I grew up in South East London during the sixties. Sadly, by 1970 I'd only managed to reach the age of 9, so I probably wasn't in a position to enjoy the delights of swinging London and the so-called newfound freedom. Fast-forward eight years, and I was now ready to set foot in the big wide world of employment and about to leave Charlton Secondary School for Boys, formerly a Grammar School with two parts about a mile apart; the lower (Now demolished) and the upper (Now a primary school under a new name) based in Charlton smack bang between Charlton Athletic football club and the Thames Barrier. However, the barrier was still being built by the time I left school. Actually, I'd left London by the time it was finished. Next to Charlton is Woolwich, which is an army town. As with any large conurbation, there are various factories dotted about, one of which was called Harveys that employed about six or seven hundred workers, where my mum worked. She must have worked for Harveys for a few years because I remember at least two Christmas parties. One where Ronnie Hilton came and sang A Windmill in Old Amsterdam and another time when Mary Hopkin came and sang "Those were the days". Back in the 60s' and early 70s' celebrities would do 'appearances' I'm not sure Dua Lipa would be prepared to go to a factory to sing for 600 wire weavers these days?
My school had a careers officer; I'm not sure if schools still have those? Anyway, it was mandatory to go and see him before you left:
Careers Officer: "So, have you decided what you want to do when you leave us?"
Me: "Not really sir."
Careers Officer: "Well, what about the army?"
Me: "No thanks, I'm not keen on getting shot for some reason?"
Careers Officer: "What about Harveys? A lot of boys from here are working there."
Me: "It's not really for me sir."
Fat lot of use this guy was, is that all he had to offer? Work in a factory or join the army? Is that what I spent the last five years preparing for?
Me: "Actually sir, I have a job. I'll be starting in two weeks."
Careers Officer: "Oh? Right, well, you could have said."
Me: "I was hoping you might have a better offer. I think I'll stick with my choice, all the same, thanks."
And so with that last helping hand from my educators, I was all set to become a messenger with at the time one of the most prodigious commodity brokers in the City of London.
I did have some experience of working in The City, my father, who was a freight forwarder and would often take me to work with him in the school holidays to earn some money, so I already knew about running around clutching Bills of Lading under my arm. I actually went through a recruitment company called Brooke Street who amazingly are still in business today!
The job entailed running around The City with a leather pouch delivering and collecting all sorts of transactions, everything from money orders to contracts, something that today we handle via email or simply electronic transfers but back then we had nothing like that, about the only technological advance was the Telex.
I can't remember any of the names of the people I worked with. I remember the head messenger smoked cigars, and one of the lads sellotaped them in the box he had on his desk one day. Ooh, he was not happy. 🤣
We each had our own 'run' mine was the Leadenhall (Leadenhall Market) run. I remember the Jap run, the name of which would be totally inappropriate these days as it referred to all the Japanese banks. I can't remember the other names now.
£30 a week and £5 Luncheon Vouchers!
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I was rich beyond my wildest dreams! At least for a 16-year-old who had spent his days collecting Tizer and Lemonade bottles to return so he could get 5p on each one, and with chips at 3p a bag, you could live quite nicely collecting empty bottles from houses if you didn't mind being told to naff off every now and then by homeowners looking to return the bottles themselves. I remember my first wage like it was yesterday. They gave you a cheque which you could take round to Chase Manhattan Bank, and they would cash it for you.
Cashier:"How can I help you?"
Me: "Can you cash this please? And I'd like it all in one-pound notes."
Cashier:"Are you sure?"
Me: "Yes please, it's my first wage. I've never had so much money!"
With a surprised look on her face, she counted out 30 one-pound notes. I quickly scooped them up and tried to stuff them in my wallet. No wonder she looked surprised. I could just about get them in, but the wallet wouldn't fold!
Cashier:"Would you like me to change that for you?"
Me: "Yes please." I sheepishly replied.
Life lesson one: They have bigger denomination notes for a reason.
"I'll give you 70p for your £1 luncheon voucher." one of the traders from upstairs said. This guy had a nice little racket going on. He was buying everyone's LV's left, right and centre. Rumour had it that there was a cafe that was buying them off him for 90p now that might not seem much to you but given a pint of beer was 40p, and a packet of fags was 57p, you can see it was a lucrative exercise. I think I only sold him one or two a couple of times. I preferred to spend mine in a cafe not too far away that did pie and mash with two slices of bread and a tea for I think 25p if I remember right?
About a year later, they asked me if I wanted to learn how to be a tea broker. They had an opening at a subsidiary named Pearse Lakeman & Co; it was a little bit more money and potentially the start of a career.
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What a strange place it was. The director was a typical 60's guy. He still wore a bowler hat and would get pissed every lunchtime and sleep it off all afternoon. Old Mr Lakeman must have been 147 when I started working there and never moved from his desk from 9 am till 5 pm when I went home! I liked him; if you got him on the subject of cricket, you could put your feet up all afternoon. My mentor was called Raymond; he was probably in his early to mid-twenties, but I got the feeling he wasn't happy with me joining given he'd been the main man for some time and now I'd come along, and he'd been forced to teach me his job.
Part of my duties was to go round the various Tea Brokers in the city, collecting samples of various teas to bring back to the office so that they could be tasted and graded before purchasing. This was where I learned that what went into a teabag was a blend of different teas from different plantations, possibly even different countries. Sometimes the storeroom was filled with wonderful fragrances from things like Jasmin and Dragon Pearl; one of the perks was I got to take a 1lb or 2lb of tea home, some of which was insanely expensive and yet my dad would often say tasted like carp. LOL. I also learned that the tea you get in those vending machines is definitely crap! In the trade it's known as Fannings or dust. This is type of tea is a bi-product of the leaf processing when the leaves are cut or torn depending on the process, it produces dust this dust is collected, they even collect the sweeping off the floor! And sold to companies to put into those tea & coffee machines you see in public buildings. I once by accident ignorance put my hand in a chest of the stuff. The orangy powder welded itself to my hand and wrist and took a week of scrubbing to remove.
One of the companies I used to collect samples from was a company called Gow White. I seemed to get on really well with everyone there when I visited so much, so they offered me a job.
My direct boss was a chap by the name of Richard Picton-Warlow what a great name! He should have been a Sir or Lord with a name like that. A very well-spoken and a very intelligent man. If truth be told, I was in over my head. I'd bullshitted my way in, and after a couple of months, and it was starting to show. One of the key skills required was knowing all the plantations and the various teas from said plantations. I had huge leather-bound ledgers that needed to be kept up to date with how many chests were in stock, where they were from, what grade blah blah blah. I struggled because it took me ages to get to the correct pages, so I started putting posted notes on the edge of pages. One day Picton-Warlow came in early and took my books. When I came in, I hadn't noticed they were gone, and he asked to see me.
Richard: "You don't know what you are doing, do you?"
Busted! I'd been found out. To be fair, he offered me three months to sort myself out and then he would review the situation, but I knew my luck had run out. A month later, I handed my notice in and moved back to my parents, who by now had moved to Buckinghamshire.
My actual name is Pete. Here is why I have the username dickturpin.
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