At around 12 years old pocket money had to be earned and my parents thought it would be a good idea if I was to help in the Guest House and someone’s great idea was that perhaps I could help as a waiter in the dining room. Not only that, but why not dress me up in the little white waistcoat and add a white shirt and black bowtie! (I do have a picture of that, maybe post later!)
That futile exercise lasted precisely one day, I hated the uniform and more so hated serving people and after many tantrums and tears my parents relented and let me go my way in terms of earning pocket money. I had already sounded out the local paper shop and knew that were looking for delivery boys so took on a round. Getting up early was the potential problem but again Auntie came to the rescue, making sure I got up and having a cup of tea and bowl of cornflakes on the staff room table ready for me to go.
I soon discovered that I was able to deliver papers and magazines quicker than any of the others and when a new round came available I took that on as well, doubling my pocket money overnight. I developed a liking for money in my pocket and when the grocers delivery boy left I added an after school job to my portfolio and delivered groceries on probably one of the most dangerous bicycle designs known to man. Three crashes, one a little serious, but more damage to groceries, eggs in particular.
All the weight at the front, add groceries and a very dangerous machine!
So, I was making a little money but working hard for it then along came bingo. Our little town boasted two piers, one at each end of the beach you saw in the earlier pictures, the South Pier and the other pier. The South Pier occupied the north end of the beach so never quite able to get to grips with that, a great place for fishing though. Harbour one side, deep waters of the North Sea on the other.
The “bingo” pier.
The other pier was where bingo came in to play. One of the houses I delivered groceries to was the home of the people who leased the amusement arcade and I got to know the son. He worked on the bingo stall amongst other things and he told me that they were looking for a hard working trustworthy person to help operate the bingo which was always busy in those days. Being 15 did not seem to be a problem so with my parents agreement I was working most weekends and 3 early evenings a week on the bingo. My income tripled and of course the paper and grocery rounds were ditched, greener pastures. Basically all I had to do was collect the money and call out the numbers of the lucky winners to be checked. Peak hours we were probably getting through a game every 6-7 minutes, lucrative.
Time to leave the bingo bonanza coincided with my coming to a big decision with my time in secondary school and one of the elderly, probably early twenties, bingo callers arriving late one day and clutching his side. Apparently he had fallen out with his wife and she had stabbed him! Maybe I should be seeking something new.
That is when the advice of the English teacher came in to play.
