97 International Stores

‘You’ve got a job. Be at the International Stores at five o’clock on Thursday. Mind you’re not late,’ said Dad.

What the job entailed he did not say. At thirteen I was old enough for a job and I liked the idea of earning some money, but I was nervous when Thursday came.

A tall man in an immaculate white shopkeeper’s apron greeted me with a smile and shook my hand. This was Mister Sullens, manager of the International Stores, Twydall Green. In the course of a chat at the rear of the shop, a familiar looking kid suddenly appeared through the back door. ‘This is Paul,’ said Mister Sullens, as the kid picked up a box of groceries. ‘We have two delivery bikes. Paul has one, you’ll have the other, but for now I want you to go out on the round with Mrs Stone our van driver.’

Customers paid a tanner to have their groceries delivered rather than lump everything home in their shopping bags. These groceries were packed into cardboard boxes, labelled, and carried through to back of the shop for despatch. When Mrs. Stone turned up I only had to help load the van and then hop in beside her. An hour later everything had been dropped off and we were back at the shop for closing time.

I did the same thing the following evening, Friday, and again on Saturday afternoon from two till six. At half a crown an hour, six hours work totted up to fifteen bob. I was chuffed and so was Dad when he told me to give half my earnings to Mam. ‘And make sure she gets it every week.’

Blast!

The key to me getting the job was revealed when Mrs Stone told me she knew my dad from the Rainham Mark Social Club, surprise surprise. I liked Mrs Stone but really, I wasn’t much use to her. It seemed she and Mister Sullens were easing me in gently and, perhaps, weighing me up before turning me loose on a bike.

The staff seemed friendly enough but I wasn’t too sure about Paul Prickett, the other delivery boy. Paul, a bespectacled, older kid who lived on Milsted Road, had been present on the day Robert Heath, a neighbour of his, jumped me on my way home from Twydall Juniors; in retaliation, presumably, for me getting the better of a mate of his in a previous altercation. Naturally, I was wary of Paul but if he remembered the incident at all, he didn’t say. As it turned out he was as good as gold.

Missing going to football on Saturday afternoons was a blow that couldn’t be helped. Another thing to endure was a medical. Since authorisation for the legal employment of a minor could only be granted once the aforementioned minor had been legally interfered with, I reported to the clinic at Balmoral Gardens. Sure enough, I dropped my pants for the lady doctor, stared at the wall, coughed on command, and survived the proceedings without disgracing myself.