Post by rogergreen on Mar 7, 2010 15:58:20 GMT
(Part Two)
There was also a canteen at Branch Office. It was small but very good. In later years, when I was a Policeman patrolling that area, I would often call in for a cup of their great tea and a slice of toast. What rogues we Bobbies were.
Both occupations had one thing in common. We all loved our ‘cuppa’. As a Messenger, if you missed your tea in the delivery room you could always nip in and get one somewhere. Wherever your ‘run’ took you, there was always a friend or relative somewhere in the neighbourhood, without having to go too far out of your way. Where I lived, in Barlow Street, I could call in to my home after re-fuelling at the garage. Also in Barlow Street was Ted’s house where his mother, Dolly and his auntie Cis would always have the kettle on. I wish I had a quid for every cup of tea Mrs Page gave me I would be a rich man. But I am a rich man anyway, for having known all these wonderful people
Nev Porter was one of the Senior Messengers when I joined and I admired him greatly. For some reason, which I never knew, Nev had an ex-army Dispatch Riders crash helmet instead of the normal issue bone dome. It was Khaki and made of heavy steel and was very distinctive. After Nev had gone into the R.A.F. I happened to be in the stores one day and I saw his old helmet on a shelf. I mentioned it to the store man, Sammy Simms, and he asked if it would be any good to me. I swapped my issue helmet for Nevs old one. I was proud as punch but the other lads were a bit peeved. They seemed to feel that this helmet was sacrosanct and no one else but Nev should be wearing it. When I next saw Neville I asked him and he said he didn’t mind at all.
I had a ‘run’ to Mackworth Estate one day and as my sister lived at the top end of Westbourne Park, I decided to call in for a quick cuppa. Some parts of the estate were still under construction and as I left I rode down past some building works. I was not going fast, fortunately, because a little boy, about four or five years old ran across the road in front of me. One thing all the Messengers were good at was stopping. I slammed the brakes on and avoided hitting the child, but I went straight over the handlebars and landed, head first, between the angle of the pavement and a brick wall. The child’s mother came running up in a state of panic. She seemed mainly concerned about me and I was only concerned about her son. He was frightened but unharmed. I seemed to have pulled a muscle in my leg but was otherwise O.K., that is, until I saw my bike, K.G.O. 15 The leg guard was very badly bent and I knew I would have to report the accident to the garage staff. I was not to blame in any way but Bill and Ted did not take kindly to a bent Bantam. No excuses were accepted.
The really sad part of this incident is that Nevs crash helmet was ruined. I always blamed it on Nev wearing Brylcreem or something similar because the entire interior strapping of the helmet had given way and when I rode back to the garage the helmet rim was almost resting on my shoulders. I had to return it to stores and get my old skidlid back. My glory had been short lived.
The Inspector made me take the rest of the day off because I was limping a bit and there was no bike for me to ride anyway. I went back on duty next day though and Bill and Ted in the garage had played a blinder and got ‘15’ roadworthy again.
Incidentally, Nev married a lovely girl named Joan who was introduced to him by Pam Plant at the Post Office Youth Club one night. I think it was a rare case of love at first sight on both sides.
Ray Argent was known, fondly, as ‘Rudolph’ because when it was cold his nose glowed red. He could make a Bantam ‘sit up and beg’ and was one of the quickest Messengers on the job. He was engaged to a girl named Mavis so we didn’t see a lot of him socially.
Some of the lads thought it was time I had a girl friend and decided to do something about it, without telling me of course. Mavis was having a birthday party and, through Ray, invited me. Doug Shearer and some of the other lads were going and I was really pleased to have been asked. The party was good fun and I was introduced to one of Mavis’s workmates, who was known as ‘Paddy’. Mavis and Paddy were both Nursery Nurses at a Day Nursery at Allenton. I ended up walking Paddy home, she lived just off Slack Lane. We made a date and started going out together. I realized that the lads and Mavis had set it all up but Paddy was a smasher and I was delighted. Like me, she worked shifts, which made it a bit awkward, but we managed. She didn’t like dancing but loved the cinema and we went two or three times a week. This was a drain on my resources but Paddy ‘chipped in’ occasionally which helped out. One night during winter, it was freezing cold, I was short of cash as usual and Paddy suggested that we go for a walk. We walked along Ashbourne Road to Mackworth Estate and sat together on a stack of house bricks on a building site. What could be more romantic? Needless to say our relationship did not last very long but it was good fun while it did last and I remember Paddy with affection.
A few weeks later Mavis and Ray split up too and we saw a bit more of ‘Rudolph’ until, a few months later, he too was called to do his National Service, in the Army. He was posted to Fayed in Egypt and so he got occasional home leave. Ray lived in Crompton Street and his dad was a G.P.O.Engineer. The last time I saw him he was working in the Ambulance Service. That was many years ago.
Quite a few of the Messengers, including myself, never returned to the Post Office after National Service. I think the main reason for this is that in the forces you were often re-trained for another type of work altogether and you didn’t always get a choice. Also there was a degree of restlessness after being in the ‘mob’ whether it was Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines. Some of us had been overseas and felt that we wanted to branch out a bit and try something different. I joined the Police Service and I don’t regret it, but if I could have gone back as a Messenger there would have been no contest. I loved that cold, dirty, uncomfortable job. But then I wouldn’t have had the same mates, not that there was anything wrong with the following generations of Messengers but the disparity of age did make a difference.
In the Early Spring of 1953 I was riding along London Road near St Andrews Church when I saw a couple of my old schoolmates, Mick Trotman who lived in Oxford Street and Norman, (Nobby) Key, who lived in High Street. Both were apprentice toolmakers at the Coronet Tool Company on Alfreton Road. Nobby’s dad, Reg, was in charge of one of the test beds at Rolls Royce and Mick’s dad, Jack Trotman, was an engine driver.The area where we lived was ‘Railway country’, that is to say a lot of the folks in the neighbourhood worked in one branch or another of the railway. To be an engine driver was about the top job for a working class chap and Jack Trotman was held in high esteem. I stopped to pass the time of day with the lads and they talked me into going dancing with them, on the coming Saturday, to the Plaza Ballroom on London Road. This was the start of a new phase in my life. Quite a few of my old pals went to the Plaza, Mick Radford, Roy Clifford known as ‘Click’ and one or two more. I looked forward to seeing them again. Compared to Bosworths the Plaza was a really posh dancehall with a small but very good resident band under the leadership of Jimmy Monk a well-known Derby figure. It was, however, considerably more expensive.
The owner of the Plaza, the celebrated Sammy Ramsden, had been out of town for some weeks, either on business or on an extended holiday, and the dancehall was being managed by Sol Lux, a real gentleman, who owned a Gents Outfitters shop at Allenton. Sol was very poplar, particularly with the younger patrons of the Plaza as he permitted a modern style of dancing known as ‘bop’, which was an abbreviation of the Americanism, ‘bebop’. This dance was loosely based on American ‘jive’ but I always felt that it was a very British version. The ‘Bop’ era didn’t last very long and was eventually replaced by Rock and Roll and the Teddy boy era but by this time I was overseas in the forces I’m not sorry to say. I have nothing against the ‘Teds’ but every youngster reveres his own era best.
Jimmy Monk’s band was ideal for out style of dancing. There were only about six or seven players in the band but they managed to play some very good arrangements of some of the big band standards of the day. Jimmy played alto saxophone and Jim Lyons played tenor. I also recall the drummer whose name was Dennis. One of the popular arrangements was Billy May’s ‘Fat Man Boogie’. Jimmy always had a wry smile when he played it, as he was rather portly himself.
I remember some of the girls we used to dance with, Pat McCartney, Sheila Day and Joan Acres were all great boppers. Joan worked in the office at Joseph Mason’s Paint Works on Nottingham Road. We often had telegrams for Mason’s and you would have to ride across their yard to a small hatch in the office window, where someone would accept the telegram. If Joan saw me at the window she would come to the door and we would have a quick smoke and a chat. The way you evaluated a pal in those days was someone who would share his last couple of ‘fags’ with you. Joan was always a good pal.
.
Most of my Post Office pals were a bit older than me and I was losing them fast. National Service had claimed most of them and it was fast approaching for me. Doug Shearer, Arnie Dixon, Nev Porter and quite a few others were in the R.A.F. Pete Sessions was in the Royal Navy. ‘Rudolph’ Argent was in the Army and Ted Page was due to go any time. Some of my mates tried to avoid call up, mostly without success. I found a foolproof way to avoid National Service. I joined the Royal Air Force for three years. I was just seventeen and a half years old, the minimum age for signing on so I could have had another six months of Civvy Street.
I was given three choices for trade training in the R.A.F. My first choice was M.T. Driver, second, M.T. Mechanic, third Postal Clerk. I was mustered in as a Teleprinter Operator.
After basic and trade training I was posted to Ceylon, now called Sri Lanka. I was there for two and a half years and there was no home leave so by the time I got back to ‘Blighty’ things had changed a lot. I did not know any of the current Messengers. I still had a few pals at the Post Office but somehow it wasn’t the same.
On the advice of ‘our kid’ I joined Derby Borough Police and my connections with the Post Office were permanently severed.
I would not have missed my spell as a Messenger for anything and even today, whenever I walk along St James Street I imagine a row of Bantams parked outside the entrance to the old delivery room and envisage a group of laughing messengers standing on the steps. I’m afraid they are just ghosts of a happy, happy past.
Sid Pheasant
There was also a canteen at Branch Office. It was small but very good. In later years, when I was a Policeman patrolling that area, I would often call in for a cup of their great tea and a slice of toast. What rogues we Bobbies were.
Both occupations had one thing in common. We all loved our ‘cuppa’. As a Messenger, if you missed your tea in the delivery room you could always nip in and get one somewhere. Wherever your ‘run’ took you, there was always a friend or relative somewhere in the neighbourhood, without having to go too far out of your way. Where I lived, in Barlow Street, I could call in to my home after re-fuelling at the garage. Also in Barlow Street was Ted’s house where his mother, Dolly and his auntie Cis would always have the kettle on. I wish I had a quid for every cup of tea Mrs Page gave me I would be a rich man. But I am a rich man anyway, for having known all these wonderful people
Nev Porter was one of the Senior Messengers when I joined and I admired him greatly. For some reason, which I never knew, Nev had an ex-army Dispatch Riders crash helmet instead of the normal issue bone dome. It was Khaki and made of heavy steel and was very distinctive. After Nev had gone into the R.A.F. I happened to be in the stores one day and I saw his old helmet on a shelf. I mentioned it to the store man, Sammy Simms, and he asked if it would be any good to me. I swapped my issue helmet for Nevs old one. I was proud as punch but the other lads were a bit peeved. They seemed to feel that this helmet was sacrosanct and no one else but Nev should be wearing it. When I next saw Neville I asked him and he said he didn’t mind at all.
I had a ‘run’ to Mackworth Estate one day and as my sister lived at the top end of Westbourne Park, I decided to call in for a quick cuppa. Some parts of the estate were still under construction and as I left I rode down past some building works. I was not going fast, fortunately, because a little boy, about four or five years old ran across the road in front of me. One thing all the Messengers were good at was stopping. I slammed the brakes on and avoided hitting the child, but I went straight over the handlebars and landed, head first, between the angle of the pavement and a brick wall. The child’s mother came running up in a state of panic. She seemed mainly concerned about me and I was only concerned about her son. He was frightened but unharmed. I seemed to have pulled a muscle in my leg but was otherwise O.K., that is, until I saw my bike, K.G.O. 15 The leg guard was very badly bent and I knew I would have to report the accident to the garage staff. I was not to blame in any way but Bill and Ted did not take kindly to a bent Bantam. No excuses were accepted.
The really sad part of this incident is that Nevs crash helmet was ruined. I always blamed it on Nev wearing Brylcreem or something similar because the entire interior strapping of the helmet had given way and when I rode back to the garage the helmet rim was almost resting on my shoulders. I had to return it to stores and get my old skidlid back. My glory had been short lived.
The Inspector made me take the rest of the day off because I was limping a bit and there was no bike for me to ride anyway. I went back on duty next day though and Bill and Ted in the garage had played a blinder and got ‘15’ roadworthy again.
Incidentally, Nev married a lovely girl named Joan who was introduced to him by Pam Plant at the Post Office Youth Club one night. I think it was a rare case of love at first sight on both sides.
Ray Argent was known, fondly, as ‘Rudolph’ because when it was cold his nose glowed red. He could make a Bantam ‘sit up and beg’ and was one of the quickest Messengers on the job. He was engaged to a girl named Mavis so we didn’t see a lot of him socially.
Some of the lads thought it was time I had a girl friend and decided to do something about it, without telling me of course. Mavis was having a birthday party and, through Ray, invited me. Doug Shearer and some of the other lads were going and I was really pleased to have been asked. The party was good fun and I was introduced to one of Mavis’s workmates, who was known as ‘Paddy’. Mavis and Paddy were both Nursery Nurses at a Day Nursery at Allenton. I ended up walking Paddy home, she lived just off Slack Lane. We made a date and started going out together. I realized that the lads and Mavis had set it all up but Paddy was a smasher and I was delighted. Like me, she worked shifts, which made it a bit awkward, but we managed. She didn’t like dancing but loved the cinema and we went two or three times a week. This was a drain on my resources but Paddy ‘chipped in’ occasionally which helped out. One night during winter, it was freezing cold, I was short of cash as usual and Paddy suggested that we go for a walk. We walked along Ashbourne Road to Mackworth Estate and sat together on a stack of house bricks on a building site. What could be more romantic? Needless to say our relationship did not last very long but it was good fun while it did last and I remember Paddy with affection.
A few weeks later Mavis and Ray split up too and we saw a bit more of ‘Rudolph’ until, a few months later, he too was called to do his National Service, in the Army. He was posted to Fayed in Egypt and so he got occasional home leave. Ray lived in Crompton Street and his dad was a G.P.O.Engineer. The last time I saw him he was working in the Ambulance Service. That was many years ago.
Quite a few of the Messengers, including myself, never returned to the Post Office after National Service. I think the main reason for this is that in the forces you were often re-trained for another type of work altogether and you didn’t always get a choice. Also there was a degree of restlessness after being in the ‘mob’ whether it was Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines. Some of us had been overseas and felt that we wanted to branch out a bit and try something different. I joined the Police Service and I don’t regret it, but if I could have gone back as a Messenger there would have been no contest. I loved that cold, dirty, uncomfortable job. But then I wouldn’t have had the same mates, not that there was anything wrong with the following generations of Messengers but the disparity of age did make a difference.
In the Early Spring of 1953 I was riding along London Road near St Andrews Church when I saw a couple of my old schoolmates, Mick Trotman who lived in Oxford Street and Norman, (Nobby) Key, who lived in High Street. Both were apprentice toolmakers at the Coronet Tool Company on Alfreton Road. Nobby’s dad, Reg, was in charge of one of the test beds at Rolls Royce and Mick’s dad, Jack Trotman, was an engine driver.The area where we lived was ‘Railway country’, that is to say a lot of the folks in the neighbourhood worked in one branch or another of the railway. To be an engine driver was about the top job for a working class chap and Jack Trotman was held in high esteem. I stopped to pass the time of day with the lads and they talked me into going dancing with them, on the coming Saturday, to the Plaza Ballroom on London Road. This was the start of a new phase in my life. Quite a few of my old pals went to the Plaza, Mick Radford, Roy Clifford known as ‘Click’ and one or two more. I looked forward to seeing them again. Compared to Bosworths the Plaza was a really posh dancehall with a small but very good resident band under the leadership of Jimmy Monk a well-known Derby figure. It was, however, considerably more expensive.
The owner of the Plaza, the celebrated Sammy Ramsden, had been out of town for some weeks, either on business or on an extended holiday, and the dancehall was being managed by Sol Lux, a real gentleman, who owned a Gents Outfitters shop at Allenton. Sol was very poplar, particularly with the younger patrons of the Plaza as he permitted a modern style of dancing known as ‘bop’, which was an abbreviation of the Americanism, ‘bebop’. This dance was loosely based on American ‘jive’ but I always felt that it was a very British version. The ‘Bop’ era didn’t last very long and was eventually replaced by Rock and Roll and the Teddy boy era but by this time I was overseas in the forces I’m not sorry to say. I have nothing against the ‘Teds’ but every youngster reveres his own era best.
Jimmy Monk’s band was ideal for out style of dancing. There were only about six or seven players in the band but they managed to play some very good arrangements of some of the big band standards of the day. Jimmy played alto saxophone and Jim Lyons played tenor. I also recall the drummer whose name was Dennis. One of the popular arrangements was Billy May’s ‘Fat Man Boogie’. Jimmy always had a wry smile when he played it, as he was rather portly himself.
I remember some of the girls we used to dance with, Pat McCartney, Sheila Day and Joan Acres were all great boppers. Joan worked in the office at Joseph Mason’s Paint Works on Nottingham Road. We often had telegrams for Mason’s and you would have to ride across their yard to a small hatch in the office window, where someone would accept the telegram. If Joan saw me at the window she would come to the door and we would have a quick smoke and a chat. The way you evaluated a pal in those days was someone who would share his last couple of ‘fags’ with you. Joan was always a good pal.
.
Most of my Post Office pals were a bit older than me and I was losing them fast. National Service had claimed most of them and it was fast approaching for me. Doug Shearer, Arnie Dixon, Nev Porter and quite a few others were in the R.A.F. Pete Sessions was in the Royal Navy. ‘Rudolph’ Argent was in the Army and Ted Page was due to go any time. Some of my mates tried to avoid call up, mostly without success. I found a foolproof way to avoid National Service. I joined the Royal Air Force for three years. I was just seventeen and a half years old, the minimum age for signing on so I could have had another six months of Civvy Street.
I was given three choices for trade training in the R.A.F. My first choice was M.T. Driver, second, M.T. Mechanic, third Postal Clerk. I was mustered in as a Teleprinter Operator.
After basic and trade training I was posted to Ceylon, now called Sri Lanka. I was there for two and a half years and there was no home leave so by the time I got back to ‘Blighty’ things had changed a lot. I did not know any of the current Messengers. I still had a few pals at the Post Office but somehow it wasn’t the same.
On the advice of ‘our kid’ I joined Derby Borough Police and my connections with the Post Office were permanently severed.
I would not have missed my spell as a Messenger for anything and even today, whenever I walk along St James Street I imagine a row of Bantams parked outside the entrance to the old delivery room and envisage a group of laughing messengers standing on the steps. I’m afraid they are just ghosts of a happy, happy past.
Sid Pheasant