My Employments 1963 - 1976

MY EMPLOYMENTS 

1963 - 1976

I started "work" at the very early age of eight.

My Mother was then working part-time at W H Smith, Croydon, in the Book Department. This was mostly to earn some extra money to pay for me to go to a "private" Catholic primary school, Laleham Lea, in Purley. The hope was that with this extra tuition, I would pass my 11+ and then go on to the affiliated John Fisher School (a grammar school) on the local council's ticket. However, suddenly, my father was taken seriously ill.

A few days after freezing in an immense cinema queue to take me to go and see the film "In Search of the Castaways" he was brought home from work by a colleague, he was in agony and having a heart attack.

I was home with a bad cold and could hear him in the next room calling out in pain while waiting for the ambulance. After this, he was in the hospital for many weeks and then in a convalescent home before coming home and eventually going back to work in a less strenuous position.

During this time, Mr. Packham, the assistant manager at Smiths, very kindly agreed to let me help in unpacking at W H Smith on Saturday mornings and during the school holidays so that my mother could keep working, a practical sort of childcare and it was very useful that it just sort of continued on after my dad was home.

I worked in a little back room, opening the famous WHS orange skips, checking and pricing things with the lovely Mrs Cornwall. That first year I also spent ages pricing all the calendars in pencil, then the government changed the tax on them so all the prices had to be rubbed out and rewritten with the new price. My reward was a 10/- note each day. This was all "unofficial", and I paid for many plastic model kits from Model Time in St Georges Walk.

At age eleven I was even able to get a special certificate to allow me to work legally a few hours a week- it was designed for paperboys but I squeezed in as W H Smiths was a Newsagent.

I remember moving all the massive amount of Christmas stock that arrived in the summer up in the lift to the first floor, then pushing the trolley along a covered corridor, over the roof, to the old part of the shop, and then up to a stockroom on the 3rd floor by stairs… as Christmas approached it all had to be taken back down into the shop to sell.

I think that is where I got most of my exercise and developed any strength and endurance I have, It certainly didn't come from school, where I sneakily skipped P.E. and games after year two. It also helped me in organising things into piles and fitting the most stuff into a small area while mostly knowing where each thing was..

!

         

My other jobs at Smiths were largely in the Book department and then the office, counting the takings. For a while, I "Roneo'd" envelopes for the bills that were sent out for special-ordered or delivered newspapers and magazines - and there were a huge number of them - Smiths was very busy in those days. The Roneo machine was again on the top floor, and the work was accomplished in solitary fashion with loud cassette music, often borrowed from the record department.

Mention should also be made of the kindness of Mrs Mobsby, who ran the book department, and her son Piers. On a couple of occasions when my dad was back in hospital, I stayed with them at their large apartment in a grand house in Warlingham. Piers was a keen naturalist, and his room was full of his own taxidermy and plants. He happily gave me guided tours of the local nature reserves. The garden had a huge hutch and a run of guinea pigs.

There were also two occasions when a lot of us staff "worked" on the appalling adverts W H Smiths had for Christmas, and for this, we got handsomely paid. I can still remember the director repeatedly saying "Action Mandy" in a particularly irritating tone to the poor girl who had to act as if she liked the dreadful toy assortment that Smiths was promoting as presents.

The other involved happy dancing teenagers filmed prancing around in towns all over England but then actually entering the WHS in the Whitgift Centre to select some truly dire records - is it true that in those days W H Smith sold more records than any other shops?

During my time there, they expanded into a new shop in The Whitgift Centre, and I worked there on the order desk at the back dealing with special orders - using "Whitaker's Books in Print", its supplement, and the issues of the Bookseller. These were in print to start with then on microfiche.

We also sold the horribly popular Panini football cards and Book, Record, and Gift tokens - a nightmare at Christmas with constant HUGE queues. I worked there with my mother and with Carol - ( subsequently a student of David Bellamy) and Fiona, among many others.

I started to earn some extra money by coming in very early in the morning to unpack the newspapers and magazines or to do the cleaning with Mr. Payne, whom I almost killed by accidentally closing the loading bay door on his neck while he was peering outside to check if the milk had been delivered. That was very scary, made worse by the emergency "Stop" button not being intuitive.

While at Uni in the holidays, I often worked back at W H Smiths during the short winter and Easter breaks.

However, for most of the summer breaks from University, I went to the Labour Exchange and got sent to a job from there - seemingly at random. The first summer, I was sent to Boyden Data Papers – they made the rolls of paper tape that some Computers still needed to have data input or output. The computer programmers punched holes in the tape, and light shining through the holes in patterns would get software and data information into the computer.

I worked there for Ethel Trout as part of her team with Saba Moussa from Syria. One bonus was that we could use the Phillips canteen next door and buy things in the Phillips shop at a low price.

That whole area was slightly "mystical" to me from indistinctly remembered early walks on Sunday mornings with my dad when I was 4,5, or 6, the railway lines, old steam trains going to the power station,

and the remnants of lavender fields that used to be at the bottom of Commerce Way.

In the present day, if you explored far enough past the electricity substations you could still find a flooded, ruined mansion with grazing gypsy horses, and views of the rubbish dump with dustcarts tipping tons of refuse and millions of gulls picking it over far in the distance.

paper tape

Boydens factory to the left

Next Summer I worked at Croydon Electric Motors (on the same road as Boyden Data Papers). I had various jobs, such as putting the bearings onto motors for dentist's chairs and tank six-barreled mortars (those that are fixed to the side of the turret).

I also burnished and polished the metal cases of large “hair dryers” that telephone engineers would use to dry out underground electrical cables before they could safely work on them. More scarily, grinding down brake shoes (asbestos?)

Also working in their paint shop, spray painting bits of the huge electric motors with silver speckled paint.

Then the summer after University Hillary and I applied for work at Thorganby Farm Produce – in the aptly named Rothole Lane, Thorganby, that was freezing peas 24 hours a day. (the lane was first named Rathole, then Rothole, now Roth Hole)

I was very lovelorn that first year after University and anxious to stay in York for another year as Fiona (the reluctant object of my affection) was a year below me and still studying History. The job at Thorganby Farm produce was rather surreal. I was living in a shared house on Huntington Road on the opposite side of York to the University.  The shifts at the Pea Factory were 12 hours long and started at 6:00 am or 6:00 pm with a minibus picking folks up from Derwent College car park at 5:00 am (or more easily 5:00 pm). This meant getting up at four and cycling through a deserted city and then a  drive through the countryside in clapped-out Transit vans to the Factory 

It was the summer of the famous long British drought, and the days and nights were hot and dry and the "very air seemed to throb"....

The job itself was standing by the hopper where peas freshly picked from the field arrived, tipped out from huge trucks. A conveyor belt lifted them up to a shaking sieve-like washing machine that separated out any stray pea pods (the picking machines also shelled and disposed of the majority of those on the field) and seed heads from weeds, but more crucially also insects and that summer was also the summer of Ladybird swarms and the trailer that all the rinsed out detritus ended up on was just covered in huge piles of soggy bewildered Ladybirds. 

One day the trailer was delivered to us already containing rotting vegetables, and became the the inspiration for my poem "Standing next to a trailer full of putrid Brussel Sprouts and thinking about Fiona". Which I seem to have lost.

Other notable events - the 24-hour music played over the tannoy.At 3:00 am I remember listening to a rendering of Cliff Richard's "She Is Just a Devil Woman" as dawn broke. 

Also getting to the pub in Heslington after a 12-hour shift and hearing on my little radio about the Viking lander arriving on Mars - a numinous feeling. 

The Occasional rabbit that was delivered with the peas and jumped around the hopper, scared out of its wits, till we could get it to leap out and disappear into the fields beyond.

Later jobs there included boxing up the Frozen peas in 20 lb boxes and labeling them with stencils. It was possible to subtly change the text by deft use of the stencils from 1 x 20lb GARDEN PEAS" to 1 x 20 lb SHIT PEA - which was not popular with the management when discovered. 

Also fun high-speed maneuvers with the 1/2-ton pallets of peas or beans on tricycle forklifts on the icy floor of the frozen store. Most folks there swore, sometimes using two swear words to every noun, making speech exhausting, boring, and sadly contagious...

Sterne House, beautiful but chilly

After the Pea Factory myself, Ian and Hillary searched for a house to share. Their year in France made their course at York a four-year one. The amazing commune-type place Hillary and I had lived in on Huntington Road was getting its old crew back again, and we had to move out. What we found was Sterne House in the village of Sutton on the Forest about 9 miles from York. It was a grand house, with a dairy and an Aga, and my goodness, later on in the winter, it was chilly more than a few feet from that Aga. 

Ian also had a job, he was working with "motorcycle" Frank Hayes from Hutington Road at a FINA petrol station on the A64 halfway between York and Malton. When holidays began he left and I managed to get the "position". The garage was set on a corner with filling stations and pumps on both sides of the road. There was also a restaurant, run by Tonk Stroughair, and a mechanics shop.

As it is today, "my" side now has the diner and no fuel pumps, Tonk's restaurant now demolished and replaced with the caravan place.

My job was mostly serving (New Jersey style) on the far side of the road on the inside of the curve. This meant it was mostly invisible till the last second by motorists on either side of the road who would thus rarely visit it, preferring the visible one. I see that today that is the only side selling petrol - With maybe only 1 in 20 cars calling there I would help or hang out in the hut on the busy side. Along with Frank as staff, there was also the amazing Rose. She had an enormous beehive hairdo, almost Marge Simpson in size, and she was greatly admired by those of Britain's finest, who patrolled the A64 and who frequently called in to be beguiled by her charms. On one occasion, they even rushed off to Malton, with blues and twos just to fetch her fish and chips. The policemen were good fun, except one PC Mick Gnatt who was a tad vindictive. After being snubbed in a bakers in Malton he made sure to stop every bread van he saw delivering baked goods to Malton and issue it with a ticket.

Mention should be made of Tonk's restaurant, despite its proximity, we did not patronise it at all except for coffee. He kept his dogs in it overnight to protect the place and they pooped all over the place, notably and frequently on the tables. One huge dog (maybe an early XL bully?) escaped and ran across the road. It was hit by a little Fiat 500 . The car was written off, but the dog ran off and was later found traumatised and bruised but otherwise OK.

It was a long, hot summer cycle ride from Sterne House to the garage, through delightful country lanes past cornfields and woods and over a level crossing. I had a large old transistor radio with me, tuned to Radio 1 if I was very lucky, The Eagles would be on with Hotel California. If it should be on when Frank and I were working together at the garage we would rush together to our radios, put them to top volume and hoped against hope the full version with guitar solo would be played.

The worst part of the job was checking the level of petrol in the tanks with long brass rods. The smell of petrol on brass transferred to hands was unusually foul and persistent.

Some notable customers:

The farmer who regularly drove up in an Austin Westminster along the grass verge on the wrong side of the road. He always paid in cash, extracting the notes from large, tightly rolled wads that he kept in pockets all over his dungarees, which just bulged with money everywhere.

The large Jag with a rather rich bloke that was there on Sunday morning when I arrived early and took an enormous amount of petrol in its twin tanks as it was almost empty.

The also rich lady with the Rolls Royce who wanted to fill it herself

As the days shortened, the travel would begin to be tricky along the dark country lanes (as I found out elsewhere), so I looked for other work...

Somehow I got a job in Rowntree's Chocolate Factory. It was a straight shot down the Sutton Road from Sterne House to the factory. I had a few bicycles and also purchased a strange moped from my Uncle Lew, with Hillary as its primary user. 

Shifts at the chocolate factory ran from 6:00 am - 2:00 pm, 2:00 pm - 10:00 pm, 10:00 pm - 6:00 am. 

Only if you worked all the shifts in the week could you get overtime at weekends. The work was soulless, and you only got one 10-minute and one 20-minute break. It was fairly easy to get to work for the early or middle shift, but hard to tear oneself away from pubs or meals for the overnight one. 

To start with, I "made" Kit Kats on a long line first by just pushing the wafer fingers down into the chocolate. They then got another coating of chocolate to completely cover them before they took another long trip through a freezer to solidify them. Another job was being 1/4 of a mile down the line, where another machine wrapped them in foil, and then another the red paper wrappers . 

They had to be picked up in 12s and placed in a box that you also folded together yourself. That was hard work, trying to keep up with the constant arrival of confectionery .... , I also used a machine to wrap the special 5-finger Kit Kats for vending machines (which thus put finger prints all over them), or the different formula chocolate used for Arabic countries. Then I was "promoted" and worked on the Smartie egg line, sitting where the metal chocolate molds changed direction by ninety degrees on conveyor belts. A machine did that job almost perfectly, but union rules meant an operative had to sit there just in case it didn't - and best it be the lowest paid one.

That meant ffectively sitting for seven hours doing nothing. The old hands however, had clever ways to wreck the machines and the union guy who had to fix them would not rush about his business. The old hands disappeared while this was done, but us minions seemed to get stuck with mopping the floors with boiling hot water and trying to clean the tiny ants nests out of the assembly lines with their chocolate dribbles (the ants were tiny not thier nests - if you ate Kit Kats in those days those ants would have added to your nutrition).

An unforeseen  problem developed when I was cycling to or from work in the dark: Blinding car headlights on the almost straight road as oncoming cars didn't see my feeble bike light. It was even worse on the moped, if could I borrow it from Hilary, as the bulbs constantly burned out plunging you suddenly into the pitch black so it was often safer to take the much longer winding back roads route with far fewer cars. 

Pinching chocolate was rife and I remember eating about twenty Yorky bars with Hilary in Sterne House one weekend. 

Notable events were for a brief time sitting next to the gloop that went into cream eggs which smelt like semen, the huge long Easter egg line the whole length of the factory on the top floor that didn't work correctly for three days with all the overweight eggs going back to be remelted and molded to try again. The incredible flatulence of folks who ate the Mint Aeros.

I ate SO much chocolate - but never licked my fingers and never ate a mint Aero...

Continuedin Part two

 

Mark Dodson of Sun City - our best customer.

HOWDY!

When I was working at Quakerbooks of FGC in Philadelphia Mark Dodson came to be known (and was) “our'' best customer. The bookshop sold, mostly by mail order, books by and about Quakerism but also those “of interest to Quakers” and those books also appealed to many of Liberal predispositions both religiously and in social issues.

In the early 2000’s it was a golden time for “publishers remainders”, overstocks of books on all manner of subjects that had been printed in too large a quantity and needed selling off to avoid the considerable and escalating storage or disposal costs.

By trawling through the lists of merchants like Powell's Books Wholesale and Daedalus you could spot bargains like The Quaker Tapestry Book, or theology  by John Shelby Spong, Marcus Borg, and Dominic Crossnan. Plus any number of books on the Underground Railway, Civil Rights, Slavery, Ecology, Pacifism etc etc… 

Jerimy and I began to notice lots of phone calls from Sun City Arizona ordering  these and a select few Quaker Books. We soon got to know the voice at the end of the phone with a large order - and then in 2013  we got a letter with an obituary of his mother, Dorothy Dodson, an incredibly dedicated and popular librarian from Illinois and as a bonus a Starbucks coffee card for us in her memory.

Mark read prodigiously on History of all sorts, Social Issues, Biographies, a few novels and humour - he had a special liking for things English.

Thus began a series of letter exchanges with orders and packages of books - and many more coffee cards from Mark. Shortly after my son Simon was born Mark became Uncle to triplets! And we began to learn more about him. It was obvious he had some difficulty moving around and didn't have the full use of his legs, we also learned that Sun City was in part  a sort of retirement community. 

Mark continued to write when I lost my part time  job at Quakerbooks and made my other part time job in a Quaker Burial Ground a full time one - actually more than full time. He did not celebrate Christmas but always remembered St Nick’s day at the beginning of December.

Mark took an interest in my son Simon’s brief, covid influenced, brush with University and a massive Coffee card he sent would have kept him in coffee for years - if he drank coffee - but it did keep him hydrated and full of vitamins.

When I moved back to England in 2021 we kept in touch, I was delighted to send  him Shawn Blythell's Diary of a Bookseller and in return I got a massive box of local Honey, books, chocolates and other assorted nic nacs. Sadly he told us Jason his brother in law, and father of the triplets, died from COVID.

Then in mid 2023 the letters from Mark stopped, and my last letter to him was returned to me  marked “deceased”. I have searched online for any obituary or information about him but found nothing. Mark must have looked at our website in his local library, but he had no email or internet at home so just dropped out of the modern information world. 

Mark had shared many creative writing projects with Jerimy and I, sadly most got left in Philadelphia when I moved back to England but I have tried to gather a few that he sent me in England just to record something of what was his remarkable life onto that world wide web..

Here I transcribe some of these onto this blog… starting with :-

2023: A Year of the Rabbit {Jack Rabbit, that is ...}

Sun City Version

Another Truly-Fine Critter portrait from Tracy Foltz @ zinniaskystudio.com

Jack Rabbit, Patron of the Lunar Year of the Rabbit 2023 in Sun City Arizona. 

Tradition has it, that within a 12-year cycle, a different desert Critter names the year and is "responsible" for the fortunes of the people born in that year, forever after. The Critter's own characteristics are also transferred into the people born in its year, in very much the same way that other Folks accrue the traits of people born into the Greek zodiac {except for single people born under Gemini who are not born as 1 of a pair of twins; unless they have a split personality}.

Flamboyant and gifted, Jack Rabbit is also hard-working and determined; but is more often a Chief than an Indian. Jack's meticulous nature means turning-over every stone: in order there is Order. A perfectionist, Jack can be puritanical, and bruises are more likely caused by Jack than suffered by him. A leader, not a follower; initiator, not a plodder but surely a crower of his own self. Jack makes sure people know his worth, even if {or because he has to tell them so.

But here in Sun City³, Jack has a problem -- bunnies. They're everywhere! Golf courses, front yards {grass or xeriscape}, patios, coyote menus. These funny, fuzzy, fast, frightened animals run half-way out into the middle of the road...stop, and then run back; they're playing "chicken" with the golf carts. How can they be serious and have a Lunar New Year? They can't; so it is left up to Jack to shoulder the burden, face the music, and hop the hop. No "What's up, Doc?" from Jack; he's more apt to tell You than ask. "Give a bunny a carrot and feed it for a day; teach it how to run, so it'll live another day."

Why is there no Year of the Cat?

In one telling, the Jade Emperor called animals to Himself, stating they would be named patrons of the twelve-year cycle, in the order by which they reached Him. The Cat and the Rat (not good at swimming) were intelligent enough to figure out the best way to cross the river would be on the back of the Ox. The Ox was kind (and naive) and agreed to carry them. Just as the Ox was about to come to land, the Rat pushed the Cat overboard, jumped off the Ox, and reached the Jade Emperor first, with the Ox coming in second. Several animals later (ten), the Cat failed to reach land, drowned, and did not become part of the Lunar New Year Cycle.

Another telling was that the Rat stowed away on the back of the Dog (who eventually only came in 11th), who did not see the Rat was on its back and wound up fighting the Cat who had attacked the Rat, but got the Dog instead (maybe that fight took up so much time that the Dog barely made it ??? -- which is why Dogs and Cats still do not get along, to this very day.

Another telling was that the Rat fooled the Cat about the race's timing and so the Cat showed up too late to run.

Or, it's simply because when the Race was run, there were no Cats in China at the time. But in Vietnam, the Cat takes the place of the Rabbit, possibly because the ancient word for Rabbit (Mao) sounds like Cat (Meo).

Knowing Cats, that one just couldn't be bothered, having better things to do. The best definition of what is a "Cat", is probably "Diva". Diva began as a compliment, based upon a great female singer, almost divine, although more used now for someone who thinks they are. Like a true Diva, Cat has High Standards (which You'll never match); is always Perfectly Groomed (Naturally); not always liked by other (no doubt, lesser) Cats; quite High Maintenance (and worth it!); oblivious to other non-Cats; and, like the Sun, the natural center of the Universe. Maybe the Jade Emperor gave the Cat nine lives as compensation?

Tradition says Jack Rabbit is wild {yet tender), scruffy {yet kind), inept {yet clever), and as the saying goes "Rabbit has three burrows". This surely brings to mind Sun City's Winter Visiting Rabbit, with a home in the U.S. Midwest, his condo in Sun City, and the RV that drives him between the two. As a result, 2023 promises to be an inflated year for movement {and not only with the money supply), with travel and vacationing; perhaps increasingly along the Border.

The Japanese story of the "Man" in the Moon paints a different picture. He once came down to earth {probably another great year for travel} disguised as a beggar; where he met three animals: a fox; a monkey and a rabbit. Seen seemingly to be somewhat starved, the fox brought the Man fish from a lake; the monkey gave him fruit from a tree. But the rabbit is a herbivore {which Moon Men probably aren't) and had no flesh to offer. Instead, the rabbit threw himself into the flames the man had made for cooking the fish, offering his body for food. The Man was touched by this offer, spared the rabbit, and drew his picture onto the face of the Moon as a sign of lovingkindness.

Do You want proof that this is a good year? 

Lionel Messi is a Rabbit. 5

1   Another Truly-Fine Critter portrait from Tracy Foltz @ zinniaskystudio.com

2   As noted, Sun City is not incorporated as a city, but it surely has Sun

3   See the previous foot-note

4   Dad's Mom had a great recipe for milk gravy, but then she fried her rabbits

5   Lionel Andrés Messi, also known as Leo Messi, is an Argentine professional footballer who plays as a          forward for and captains both Major League Soccer club Inter Miami and the Argentina national team

A travelogue of his regular trips along the dusty New River

in Sun City.

Here I am, all dressed-up and ready to go, hopping down the  (Dry) River Trail. It's called the New River;  I think because it mostly runs dry every year and only occasionally floods. Each time it does run --- well, I guess You could say it's a "New" river.  Ancient philosophers used to argue as to whether or not anyone could step into the same river, twice. Knowing philosophers, they are probably still arguing that -- I'm not. 

I recently changed my Medicare provider to Cigna. My Aunts belonged to Cigna and I sometimes drove them for appointments or medication-refills next to an entrance to the New River Trail. 

Now, Cigna has just finished building a huge new office building  (with attached Urgent Care). Since I was walking there and parking in their lot, I figured joining them was the polite thing to do. So far they haven't restricted parking to "Members Only"; 

nor have they built a Wall -- so I have free parking; at least when it's not flooded. 

The most water I've ever seen there has just covered the rubber tip of my crutch -- 

more of a trickle, than white water or rapids.

I've seen many sights while hopping along. There have been other walkers, (although I haven't any other hoppers, except for the jackrabbits, or bunnies), Bicyclists galore pass me by, some of them with courtesy saying "On Your left. They have been regular bikes, hand-cycles,

Low riding foot - pedaled bikes, fancy race bikes (with riders fancily - dressed);  a tandem bike apparently owned by a Mormon bishop and his wife  (even a three seater) and bikes like the Mean Old Lady rode to put Toto away back in Kansas {Yep we get visiting folks from Kansas as Snowbirds and they do bring their own bikes}; plus even some of the tricycles that NOWL's {Nice Old Widow Ladies} ride to the grocery store.

I've seen people on horseback; and joggers; (some jogging with their dog leashes tied to the front of their fanny packs) - - - so I'm not sure if that's jogging or a simplified dog sledding. Wilder animals I've seen have been coyotes, one bobcat, and even kids on skates.

This is where I've heard the coyote 'a capella singing group "Critters of the Nite" as well as an ordinary ambulance's siren as it pulled up to Cigna's Urgent Care for someone needing some urgently ~ more care.

 When I'm hopping along the riverbed, I frequently converse with Fluffy, Fido and Fifas - dogs from the houses built nearby that are shocked (and vocal) to see me pass.

I now buy more crutch tips in bulk from Amazon, I actually bought an entire case (well, one small box with lots of smaller boxes containing two tips per box), at the same price I would have paid for just two of the smaller boxes from the medical supply store (Medicare won't pay for them). 

Forget about those crutch tips from the drug store, I wore a pair of them out before I finished just one hop (Would this be the time to mention that I go to IHOP (International House of Pancakes for non-US citizens) when I'm done, so that I can put back on the calories that I just hopped off? Of course, I can also stop by the New York West Pastry and Bake Shop --You know, "Shop Locally, Shop Often").

​

Here you can see my "special" Canadian Crutches...

.

But I use them here in Arizona 12 months per year rather than the 6 months of the year Canadians must actually spend living in Canada lest they lose their medical cover. I customize them with the following:-

1/ My Tea

2/ A Book (in this case my passport in case I get stopped by any border patrollers).

3/ A festive hat, depending on season or sunshine.

4/ Some paper for notes in case I think of something while hopping.

5/ A pinata, well actually some lemon drops in case I need to wet my whistle while hopping.

6/ Trash can, so as not to pollute the River bed.

7/ A Coyote wacker - so far no Coyotes injured during any of my hoppings.