I wonder how many people remember their childhoods I mean really remember, I suppose it depends on whether it was a happy or miserable time? We all like to think we do. In writing about these memories of events, which took place over sixty-five years ago I’ve had to delve deep, into the recesses of my mind to conjure up (the mind has it’s own way of closing off the ‘Bad’ times) what to me were happy childhood days. Despite the fact six years of them were tainted by the Second Great War, ‘that was never supposed to happen again’, in recalling these memories I hope to take the reader through many happy and sometimes sad times and perhaps stir some thoughts, which will recapture some of their own childhood days, and much more!
When the bombs started dropping and the guns opened up and
the sky was lit up with searchlights and fires, started by Incendiary bombs,
people knew then it was for Real! My
father was an Air Raid Warden, complete with his A.R.P. helmet and Stirrup
pump. Having observed these pumps years
later, I couldn’t imagine them ever being of use in a fire. Among his duties
were to enforce the ‘Blackout’ and encourage people to go to the shelters built
in the backcourts. Which again on reflection,
would not have withstood a ‘direct hit’; also he had to operate a ‘Rattle’, in
the event of a Gas Attack. Some idiot did operate one, one night, followed by
shouts of “Follow, Follow, We will Follow Rangers” and not ‘Gas’ as everyone
was expecting. Talk about Gas Attack,
more like Heart Attack!
During the Clydebank raids we could see quite clearly the
flames from numerous fires, which lit up the sky, for miles. I remember well, going with my father on his
tram one Sunday to Clydebank, the scenes of devastation were awful, whole tenements
had disappeared. Miraculously (I
thought) one was left standing, but when I looked closer the whole Gable-End
had gone and it was like looking at a ‘Dolls House’, with the door open. You could se the rooms on all the floors
intact with all the furniture and fittings; on show nearby, standing on a
hill was a collection of houses, white painted Villa style. It was nicknamed ‘The Holy City’ and from a
distance, with the sun shining on the flat roofs, it could have been
Jerusalem. Now it was no more, it was
completely destroyed.
Most of our ‘equipment’ came from these lucky Middens, so
called because the Middens in question belonged to the ‘toffs’, who lived in
sandstone houses opposite the park in Alexandra Parade. They were all Dentists, Lawyers or
Accountants, all professional people.
To explain for those who don’t know what a Midden is, they were brick
built structures, which housed the bins, for the respective closes, and could
house up to about eight bins, with some storage space for larger items. Our Middens contained simple household
garbage, not these Middens! There you
could get bikes, prams, toys, old lamps (No genies I’m afraid), and an assortment
of stuff. Not in perfect condition, but
usable or convertible to ‘guides’ or ‘coal wagons’, I suppose you could say
this was forties car boot stuff.
If anyone had told me when I was a young boy being raised in
a Glasgow Housing Estate, or Intermediate Scheme as it was called in those far
off days of the thirties (I think Intermediate meant something between a ‘slum’
and a house with your own front and back door which my mother always aspired
to, but never made it), that I would be a Collector Salesman one day, I doubt I
would have taken the matter all that seriously. You see my mother didn’t take too kindly to people who ‘paid
things up’ and firmly believed in the old adage … ‘you paid for what you got or
you didn’t have it’.
Having posted my bond of £25.00 I found myself pounding the
beat in that part of the South Side of Glasgow affectionately known as the
‘Plantation’, probably called that because it was the South and the cotton
boats docked to unload. Well, that’s my
story anyway! It was true; it was the
heart of Glasgow Dockland. This was the
start of nearly two years selling penny policies and occasionally the ‘big
one’, only one of these in my case, but more of that later. In most cases the people I called on could
only afford a Life Policy. It seemed
strange to be selling an, ‘invisible product’, which would never benefit those
who bought it.
You could say I entered the ‘Credit Trade’ through the back
door (pun intended). I still had
limited selling experience and that was gained as an Insurance Agent, I had
even less experience of the world and its ways when it came to selling on
credit. I applied for a Collector
Salesman’s job with a large Credit Warehouse in Glasgow, what I didn’t know, so
had twenty more hopeful souls, but to my surprise I was accepted.
My journey (as it was called) included a few characters that
could tell story’s ‘That would charm the birds off trees’ as they say. One old dear could tell such tales of woe,
the tears would spring to your eyes listening to them. Being new to the business one is inclined to
take people at face value and believe what they say, that is until you find out
otherwise as I did in this ladies case.
By this time I was beginning to develop a rapport with the customers and
a lady who knew our ‘Fairy Story’ friend put me wise. She had told me all kinds of tales, her sister was ill, her
husband had fallen off scaffolding, and she had lost her purse, which was about
the only true story she had told, all reasons for not paying her debt. I decided on a plan of action, I called at
the newsagents on a Friday before I started work to buy a paper and cigs, and
noticed when I was in they sold little books of Fairy Stories, ‘I bought
one’. When the lady opened the door
with that look on her face that told you another sob story was on its way,
before she could begin, I presented her with the little book and told her to
read it carefully and tell me a real “Fairy Story” when I called the same time
next week, paying me what she owed. It
worked, she paid up and it turned out to be a very good account indeed. Why she felt the need to tell such tales I
do not know?
Children brought their special charm to the job. I loved calling on homes with children in
them, and was always a believer in getting to know them as well as the
parents. I found over the years they
could do you a lot of good, or sometimes a lot of harm. Most of the children on my ‘Journey’ were
well behaved, well balanced kids, but there were one or two ‘Monsters’. One of
whom I met early in my career, his mother went into the next room to get the
payment book, leaving us alone. He
asked my name, and being funny I said I didn’t have one, he insisted I must
have a name, keeping him going I insisted I didn’t. Taking my eye off him for a moment to check my ledger, he picked
up the sweeping brush and seeing me bent over the table intent on my ledger, he
brought it crashing down on my head, ‘Stars floated everywhere’, and tears
leapt to my eyes. This was apart from
the pain and the ‘Egg’ I was sure was beginning to grow on my head. Instinctively I smacked him across the ear,
he let out a howl and burst into tears.
I was never fired with any ambition to be an Actor…but
little did I know ‘that my journey’ into the realms of the Credit Trade would
provide me with an opportunity to discover any ‘hidden’ talent I had in that
direction. I have described how it was
necessary as a last resort, to ‘Arrest Wages’, but only if there was a place of
Employment known, or could be discovered by fair means or foul. Someone called a ‘Tracer’ usually did this,
but as this gentleman was nearly always fully occupied, we had no option but to
try and get the ‘info’ ourselves, thus I was about o discover if I had any
ability in the Acting Field. A
colleague and I decided to help each other ‘track down moonlighters’ and also
get employment details. I didn’t have
many moonlighters thank goodness, but they did exist (that is till they had
done a ‘moonlight’). Eddy and I decided
to ‘work’ each other’s areas for obvious reasons. The drill was to pick a likely line of enquiry and either contact
the subject direct or question the neighbours or local shopkeepers. After
picking our candidate we would ‘brief’ each other on a likely approach, from
there you were on your own.
Can you come back next week?” This has been a cry echoed
down the years in the Credit Trade, and one that gives you a sinking feeling in
the pit of your stomach when you hear it.
Your wages were entirely dependant on what was collected, and on what
you sold. Although you weren’t paid
commission on what you sold, you had to sell to keep the ‘round going’, and you
didn’t want to hear that phrase too often.
You knew every time you heard it your wages had taken another blow! Mind you, it was better to hear it than have
the door stay shut in your face, and you were left wondering whether it was
worthwhile to call back again or not.
You can imagine how ‘soul destroying’ it was to climb five flights of
stairs, two or three times and still find the door closed to you. However! As you will no doubt have guessed
by now, we had our own ways and means to get the door opened…bear in mind these
were ‘difficult or slow’ payers I’m talking about. The ‘regulars’ paid ‘on the nail’ and when they missed you knew
there was a genuine reason for it.
The job certainly had its moments of humour, sadness and at
times, a bit of high drama. One gets
used to his or her surroundings, especially when you call at the same places,
on the same day and time every week.
This particular Friday, was the same as any other Friday, or was
it? Everything was in its place, the
Milkman on his collecting round, the Coalman doing likewise (yes they still had
them in those days), the paperboy delivering his papers. People hurrying home
from work, children playing games in the street, people crowding into the
corner shop. But something was
different on this occasion, the jigsaw was complete, but there was a piece too
many!
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