Post by Matt James on Apr 16, 2009 16:43:09 GMT
I joined the G.P.O. as a telegram messenger boy in 1941 at the height of the Second World War My first office was the South West District office in Howick Place SW1, behind the Army Navy stores in Victoria Street and in the shadow of Westminster Cathedral.
From the outset it was impressed upon us that we must be smart and clean at all times. Boots, leather belt and pouch were cleaned and polished until they shone like glass and the brass buttons, buckle and hat badge were polished until you could see your face in them
On reporting for duty we were lined up and inspected by the postman supervision messenger (P.S.M) not only the uniform but your hands, nails and behind the ears. Hair had to be cut short back and sides.
Within a very short time I was transferred to Parliament Street Post Office which is at the bottom of Whitehall here, we were at the heart of Government Building and did in fact work on a rota system in the Houses of Commons Post Office. Unlike today there was just one Policeman on duty at the main gate and his only act was to salute the MP’S as they entered and left. The one outward sign of security was a machine gun post in Parliament Square facing up towards Whitehall. It was made to look like a W.H.Smith bookstall with books and magazines painted on the outside with the figure of a man behind the counter. What strikes me in hindsight, as remarkable, is the fact that we could walk in and out of all the major government offices without any hindrance whatsoever, this include Downing Street (no gates in those day) and even Buckingham Palace.
I remember on one occasion whilst working at the Commons I was told to go to no.10 and collect a package and take it to the War Cabinet rooms in a bunker under Great George Street, it turned out that the package was a pair of glasses for Winston Churchill , the bunker, deep under ground, where all the important decisions were made , was a series of rooms leading on from one another with doors 18 inches to 2 foot thick, these doors were secured by air locks and each one guarded by an armed soldier, to open them the lock had to be shut off and even then it took all the service mans strength to open them, at the very end was a room furnished as a bedroom and it was here the Mr Winston Churchill spent many nights, (and days too , when he had been up all night)
I also worked for a while in the post office inside Buckingham Palace where you often ran messages for various members of exiled European Royal Families in grace and favour apartments inside the Palace , the most notable of these were the king Haakon of Norway, Queen Juliana of Holland and King Constantine, who I think was a Greek.
King Haakon was a very tall man, well over six feet, at the time I was barely 4’8’ and had considerable difficulty understanding him.
At the age of sixteen I took the civil service exam and became a telegraphist at the central telegraph office (G.P.O) in King Edward Street, opposite St Pauls Cathedral.
It was here that I was to send many hundreds of telegrams containing the three stock phrases used by the War Office “We regret to inform you that (Rank Name Number) is missing in action ‘Missing belived Killed’ and the more certain one ‘Has been Killed in action’ it was not by any means all doom and gloom and many friendships were formed with operators in other parts of the country.
One memory that stands out at this time is when a bomb hit the nearby Smithfield Markets and all our windows were blown out. During the clearing up of over 50 broken windows there was nothing we could do but just carry on working.
The one station nobody wanted on Friday nights was Belfast that was when all the Irish workers in London sent money orders to their loved ones back home there were hundreds of them
Before I close I must go back to the beginning as a boy messenger, although the general public referred to us as telegram boys the official job title was boy messengers this was because we carried out other duties apart from delivering telegrams. Commercial companies and individuals could hire us to be of service to them, there request were many and varied ,the most common ones were delivering flowers from a florist taking packages and parcels from place to place and even shopping and dog walking for rich elderly ladies.
I remember quite clearly one occasion when I was sent to collect a book from a publisher and took it to George Bernard Shaw at his home in London (Whitehall Court) it was a dictionary of phonetic spellings which he was promoting as a more sensible way of dealing with our illogical language.
Lastly I must tell you of an incident that has stayed with me throughout my long life; it was when I was still at the S.W.D.O. I was first in line to be despatched when a member of the public wanted a parcel delivered to an address in Wandsworth, instead of sending me the PSM offered it to another lad who lived in Wandsworth so that he could go home, off duty, after delivering the parcel, he was a friend of mine name Ted Nettlefield (We joined the Putney sea cadets together) tragedy struck when the bus he was travelling on received a direct hit and he was killed.
My short career in the Post Office ended towards the end of 1943 when I volunteered for the Royal Navy and became a signalman / teleprinter operator, signalman at sea and when tied up to a communication buoy a teleprinter operator
So my training in the Post Office did not go to waste
I hope you find some of my experiences of interest
T.C.TURVEY
Now living in Penzance
From the outset it was impressed upon us that we must be smart and clean at all times. Boots, leather belt and pouch were cleaned and polished until they shone like glass and the brass buttons, buckle and hat badge were polished until you could see your face in them
On reporting for duty we were lined up and inspected by the postman supervision messenger (P.S.M) not only the uniform but your hands, nails and behind the ears. Hair had to be cut short back and sides.
Within a very short time I was transferred to Parliament Street Post Office which is at the bottom of Whitehall here, we were at the heart of Government Building and did in fact work on a rota system in the Houses of Commons Post Office. Unlike today there was just one Policeman on duty at the main gate and his only act was to salute the MP’S as they entered and left. The one outward sign of security was a machine gun post in Parliament Square facing up towards Whitehall. It was made to look like a W.H.Smith bookstall with books and magazines painted on the outside with the figure of a man behind the counter. What strikes me in hindsight, as remarkable, is the fact that we could walk in and out of all the major government offices without any hindrance whatsoever, this include Downing Street (no gates in those day) and even Buckingham Palace.
I remember on one occasion whilst working at the Commons I was told to go to no.10 and collect a package and take it to the War Cabinet rooms in a bunker under Great George Street, it turned out that the package was a pair of glasses for Winston Churchill , the bunker, deep under ground, where all the important decisions were made , was a series of rooms leading on from one another with doors 18 inches to 2 foot thick, these doors were secured by air locks and each one guarded by an armed soldier, to open them the lock had to be shut off and even then it took all the service mans strength to open them, at the very end was a room furnished as a bedroom and it was here the Mr Winston Churchill spent many nights, (and days too , when he had been up all night)
I also worked for a while in the post office inside Buckingham Palace where you often ran messages for various members of exiled European Royal Families in grace and favour apartments inside the Palace , the most notable of these were the king Haakon of Norway, Queen Juliana of Holland and King Constantine, who I think was a Greek.
King Haakon was a very tall man, well over six feet, at the time I was barely 4’8’ and had considerable difficulty understanding him.
At the age of sixteen I took the civil service exam and became a telegraphist at the central telegraph office (G.P.O) in King Edward Street, opposite St Pauls Cathedral.
It was here that I was to send many hundreds of telegrams containing the three stock phrases used by the War Office “We regret to inform you that (Rank Name Number) is missing in action ‘Missing belived Killed’ and the more certain one ‘Has been Killed in action’ it was not by any means all doom and gloom and many friendships were formed with operators in other parts of the country.
One memory that stands out at this time is when a bomb hit the nearby Smithfield Markets and all our windows were blown out. During the clearing up of over 50 broken windows there was nothing we could do but just carry on working.
The one station nobody wanted on Friday nights was Belfast that was when all the Irish workers in London sent money orders to their loved ones back home there were hundreds of them
Before I close I must go back to the beginning as a boy messenger, although the general public referred to us as telegram boys the official job title was boy messengers this was because we carried out other duties apart from delivering telegrams. Commercial companies and individuals could hire us to be of service to them, there request were many and varied ,the most common ones were delivering flowers from a florist taking packages and parcels from place to place and even shopping and dog walking for rich elderly ladies.
I remember quite clearly one occasion when I was sent to collect a book from a publisher and took it to George Bernard Shaw at his home in London (Whitehall Court) it was a dictionary of phonetic spellings which he was promoting as a more sensible way of dealing with our illogical language.
Lastly I must tell you of an incident that has stayed with me throughout my long life; it was when I was still at the S.W.D.O. I was first in line to be despatched when a member of the public wanted a parcel delivered to an address in Wandsworth, instead of sending me the PSM offered it to another lad who lived in Wandsworth so that he could go home, off duty, after delivering the parcel, he was a friend of mine name Ted Nettlefield (We joined the Putney sea cadets together) tragedy struck when the bus he was travelling on received a direct hit and he was killed.
My short career in the Post Office ended towards the end of 1943 when I volunteered for the Royal Navy and became a signalman / teleprinter operator, signalman at sea and when tied up to a communication buoy a teleprinter operator
So my training in the Post Office did not go to waste
I hope you find some of my experiences of interest
T.C.TURVEY
Now living in Penzance