Post by Matt James on Apr 16, 2009 15:09:06 GMT
Boy Messenger David. G. Miller.Nottingham.T18.
I joined the Post Office as a Boy Messenger on the 4th Augusts 1942 at the princely wage of 12/6 per week and completed my messenger service on 28 April 1945 my wage having risen to a staggering 157- per week.
Because my father was a Head Postman and liable to be in charge of the Delivery Room regulations stated that I was not allowed to work in the same department, so I was sent to Woodthorpe Drive TSO. This TSO was about two miles from Head Office at the top of just about the highest point of the city. My delivery area was approximately one square mile and in every direction but one was down hill from the TSO, the other direction was the main road out into the country for two miles along a ridge.
I was the only messenger at the TSO so it was a lonely existence but it meant that I had little or no supervision, it also meant that as soon as I returned from a delivery I often had to go straight out again. Because almost every trip was down hill and then uphill it was very hard on the bike and brakes and crank axles often needed replacing, and I had to do all the maintenance.
Christmas day I had to report in to H.O. and I was handed about 50 greetings telegrams and told when I had delivered them I could go home, these were quite lucrative but hard going, as from H.O. to my area it was all uphill
The good side to the TSOs location was that it was in a grocers and confectioners with a bakehouse at the back, so there was always a place to get warm and dry, and the chance of a bun now and then. One memorable incident sticks in my mind was when the vandriver for the shop asked me if I would like to help him clean the van and then I could drive it into the garage about a hundred yards .He sat beside me and explained how to let the clutch out and at the same time accelerate but he didn't explain the finesse needed. So I let the clutch out and slammed my foot on the accelerator and we shot down the drive like a rocket, fortunately he had grabed the hand brake and we finished up parked in the garage but with a bent wing, he didn't invite me again..
David G.Miller T18
Nottingham
I joined the Post Office as a Boy Messenger on the 4th Augusts 1942 at the princely wage of 12/6 per week and completed my messenger service on 28 April 1945 my wage having risen to a staggering 157- per week.
Because my father was a Head Postman and liable to be in charge of the Delivery Room regulations stated that I was not allowed to work in the same department, so I was sent to Woodthorpe Drive TSO. This TSO was about two miles from Head Office at the top of just about the highest point of the city. My delivery area was approximately one square mile and in every direction but one was down hill from the TSO, the other direction was the main road out into the country for two miles along a ridge.
I was the only messenger at the TSO so it was a lonely existence but it meant that I had little or no supervision, it also meant that as soon as I returned from a delivery I often had to go straight out again. Because almost every trip was down hill and then uphill it was very hard on the bike and brakes and crank axles often needed replacing, and I had to do all the maintenance.
Christmas day I had to report in to H.O. and I was handed about 50 greetings telegrams and told when I had delivered them I could go home, these were quite lucrative but hard going, as from H.O. to my area it was all uphill
The good side to the TSOs location was that it was in a grocers and confectioners with a bakehouse at the back, so there was always a place to get warm and dry, and the chance of a bun now and then. One memorable incident sticks in my mind was when the vandriver for the shop asked me if I would like to help him clean the van and then I could drive it into the garage about a hundred yards .He sat beside me and explained how to let the clutch out and at the same time accelerate but he didn't explain the finesse needed. So I let the clutch out and slammed my foot on the accelerator and we shot down the drive like a rocket, fortunately he had grabed the hand brake and we finished up parked in the garage but with a bent wing, he didn't invite me again..
David G.Miller T18
Nottingham