolwork the
computer seemed to get in the way of it as I’d spend more time on Jetpac than I
did on my homework. I did put in a few
frustrating hours trying to learn some BASIC programming, but my heart wasn’t
in it. At the age of ten I was far more interested in playing games than
learning how to create them.
Over time Mum and Dad abandoned any hope
that the computer was going to be of any educational value and accepted that I
was going to use it as a games machine. In a similar way Dad never took up
computer coding either. After typing in a few Commodore Horizons listings that
never worked he gave up and went back to his lifelong love of growing
vegetables on his allotment.
Back at school the BBC computer continued
to be wheeled out once in a blue moon as a rare treat for the good kids.
However, the fun was cut short one night in 1984 when the school was burgled
and the precious computer was pinched. It was a sad day when a visibly upset
Mr. Williamson announced in assembly that the school computer had been stolen.
A sense of mourning hung over the school hall as my friends and I realised that
we’d never venture into Granny’s Garden again.
Yet although the school’s computer was gone
it certainly wasn’t forgotten. It left a lasting impression on myself and many
of my school friends and kindled an interest in computers that lasted for the
rest of my life. The school BBC was a brilliant introduction to computers. It
may not have been the coolest computer around but it was an amazing machine for
its time and will always hold a special place in my heart.
Thanks Mr. Williamson.
Do you collect commodore items? Maybe you want to show some one our website www.sciu.com
ReplyDeleteCheers. I'll check it out.
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