
Photo: Joshua Bright/The Guardian.
British phone booth enthusiast Derek Harris, who protected his village’s last remaining telephone box.
When Suzanne was doing her junior year abroad in Spain, she got me a print of the Richard Estes painting of telephone booths, which is in the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum. She knew I was a fan of old-time phone booths that you hardly see anymore.
Turns out I’m not the only one. There’s an enthusiast in the UK who went the extra mile to preserve an iconic red one. Emine Saner wrote about him at the Guardian.
“The caller display flashes up: ‘Derek in the K6’ it reads. On the line is Derek Harris, ringing from the red phone box he saved for his village. When he saw, on the agenda for the parish council meeting, that BT had earmarked it for closure, Harris knew he had to fight it.
“ ‘It’s fighting for what is valuable, cherished,’ he told me when I went to meet him in February [2025] sitting over coffee in a cafe near Sharrington, the Norfolk village that has been his home for more than 50 years. … It’s a K6, for Kiosk No 6, designed in 1935 by Sir Giles Gilbert Scott.
“For a few weeks, Harris, then 89, became a media star. One of the criteria for keeping a phone box in use is that at least 52 calls have to be made from it in a year (fewer than 10 had been made in 2024). As the campaign picked up speed, one day a queue of people made more than 230 calls from the K6. Harris sparked a national conversation about the continuing need for kiosks in an age of mobiles. Behind the scenes, he was a tenacious activist, sending constant emails to his MP, councillors, and of course, BT [British Telephone]. … In March, BT decided to reverse its decision.
“Harris stresses it was a community effort. … ‘It would have been impossible to have pulled this thing off had not so many people – local MP, district councillors, everyone – taken up the call to action. … Quite a lot of people are getting fed up with being oppressed by big organizations.’
“[When] I met Harris, I was struck by how he seemed to view the phone box as a living being, with such affection for it. If it had been turned into a library, as other red phone boxes have, it would cease to be. As a functional kiosk, he said, ‘it would be alive.’ I was thinking about this, driving home later that day, when I pulled into a car park for a rest and checked my phone. … I read with dismay that he had recently been diagnosed with inoperable cancer. ‘It struck me that this K6,’ he wrote, ‘designed in the year of my birth, is deserving of being saved from a death sentence.’ …
“The campaign gave Harris a sense of purpose at a time when he was coming to terms with bad news. ‘It’s been a good achievement,’ he says now. ‘There’s life in the old boy yet.’ What does the retained phone box mean to the village? ‘Oh they’re overjoyed,’ he says.
“Since his victory, Harris has called me a few times over the year, stopping at the telephone kiosk while out on his walk, to say hello, complain about a politician, tell a story or two. It doesn’t hurt to keep the call numbers up. …
“Harris turned 90 in July, and was celebrated by his village with a garden party. His card from the parish council featured a picture of his beloved red phone box, and he was given a phone box fridge magnet.” More at the Guardian, here.
I think it’s cool that the journalist forged an ongoing connection to her interviewee. It reminds me of something Sophia Loren once said about an interviewer who missed out because he wasn’t interested in making her a friend.













