No more calls to Mum

It's the little habits you notice you have, when they can no longer be fulfilled. I've still got Mum's number on my phone, but there's no longer anyone at the other end to chat to. This isn't me being morbid, just a little sad at the passing of things we take for granted and go with the loss of a loved on.
But, this brought to mind a memory. When I was seven, and my sibs five and four, Mum left our abusive father in Scotland and moved down to Ross-on-Wye in Herefordshire, where I spent the next ten years of my life before leaving for university. Every Sunday afternoon, we'd go the the telephone box on The Avenue and I'd be given the big-boy task of calling the operator and asking for a reverse-charge call to be made to "Kinellar 252" so that we could speak to Dad and keep in touch. That phone box is no longer the old red kiosk, nor any longer in service, but acts as a book-swap.
Would children these days know how to make a reverse-charge call if they needed to?