www.albiestales.co.uk part two

The Santa Lucia Hotel at Thorpe St Andrew, Norwich, where Albie was introduced to his very first glass of sherry... and a second... and a third...

ROZ’S PARENTS HAD HEARD so much about Albie from their lovestruck daughter that they decided it was not before time for them to meet the lad for themselves, to put their stamp of approval on the friendship, or otherwise, as the case might be. So they made the decision to invite Albie for afternoon tea – and the sooner the better!

ONE DAY TOWARDS THE END of November 1959, Roz popped the question that Albie had long anticipated. “Mum and Dad wondered if you would like to come round for tea this Saturday?” she asked, as they sat on the grassy banks of the River Wensum, sketching Cow Tower. And, knowing Albie’s preference for good wholesome food, she joked: “There’ll be your favourite, beans on toast, if you like!”

“Sounds all right, I s’pose,” replied Albie, deciding to play it cool, not wanting to be rushed as their relationship was still in its early days. “But, you don’t think tha’s a bit soon, do ya? I mean, tha’s only bin three o’four weeks since we started gorn out together…”

“No, don’t be so silly, Albie,” she giggled, in her own inimitable, bubbly sort of way, “of course it isn’t too soon – besides, Mummy’s so-oo looking forward to meeting you!”

“As long as that en’t no trouble…” he declared, looking for any excuse to be let off the hook, “…’cos I don’t like a lotta fuss.”

“I’m sure it won’t be any trouble at all,” Roz replied, sarcastically correcting one of Albie’s many grammatical errors. “It’ll be so nice and after tea we can go for a walk and I can show you off to my friends!”

“But, I mustn’t be late for me train back home to Sheringham,” Albie declared.

“Oh, no,” Roz replied, putting her arms around him and giving a big hug, “Daddy has promised to drive you home in his car!”

That’s more like it, Albie thought, beans on toast for tea and being taken home in style – what would the neighbours think? He just couldn’t wait!

“Sat’dy, you say?” he said eagerly, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Sounds okay to me!”

HIS PARENTS’ WORST FEARS ARE JUSTIFIED

“Where are you goin’ now, Albie?” asked his mother, just after lunch on Saturday afternoon as the lad hurriedly threw on his duffle coat and made for the back door. “You’ve hardly hed time to let your dinner go down!”

“I’m goin’ out,” replied the lad, playing his cards close to his chest. “Just out… nowhere in partic’lar.”

“You hatta be gorn somewhere pretty important to be in such a rush,” continued his mother, “tha’s just as if you’ve got a train to catch.”

Albie, rather fed up by all her questioning, stopped as he opened the back door. “If you must know,” he replied, indignantly, “I have got a train to catch – to Norwich – an’, wha’s more I’m gorn out to tea!”

“Oh, so you are gallivantin’ about with some mawther,” declared his mother, a hint of disapproval in her voice, “tha’s just as your father an’ I feared!”

What on earth was it to do with them, Albie thought – after all he was eighteen.

“We’ve noticed a change in you lately, Albie,” his mother told him, “when you should be here, you’re allus somewhere else – flittin’ around in a world o’ yar own.”

Having heard enough, Albie nipped out the back door and up the garden path.

“No good’ll come o’ it – that’ll all end in tears,” his mother shouted after him. “Do you mark my words!”

ALBIE MEETS THE BARTONS

The train from Sheringham pulled into Norwich Thorpe Station dead on time and there, waiting on the platform, was Roz, as she had waited many times over the past weeks.

Even before the train had stopped, Albie had the carriage door open and, with one foot on the running board, prepared to leap out onto the platform.

“Hello, Albie,” said Roz, running quickly to meet him, “it’s so nice you’ve been able to come – we’ll have such a lovely time, you’ll see!”

Albie didn’t reply at first, as he remembered his mother’s parting words. Then, putting his arms around his girlfriend, he gave her the tiniest peck on the cheek.

“Surely you can do better than that,” she laughed, holding his hand as they walked towards the ticket barrier. “I can see there’s a lot I shall have to teach you!”

Outside the station they caught a Number 80 ’bus heading for Thorpe St Andrew.

“Two singles to Morse Avenue, please,” Roz asked the conductor, handing him their fare.

Upstairs, on the double-decker, they sat close together on the front seat for the journey along Thorpe Road as far as the traffic lights, where the ’bus took a left turn and, dropping down a gear, began the steep climb up Harvey Lane.

At the top of the hill, just past Pilling Park, the ’bus stopped near Morse Avenue and the two art students got off.

“It’s not far now,” said Roz, as they walked along a quiet little road, lined on either side with orderly rows of well-kept bungalows. “That one’s ours, look – it’s painted yellow and blue – can you see it?”

Up the driveway of the little bungalow stood a large, shiny, black Morris Oxford, in front of a wooden garage, which was also painted yellow and blue.

“Did your dad have some paint left over?” laughed Albie, as they walked up the path to the front door.

“Hello, Rose,” laughed her father, opening the door, “and who’s this young man then?”

“Don’t embarrass the girl, Robert,” scolded Roz’s mother, looking over her husband’s shoulder, “you know it’s Albie.” Then, taking the lad by the hand: “We’ve been hearing so much about you – it’s good to meet you at last!”

“It’s great to meet you as well, Mr and Mrs Barton,” replied Albie nervously, shaking them by the hand.

“Take Albie’s coat and go into the front room, Rose,” said her mother, “then we’ll all have a nice cup of tea.”

Albie took off his duffle coat and hung it on a brass hook in the hallway. “That’s all right, thank you,” he said, hanging up Roz’s coat as well, “I think I can manage.”

“What a lovely colour your shirt is, Albie!” exclaimed Mrs Barton in admiration, “don’t you think so, Robert?”

Her husband seemed slightly less impressed, but concluded that the boy was an art student and, as such, had to be afforded a certain lack of conservative taste!

“It’s ‘springtime lilac’ – the colour,” replied Albie, eager to impress, “an’ it comes from the Co-op!”

ROZ’S MUM PUTS ON A SPREAD

In the privacy of their kitchen, whilst preparing afternoon tea, the Bartons began discussing the merits of their daughter’s new boyfriend.

“Quite an improvement on the last one,” Mr Barton sighed with relief. “Shame about the shirt though!”

“Yes, dear, I have to agree,” replied his wife, filling the kettle with water, “but I do hope it won’t all end in tears…!”

Roz and Albie were sitting together on the settee in the front room when Mrs Barton entered.

“Tea is ready – in the dining room,” she announced. “If you’d like to come through.”

Roz led Albie by the hand into the dining room, with fine views of the well-stocked garden through the multi-paned windows of the French doors.

“Albie can sit next to me,” said Mrs Barton, patting him on the knee, “then you can tell me all about yourself, can’t you?”

Albie could hardly wait – but he was far more interested in having his tea, as his eyes took in the veritable feast laid out before him.

On one, large, Royal Worcester plate – no doubt the family’s Sunday best – were mountainous piles of bite-sized sandwiches – all with the crusts removed – whilst on another were sausage rolls, displayed in a fan shape, surrounded by little chunks of cheese and pineapple on sticks.

Nearby, on a very ornate cake-stand, Albie’s favourite cakes were all neatly laid on the three layers, with cream horns, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts and cauliflower cakes sitting on lacy-patterned paper doilies.

“Here you are, Albie,” said Mrs B, passing him a plate of sandwiches.“Do help yourself, won’t you? – there are cheese and tomato, or salmon, and some egg and cress – or perhaps you’d like to try one of my freshly-baked sausage rolls?”

“Roz told me we were having beans on toast,” he laughed, placing a napkin on his lap. “But, what a spread! I really don’t know quite where to start…”

“Try the salmon,” laughed Roz’s father. “Fresh caught by John West only this morning!”

Putting on his best behaviour, Albie tried not to drop any crumbs on the table, nor slurp his cup of tea, taking great care to hold his cup ‘just so’, with his little finger sticking out in a most refined way, just as Roz was doing!

After tea, he discreetly dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and placed it, neatly folded, on his tea plate.

“Thank you so much, Mrs Barton,” he said politely, “for a very nice tea. But, I really must be goin’ if I’m to catch my train home!”

“Oh, no, Albie,” replied Roz, taking him by the hand, “you can’t go yet, there’s still so much to see and do – besides, I told you Daddy would take you home in the car!”

“If tha’s not too much trouble, Mr Barton?” Albie asked her father.

“No, lad, no trouble at all,” Mr B replied, with a wave of his hand. “Now, you two go out and enjoy yourselves!”

“Come on then, Albie,” said Rose, handing him his duffle coat, “there are some people I’d like you to meet…”

ALBIE’S FIRST SWEET SHERRY

“Where are we goin’ then, Roz?” Albie asked as they stepped out into the darkness of that November evening, “and, who are we goin’ to see?”

“All in good time,” she laughed, “and if you’re good – and I do mean really good – I’ve got a little something for you!”

Whatever could it be? thought Albie, as they continued along the road, with only the flickering streetlights for company.

Turning towards a wooded area, predominantly evergreens, the road passed a magnificent, palatial-looking building with a large sign declaring it to be ‘Pine Banks’. Soon, the lane descended steeply – shrouded by overhanging branches from the dense pine trees – eventually to emerge onto the well-lit main road to Yarmouth.

“Here we are, Albie,” said Roz, as they crossed the road towards the Santa Lucia Hotel. “Our friends own this hotel and they’ve invited us round for a little drinkie, so that they can meet you!”

Mr Bryce-Jones, the hotel owner, welcomed them at the door and showed them into the cocktail bar.

“Any friend of Rose is a friend of mine,” he said, shaking Albie vigorously by the hand. “Call me ‘BJ’ – everyone does! What will you have to drink, young Albie? A sweet sherry, perhaps?”

“Actually – I don’t drink…” protested Albie, unsuccessfully, as a glass was quickly thrust into his hand.

“Nonsense, young-fellow-me-lad,” laughed the hotel owner, slapping Albie on the back, “this is some of our finest sherry – Crofts – and Rose’s favourite, y’know – you’re sure to love it!”

“Go on, Albie – try it for me will you?” said Roz, offering him some encouragement. “Just take a teeny weeny sip.”

Albie, breathing deeply, threw back his head and swallowed the glass of sherry as if it were some foul-tasting medicine, and, afterwards, had to agree it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d expected!

“Well, what do you think of my hotel then, Albie?” BJ asked the lad, “we have a river frontage and, if you’re interested, we also cater for wedding receptions!”

Albie was lost for words as everything seemed to be moving far too fast for his liking.

“Nice hotel, BJ,” he replied quickly, “but I’m not quite ready to settle down just yet...”

“Let me give you a top up,” said BJ, noticing Albie’s empty glass. “I would say you’ve acquired a taste for sherry, young fellow-me-lad!”

Two or three sweet sherries later, Albie was becoming ‘the life and soul of the party’, and so talkative, though making no sense whatsoever, that Roz decided they had outstayed their welcome and it was time to go.

Once outside, in the crisp November night air, Albie’s head began to spin as the strong intoxicating liquor began to make its presence known.

“D’ya know, Roz,” he said, stumbling in the darkness and tripping over his own feet, “that there sherry was hooly strong, but, I tell ya, I could get used to that, I could – given time!”

Walking back towards Pine Banks, they paused for a moment with arms around each other, under the canopy of quietly whispering pine trees, to stare up at the night sky with its diamond patchwork of tiny twinkling stars.

“And now,” said Roz, cuddling up close to him and breathing deeply in his ear, “it’s time for your little present!”

NEXT: But what was Albie’s little present? Find out in Albie’s first time ever!

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sculthorpe Spyplanes

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