What the
job entailed, Dad did not say. At thirteen I was old enough for a job and I
liked the idea of earning some money, but I was nervous when Thursday came
round.
A
tall man in an immaculate white shopkeeper’s apron greeted me with a smile and
shook my hand. This was Mister Sullens, manager of the International Stores,
Twydall Green. In the course of a little chat at the rear of the shop, a
familiar looking kid appeared through the back door. ‘This is Paul,’ said
Mister Sullens, as the kid picked up a box of groceries. ‘We have two delivery
bikes. Paul has one, you’ll have the other, but for now I want you to go out on
the round with Mrs Stone our van driver.’
Customers paid a tanner to have their groceries delivered rather than lump
everything home in their shopping bags. These groceries were packed into
cardboard boxes, labelled, and carried through to back of the shop for
despatch. When Mrs. Stone turned up I only had to help load the van and then
hop in beside her. An hour later everything had been dropped off and we were
back at the shop for closing time.
I did
the same thing the following evening, Friday, and again on Saturday afternoon
from two till six. At half a crown an hour, six hours work totted up to fifteen
bob. I was chuffed and so was Dad when he told me to give half my earnings to
Mam. ‘And make sure she gets it every week.’
Blast!
The
key to me getting the job was revealed when Mrs Stone told me she knew my dad
from the Rainham Mark Social Club, surprise surprise. I liked Mrs Stone but
really, I wasn’t much use to her. It seemed she and Mister Sullens were easing
me in and, perhaps, weighing me up before turning me loose on a bike.
The
staff seemed friendly enough but I wasn’t too sure about Paul Prickett, the
other delivery boy. A bespectacled, sharp nosed, older kid from the top of Milsted
Road, I remembered him being present on the day Robert Heath, a neighbour of
his, jumped me on my way home from Twydall Juniors; in retaliation, presumably,
for me getting the better of a mate of his in a previous altercation.
Naturally, I was wary of Paul but if he remembered the incident at all, he
didn’t say. As it turned out he was as good as gold.
Missing
going to football on Saturday afternoons was a blow that couldn’t be helped.
Another thing to endure was a medical. Since authorisation for the legal
employment of a minor could only be granted once the aforementioned minor had
been legally interfered with, I reported to the clinic at Balmoral Gardens.
Sure enough, I dropped my pants for the lady doctor, stared at the wall, coughed
on command, and survived the proceedings without disgracing myself.
I was
no stranger to that clinic. I’d been visiting the dentist there since starting
at Upbury. Some kids told horror stories about the place but I didn’t think it
was that bad. Some claimed to have had gas, but I never did. I once got a jab for
a tooth out but for fillings I just stiffened up, curled my toes and gripped
the chair arms till my knuckles turned white.
Tender
gums or not, I made the most of my dental pass by nipping down the alley that
came out beside the Trustee Savings Bank. I’d then dive into The Chocolate Box
(the little shop facing the train station) for a raspberry ruffle bar or
something equally nice, to chomp on the way back to school.
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