Post by Matt James on Apr 16, 2009 12:37:09 GMT
My life in the Post Office started 9am 29th June 1953 at the age of 15, after six weeks of being bored at a small printing firm .A chance meeting with an old school friend put me onto the messenger service in the Post Office a visit to the youth employment followed to be told that there were vacancies.
I completed the application form and waited in anticipation, three references were required one from a neighbour, local police and finally the church then you took the limited exam, after that your past was checked for criminal record, next a medical with a Post Office Doctor it all took a few weeks.
The day came with a letter in the post to give a weeks notice to my present employer nothing gave me more pleasure, then report accordingly.
It was the start of the best years of my life friends that lasted all my Post Office life much bantering lots of laughs.
On the day I was met at the reception by a Head Postman, Mr Simms “even then a redundant grade” He was a nice person who took me to Mr Hewitt, Inspector of Messengers who was polite with an air of authority, he explained what the job was and what was expected of me, then I bought a 5/- shilling stamp and I signed over it something to do with the official secrets act I believe.
Uniform stores next to be measured, but first an armband, brass buckle belt with pouch for telegrams, cape and cap, until the uniform arrived I was expected to wear dark clothes in keeping with a uniform not easy during rationing but I achieved it. Vouchers for free dinners I thought I had arrived in heaven after my previous job. I can’t remember what the wages were but it was considerably more than the printing job, plus uniform, shoes and free dinners.
Until 16 we were obliged to attend Bournville College one day a week for further education my day was Thursday it helped me a great deal plus an enjoyable day out. To continue, I was assigned to a senior telegram boy (Jim Neeson) for three days instruction Jim and I got on very well then I was on my own. Every morning we went on parade and inspected for dress and smartness, two weeks later my uniform arrived and instructions how it should be worn.
Cap with security number in the badge to be worn at all times. Heaven help you if you were caught by the patrolman not wearing it no matter how hot, my badge No the 3304.
There were 3 P.H.G’S new grade replacing Head Postman in charge of whipping you out with telegrams Mr Mead, Mr Barlow and Mr Bott the first two were quite strict and stood no messing, ,Mr Bott was a little easier an ex army man whose uniform and shoes were immaculate and you could banter with him within reason.
Us telegram boys daily walked miles not very often cycling it was frowned upon during the week with the traffic. There were punishment walks for miss-behaviour we dreaded, to come to mind Bulpit & Sons, Camden Street approx 4 miles round trip and the worst of all Central Goods Station, Lawley Street, 6 miles round trip through barren streets of warehouse walls, and when you got there more long walks around looking for people. I liked going to offices, banks, hotels and theatres chatting to the girls and seeing celebrities while being treated with respect, and a certain amount of importance going into inner sanctuaries to hand telegrams over personally in case there was a reply, and if lucky a handsome tip.
In those days their were no telegram girls genders were never allowed to mix, girls either became telephonists or if well educated P & T O’s on Post Office Counters and when they got married had to leave the service with a lump sum.
However, in November 1953, the inspector called me in to say I was being transferred to Civic House as an indoor messenger to the Regional Director in theory it was a sideways promotion but I hated it and looked for a way out which came just after Christmas when a notice appeared asking for volunteers to be a motorcycle messenger.
Permission had to be sought from parents, I was lucky mine never objected even though 2 had recently been killed and one lost a leg on Castle Bromwich Hill, January 1954, on my 16th birthday I reported to Garrison Lane for motorcycle training with 3 others on 250cc ex wd BSA side valves with girder forks governed to 40mph. It was 2 weeks of hell and heaven, loosing control, falling off, the brakes were crap. After 2 weeks we were experts and all passed our tests first time and sent to our nearest offices.
First I went to Hockley then 4 weeks later transferred to Erdington NETDC a big detached villa that stood in its own grounds, corner of Woodend Road and Kingsbury Road and also the home of Mr Langford, Head Postmaster of Birmingham I liked it there.
I met my colleagues Frank Hood, Eric Goodwin, names who immediately come to mind. During my time messengers came and went, they reached 18 and called up for National Service which eventually happened to me.
Being a motorcycle telegram boy was exciting out in all weathers sun, rain, and worst of all fog which in those days was extremely thick and I can remember cars following me back to the office because they were lost and didn’t know where to go and we messengers were there only hope because we knew our area like the back of our hands.
On a rotation basis each motorcycle office had to do a Sunday duty at Central Head Office where on a Saturday night we would all gather and go as a group to HPO and leave our bikes for the next day.
In our area was a motorcycle cop I think his name was P.C.Moore who rode a BSA Goldflash and he occasionally called to give us lecture on road safety, but all we was interested in was his immaculate polished Goldflash we would stand around it with eyes like saucers. He was a good Policeman I can’t remember him ever booking anyone many‘s the time I’ve been belting along when he would ride in front and slowed me down without saying a word, I think he had a soft spot for us messengers, and would watch us go into town on the Saturday night and see we kept in order.
Sunday was the day we covered the whole of Birmingham and to areas completely unfamiliar and often got lost that’s where the A to Z came in useful. Sunday was also the time one could strut your stuff to the walking and cycle messengers who treated us with a bit of awe because we were the modkids in our leather jerkins, crash helmets and long gauntlets, and they were the ones who couldn’t get permission from their parents or afraid to ride motorcycles.
As you know telegrams were items of quick communication in a time many never had telephones, mostly they were business information, others news of some kind of event, many were congratulatory nature and a few of great sadness. If you had the misfortune to take a telegram with bad news Mr Woodward the supervising Head Postman a very patient man would tell us but not the contents and for us to be sympathetic and careful how we behaved while delivering.
Saturday was also the wedding days with loads of congratulate telegrams, no wedding was worth its slat without a telegram boy delivering a telegram and I made the most of it. I always made sure I was clean, smart and well polished because tips could be made. Often I was photographed handing the telegram to the bride and groom then the best man would give me a drink, slice of cake and nearly always a good tip he would look mean if he didn’t, “and to think I got paid for it” I bought my first motorcycle helped with tips a second hand American Harley Davison that beat Mr Moores Goldflash, I spent some weeks doing it up to look like an American Police Bike.
In all the 3 years of motorcycling I never had an accident yet must have covered at least 150 miles a day 6 days a week. NETDC didn’t have ex WD bikes I think we were one of the first to have BSA BANTAMS 125 two strokes an ideal machine for the job, the way we thraped them was unbelievable and they just went on and on maintained by 2 genius of mechanics who called about twice a month inspecting and serving them, unfortunately I cannot remember their names but the older one we nicked named the “mad Russian” because of his crew cut hair and the fact he went berserk when he saw us coming up Bromford Hill screaming into the office yard sparks flying from the leg guards scraping the ground in our usual maniacal way.
Needless to say he never took it any further in fact really he was a good sport and he looked after our bikes magnificently with his colleague. I found wealthy areas didn’t take much notice of telegram boys arriving and very rarely tipped, but in working class areas it was different as you rode slowly down the narrow streets looking for a number women would stand and watch sometimes making the sign of the cross as though you was the devil, and looking very apprehensive, wondering where you was going and why? and coming to the door after you have gone. I often wondered what they considered worse a telegram boy knocking the door or a policeman because in a working class area it was invariably bad news.
The only discipline case I ever got involved in was the loss of a telegram an extremely serious offence. I was entrusted amongst others with a urgent essential order worth a lot of money and the factory reported that it was never received losing a large contract to a rival. Rightly so the company wanted heads to roll and that included the Post Office.
I was hauled up in front of Mr Hewitt, Inspector of Messengers who wanted an explanation on how the telegram never arrived and the serious consequences of the loss. At worst my service could be terminated at best issued with a Major Irregularity which would go on record plus loss of 3 months increment and with overtime a loss of considerable money, also 3 irregularities meant automatic dismissal. I knew I’d never lost a telegram or ever delayed one I enjoyed my job to much and told him so, he believed me and advised me to look around the factory. By the way the factory stood on the ground Birmingham H.P.O. now stands on, a car lighting manufacturer in which the street is named after. Miller Street.
I was told not to go into the factory but I did, my honesty and job was on the line and I immediately recognised the girl behind reception and better still recognised me and straight away said you’ve come about that telegram, I’m sorry but I mislaid it and never thought anyone would get into trouble and she confessed to her boss. Weather she kept her job I don’t know because I never went again. By the way I never got any apologies from anyone it just blew over. But I was glad
Bookies were illegal then but we used to get many telegrams for them in secret addresses in ordinary looking houses, everybody knew they were there including the police. One comes to mind in Alma Street, Lozells and every time you took a telegram he would turn over a vase on the counter and give you what ever was in it from 6d to 5/- an awful lot of money to a lad then, and he would say do you want to put it on a horse. I always declined and he would say wise lad but your sort will put me out of business but he always passed over the money.
Dogs were not much of a problem not many people had them most couldn’t afford them only the better areas, I do remember an occasion delivering to a large house in the suburbs a great big Alsatian was sleeping on the lawn and I tiptoed past it while it watched me with baleful eyes, suddenly a little Scottie dog belted yelping out of the bushes nipping my ankles, I tried to kick it off when the Alsatian got up back heckling, teeth were muckers. Fortunately just then the mistress came out and shouted those immortal words ‘they won’t hurt you’ but I was hurt the thing had drawn blood and I told her and she said in a posh voice “oh don’t make a fuss” and in those days one didn’t , one didn’t make a fuss otherwise you was known as big boob. Still I had to go to Boots the chemist in the High Street, Erdington, to get it dressed. I’m not sure if they charged me but we treated Boots like our local surgery for all kinds of minor injuries including getting specks of dirt out of eyes.
Just think in this day and age I would have sued for £10 million and took the Post Office to court under Health & Safety for sending me to a dangerous place. How times have changed.
Another time a Victorian house in Handsworth I knocked on a door and all the stained glass fell out of the vestibule door surprising the occupant in the kitchen, who blamed her husband for not fixing it properly, all the same I never got a tip but at least it wasn’t pursued into a discipline case.
Sadly after 4 wonderful years my 18th birthday had arrived along with my call up papers and away I went into the army. Fortunately all ended well, all I did was exchanged my BSA Bantam for a flying “M” 500cc single pot 4 stroke and my motor cycling days continued as a out rider and escort and I thoroughly enjoyed my 2 years national service before returning to the Post Office as a postman driver and that’s another story.
To conclude I would like to mention how times have changed since the early fifties, I cannot remember ever going about my duties in fear of vandals or yobs even in the poorest of areas everybody treated me with respect and the job we did.
I remember back to back houses where several families shared one toilet and towards the middle fifties them being cleared and blocks of flats being built in there place which at the time seemed wonderful, now we know different. Also I can remember vasts amounts of countryside we rode through on short cuts like Yorks Wood, Chelmsley Wood, Golf Links, Castle Bromwich Airport where the spitfires were tested, all are now vast housing estates and still growing, where will it end?
These estates are now called Chelmsley Wood, Shard End, Castle Vale and Bromford the latter the former race course .The site of the British Industrial Fair now a factory Estate.
If I have bored you with this little bit of history of a tiny cog in the huge expanse of industry I apologise, however I hope someone will find it interesting and bring back long forgotten memories.
Thank you for reading it
Fred C .Oliver
Messenger 1953 to the end of 1956 Cap number 3304
Bike Photo's top left NETDC April 1955 Fred Oliver
top right Handsworth 1954 Fred Oliver
bottom left NETDC August 1956 F.Oliver left P.Garvey right
bottom right Tewkesbury road Handsworth September 1953 F.Oliver
I completed the application form and waited in anticipation, three references were required one from a neighbour, local police and finally the church then you took the limited exam, after that your past was checked for criminal record, next a medical with a Post Office Doctor it all took a few weeks.
The day came with a letter in the post to give a weeks notice to my present employer nothing gave me more pleasure, then report accordingly.
It was the start of the best years of my life friends that lasted all my Post Office life much bantering lots of laughs.
On the day I was met at the reception by a Head Postman, Mr Simms “even then a redundant grade” He was a nice person who took me to Mr Hewitt, Inspector of Messengers who was polite with an air of authority, he explained what the job was and what was expected of me, then I bought a 5/- shilling stamp and I signed over it something to do with the official secrets act I believe.
Uniform stores next to be measured, but first an armband, brass buckle belt with pouch for telegrams, cape and cap, until the uniform arrived I was expected to wear dark clothes in keeping with a uniform not easy during rationing but I achieved it. Vouchers for free dinners I thought I had arrived in heaven after my previous job. I can’t remember what the wages were but it was considerably more than the printing job, plus uniform, shoes and free dinners.
Until 16 we were obliged to attend Bournville College one day a week for further education my day was Thursday it helped me a great deal plus an enjoyable day out. To continue, I was assigned to a senior telegram boy (Jim Neeson) for three days instruction Jim and I got on very well then I was on my own. Every morning we went on parade and inspected for dress and smartness, two weeks later my uniform arrived and instructions how it should be worn.
Cap with security number in the badge to be worn at all times. Heaven help you if you were caught by the patrolman not wearing it no matter how hot, my badge No the 3304.
There were 3 P.H.G’S new grade replacing Head Postman in charge of whipping you out with telegrams Mr Mead, Mr Barlow and Mr Bott the first two were quite strict and stood no messing, ,Mr Bott was a little easier an ex army man whose uniform and shoes were immaculate and you could banter with him within reason.
Us telegram boys daily walked miles not very often cycling it was frowned upon during the week with the traffic. There were punishment walks for miss-behaviour we dreaded, to come to mind Bulpit & Sons, Camden Street approx 4 miles round trip and the worst of all Central Goods Station, Lawley Street, 6 miles round trip through barren streets of warehouse walls, and when you got there more long walks around looking for people. I liked going to offices, banks, hotels and theatres chatting to the girls and seeing celebrities while being treated with respect, and a certain amount of importance going into inner sanctuaries to hand telegrams over personally in case there was a reply, and if lucky a handsome tip.
In those days their were no telegram girls genders were never allowed to mix, girls either became telephonists or if well educated P & T O’s on Post Office Counters and when they got married had to leave the service with a lump sum.
However, in November 1953, the inspector called me in to say I was being transferred to Civic House as an indoor messenger to the Regional Director in theory it was a sideways promotion but I hated it and looked for a way out which came just after Christmas when a notice appeared asking for volunteers to be a motorcycle messenger.
Permission had to be sought from parents, I was lucky mine never objected even though 2 had recently been killed and one lost a leg on Castle Bromwich Hill, January 1954, on my 16th birthday I reported to Garrison Lane for motorcycle training with 3 others on 250cc ex wd BSA side valves with girder forks governed to 40mph. It was 2 weeks of hell and heaven, loosing control, falling off, the brakes were crap. After 2 weeks we were experts and all passed our tests first time and sent to our nearest offices.
First I went to Hockley then 4 weeks later transferred to Erdington NETDC a big detached villa that stood in its own grounds, corner of Woodend Road and Kingsbury Road and also the home of Mr Langford, Head Postmaster of Birmingham I liked it there.
I met my colleagues Frank Hood, Eric Goodwin, names who immediately come to mind. During my time messengers came and went, they reached 18 and called up for National Service which eventually happened to me.
Being a motorcycle telegram boy was exciting out in all weathers sun, rain, and worst of all fog which in those days was extremely thick and I can remember cars following me back to the office because they were lost and didn’t know where to go and we messengers were there only hope because we knew our area like the back of our hands.
On a rotation basis each motorcycle office had to do a Sunday duty at Central Head Office where on a Saturday night we would all gather and go as a group to HPO and leave our bikes for the next day.
In our area was a motorcycle cop I think his name was P.C.Moore who rode a BSA Goldflash and he occasionally called to give us lecture on road safety, but all we was interested in was his immaculate polished Goldflash we would stand around it with eyes like saucers. He was a good Policeman I can’t remember him ever booking anyone many‘s the time I’ve been belting along when he would ride in front and slowed me down without saying a word, I think he had a soft spot for us messengers, and would watch us go into town on the Saturday night and see we kept in order.
Sunday was the day we covered the whole of Birmingham and to areas completely unfamiliar and often got lost that’s where the A to Z came in useful. Sunday was also the time one could strut your stuff to the walking and cycle messengers who treated us with a bit of awe because we were the modkids in our leather jerkins, crash helmets and long gauntlets, and they were the ones who couldn’t get permission from their parents or afraid to ride motorcycles.
As you know telegrams were items of quick communication in a time many never had telephones, mostly they were business information, others news of some kind of event, many were congratulatory nature and a few of great sadness. If you had the misfortune to take a telegram with bad news Mr Woodward the supervising Head Postman a very patient man would tell us but not the contents and for us to be sympathetic and careful how we behaved while delivering.
Saturday was also the wedding days with loads of congratulate telegrams, no wedding was worth its slat without a telegram boy delivering a telegram and I made the most of it. I always made sure I was clean, smart and well polished because tips could be made. Often I was photographed handing the telegram to the bride and groom then the best man would give me a drink, slice of cake and nearly always a good tip he would look mean if he didn’t, “and to think I got paid for it” I bought my first motorcycle helped with tips a second hand American Harley Davison that beat Mr Moores Goldflash, I spent some weeks doing it up to look like an American Police Bike.
In all the 3 years of motorcycling I never had an accident yet must have covered at least 150 miles a day 6 days a week. NETDC didn’t have ex WD bikes I think we were one of the first to have BSA BANTAMS 125 two strokes an ideal machine for the job, the way we thraped them was unbelievable and they just went on and on maintained by 2 genius of mechanics who called about twice a month inspecting and serving them, unfortunately I cannot remember their names but the older one we nicked named the “mad Russian” because of his crew cut hair and the fact he went berserk when he saw us coming up Bromford Hill screaming into the office yard sparks flying from the leg guards scraping the ground in our usual maniacal way.
Needless to say he never took it any further in fact really he was a good sport and he looked after our bikes magnificently with his colleague. I found wealthy areas didn’t take much notice of telegram boys arriving and very rarely tipped, but in working class areas it was different as you rode slowly down the narrow streets looking for a number women would stand and watch sometimes making the sign of the cross as though you was the devil, and looking very apprehensive, wondering where you was going and why? and coming to the door after you have gone. I often wondered what they considered worse a telegram boy knocking the door or a policeman because in a working class area it was invariably bad news.
The only discipline case I ever got involved in was the loss of a telegram an extremely serious offence. I was entrusted amongst others with a urgent essential order worth a lot of money and the factory reported that it was never received losing a large contract to a rival. Rightly so the company wanted heads to roll and that included the Post Office.
I was hauled up in front of Mr Hewitt, Inspector of Messengers who wanted an explanation on how the telegram never arrived and the serious consequences of the loss. At worst my service could be terminated at best issued with a Major Irregularity which would go on record plus loss of 3 months increment and with overtime a loss of considerable money, also 3 irregularities meant automatic dismissal. I knew I’d never lost a telegram or ever delayed one I enjoyed my job to much and told him so, he believed me and advised me to look around the factory. By the way the factory stood on the ground Birmingham H.P.O. now stands on, a car lighting manufacturer in which the street is named after. Miller Street.
I was told not to go into the factory but I did, my honesty and job was on the line and I immediately recognised the girl behind reception and better still recognised me and straight away said you’ve come about that telegram, I’m sorry but I mislaid it and never thought anyone would get into trouble and she confessed to her boss. Weather she kept her job I don’t know because I never went again. By the way I never got any apologies from anyone it just blew over. But I was glad
Bookies were illegal then but we used to get many telegrams for them in secret addresses in ordinary looking houses, everybody knew they were there including the police. One comes to mind in Alma Street, Lozells and every time you took a telegram he would turn over a vase on the counter and give you what ever was in it from 6d to 5/- an awful lot of money to a lad then, and he would say do you want to put it on a horse. I always declined and he would say wise lad but your sort will put me out of business but he always passed over the money.
Dogs were not much of a problem not many people had them most couldn’t afford them only the better areas, I do remember an occasion delivering to a large house in the suburbs a great big Alsatian was sleeping on the lawn and I tiptoed past it while it watched me with baleful eyes, suddenly a little Scottie dog belted yelping out of the bushes nipping my ankles, I tried to kick it off when the Alsatian got up back heckling, teeth were muckers. Fortunately just then the mistress came out and shouted those immortal words ‘they won’t hurt you’ but I was hurt the thing had drawn blood and I told her and she said in a posh voice “oh don’t make a fuss” and in those days one didn’t , one didn’t make a fuss otherwise you was known as big boob. Still I had to go to Boots the chemist in the High Street, Erdington, to get it dressed. I’m not sure if they charged me but we treated Boots like our local surgery for all kinds of minor injuries including getting specks of dirt out of eyes.
Just think in this day and age I would have sued for £10 million and took the Post Office to court under Health & Safety for sending me to a dangerous place. How times have changed.
Another time a Victorian house in Handsworth I knocked on a door and all the stained glass fell out of the vestibule door surprising the occupant in the kitchen, who blamed her husband for not fixing it properly, all the same I never got a tip but at least it wasn’t pursued into a discipline case.
Sadly after 4 wonderful years my 18th birthday had arrived along with my call up papers and away I went into the army. Fortunately all ended well, all I did was exchanged my BSA Bantam for a flying “M” 500cc single pot 4 stroke and my motor cycling days continued as a out rider and escort and I thoroughly enjoyed my 2 years national service before returning to the Post Office as a postman driver and that’s another story.
To conclude I would like to mention how times have changed since the early fifties, I cannot remember ever going about my duties in fear of vandals or yobs even in the poorest of areas everybody treated me with respect and the job we did.
I remember back to back houses where several families shared one toilet and towards the middle fifties them being cleared and blocks of flats being built in there place which at the time seemed wonderful, now we know different. Also I can remember vasts amounts of countryside we rode through on short cuts like Yorks Wood, Chelmsley Wood, Golf Links, Castle Bromwich Airport where the spitfires were tested, all are now vast housing estates and still growing, where will it end?
These estates are now called Chelmsley Wood, Shard End, Castle Vale and Bromford the latter the former race course .The site of the British Industrial Fair now a factory Estate.
If I have bored you with this little bit of history of a tiny cog in the huge expanse of industry I apologise, however I hope someone will find it interesting and bring back long forgotten memories.
Thank you for reading it
Fred C .Oliver
Messenger 1953 to the end of 1956 Cap number 3304
Bike Photo's top left NETDC April 1955 Fred Oliver
top right Handsworth 1954 Fred Oliver
bottom left NETDC August 1956 F.Oliver left P.Garvey right
bottom right Tewkesbury road Handsworth September 1953 F.Oliver