“Last Tuesday wuz a special birthday for me,” said Albie, “my birthday – my twetty-first – and all the flags were flyin’!”

www.albiestales.co.uk part three

HRISTMAS 1961 WAS A SAD TIME for Albie and his parents, following the passing of Nanny Edie, and the festive season would never be quite the same again. The New Year looked most promising for Albie, a fully-established graphic designer with Jarrold & Sons, Norwich, and he was looking forward to the challenging months that lay ahead. Already, Mr Oliver, the Design department manager, had told him he would be working on a series of children’s annuals in the coming months. These included many of Albie’s old favourites of course, Superman, Gunsmoke, and the Lone Ranger, amongst others, and this pleased him greatly. However, he was eagerly looking forward to his birthday early in February, as it was to be a special one for him, his twenty-first, and if his father kept his promise Albie would be permitted to buy his very first motorcycle!

TUESDAY THE SIXTH OF FEBRUARY 1962 was an extra special day for Albie. He would have liked to have spent it quietly at home, having a lengthy lay-in, followed by a suitably-lazy day doing nothing much at all but eating, drinking – nothing stronger than Coca-Cola, having progressed from Vimto by now – and watching television from noon to night! But, alas, it was not to be, as he still had to work for a living!

“So, tha’s your birthday today then, Albie?” said Felix, joining the early morning train at Gunton station and sitting down beside him. “I hear it’s a special one, an’orl?”

“How did you find out about that?” replied Albie, rather surprised the news of his ‘coming of age’ had got out, as he had hoped to have kept it secret – bearing in mind the number of cream cakes he would now have to buy!

“Oh, Tony Mullins found out from someone in Personnel,” Felix replied with a laugh, “the entire Works should know by now, I shouldn’t wonder!”

“Tony Mullins!” sighed Albie, “I should hev known!”

Although a friend of theirs, Tony always had a knack for ‘being in the know’ as well as a reputation – quite deservedly it seems – for being somewhat of a ‘ladies man’!

By now, their train had stopped at Wroxham station and, after a pause of a couple of minutes to allow passengers to embark, continued on its journey towards Norwich. The ticket collector was doing the rounds, going from compartment to compartment, making sure everyone had paid! A little man – who everyone called ‘Frenchy’, undoubtedly due to him sporting a very Gallic, razor-sharp moustache – he paused for a moment to speak to the Guard before opening the sliding door to Albie and Felix’s compartment.

“Tickets please!” shouted Frenchy, holding out his hand and carefully scrutinizing the tickets. “Come on, lad, let’s be havin’ you!” Albie swiftly obliged by flashing his season ticket at him.

One young lady, rummaging through her handbag, discovered to her dismay she’d forgotten her season ticket.

“Oh, dear,” she cried, with a look of feminine innocence on her face, “I seem to have left my ticket at home...”

“Very well,” declared Frenchy, getting out a small notebook, “I’ll have to take down your particulars then!”

This remark caused Albie to grin at the young lady, which did nothing but embarrass her further, and she turned a fluorescent shade of pink!

Suddenly, the train Guard – who just happened to be the friendly Yorkshireman with the carnation buttonhole – popped his head around the door. “Happy Birthday, Albie,” he said, “I suppose you’ll be having a jar or two tonight?”

“It seems half the blessèd Sheringham to Norwich line know about my birthday,” complained Albie, “how did you find out?”

His friend, the Guard, said nothing, just tapped his nose and closed the sliding door behind him. Felix, in the meanwhile, thought it more prudent to catch up on another few minutes of sleep, after all, he was never one to repeat gossip – but what else could he do with it?

When the train from Sheringham arrived at Thorpe station, the Union flag was flying fluttering proudly in the breeze from a flagpole above the booking hall.

“Word must’ve got around,” Felix laughed, pointed at the flag at the top of the flagstaff, however Albie was unimpressed.

When they arrived at Jarrolds Printing Works in Cowgate, they too had a flag flying from the top of St James’ Yarn Mill. It was with a very heavy heart that Albie entered the building, thinking of all the cakes he’d have to buy now that all of Jarrolds knew it was his birthday!

At lunchtime, when he went to Mathes in Bridewell Alley to buy a dozen jam doughnuts, eight chocolate éclairs, three cream splits, and a Chelsea bun for himself, Albie noticed they even had a flag flying on City Hall!

Was it really for his birthday, or for some other more auspicious occasion, he wondered?

ALBIE GOES ON AN ERRAND

During the afternoon tea break, Albie went round the Design department handing out cakes to everyone, all except Felix that is as he would never eat anything ‘shop bought’ as you could never tell ‘where it had come from’, or at least so he said!

“Thank you, Albie, but – no, thanks,” he replied to the lad’s offer offer of a cream cake, as the strains of ‘twenty-one today’ reached its peak amongst the designers, artists and other members of the office staff ‘in-the-know’!

“But, perhaps you might like one of my wife’s homemade iced currant buns?” Felix continued, taking one from the depths of his briefcase and dusting it down. Politely, Albie refused, as you could never tell ‘where it had been’, or so he thought!

Soon, the hubbub died down as everyone began scoffing Albie’s cakes, the purchase of which had left a very deep hole in his pocket until next pay day, leaving the lad to enjoy his Chelsea bun in peace, or so he thought.

“Albie,” called out Mike, the senior designer, from his desk further down the room, “when you’ve finished that, I’ve a little job for you!”

Brushing the crumbs from his jumper into the wastepaper basket, Albie got up and went to see what Mike wanted him to do. “Wha’s that, then, Mike?” he asked, “can I help you with suffin’?”

“That jam doughnut of yours was rather greasy,” Mike replied, clutching his stomach with both hands, “an’ that lay a bit heavy, so, if you don’t mind, can you nip out to Augoods and get a quarter o’ mint Imperials?”

This was nothing new for Albie, as he often called into the little sweetshop-cum-tobacconists at the far end of Cowgate to buy some Allsorts or Bluebird toffees in his lunchbreak – but never during work time!

“But, what shall I say to the Gatekeeper, Mike?” he asked, knowing full well the man-on-the-gate would ask whether he was going out on ‘Company Business or not! “He’ll hatta hev suffin to write down in his book, ’on’t he?”

“No – no-oo!” replied the head designer, beckoning Albie to move closer. “Go the back way,” he whispered in the lad’s ear, “you know – down the stairs, through the Bindery, and out the back door... and... better come back the same way.”

“And – before you go,” he continued, handing Albie a clipboard and pencil, “take this – that’ll make it look ‘official’ – get you anywhere, that will!”

So, with growing reluctance at what lay ahead, Albie left the General Office and headed for the Bindery, where he could be sure of a very warm welcome from all the girls!

WHERE ARE THESE BINDERY BELLES NOW? Caroline Richardson, who worked in the Examining, Jacketing and Packing section of the Bindery, who likes dancing, roller-skating, and going to the cinema at least twice a week, yet still finds time to make her own clothes! She also likes listening to Adam Faith records! Also in Examining, Jacketing and Packing, Joy Everett shares with Caroline a liking for dancing, roller-skating and the pictures, with John Saxon her favourite film star, with Paul Anka her favourite singer. In the Bindery, Joy and Caroline are best known as the ‘Bobbsey Twins’! Jennifer Lee, works in the Miscellaneous section of the Bindery packing limp books and has worked for Jarrolds for just over three years. Jennifer is a regular churchgoer, and also belongs to the Girls’ Life Brigade. She enjoys singing, swimming, and often goes cycling at weekends. Pamela Howard, started work at Easter 1961 in the Folding section of the Bindery, having joined Jarrolds straight from school. Like most teenagers, she likes going to the cinema and dancing, especially jiving, and is a great admirer of Elvis Presley! IF YOU THINK YOU KNOW – PLEASE EMAIL ME!

THE BINDERY ‘BELLES’

Plucking up courage, Albie quietly opened a door and stepped into the Bindery, hoping to go unnoticed as he began making his way, initially under cover of large stacks of completed books awaiting packing and despatch, towards the Folding department.

Already, his senses were reeling under the cacophony of noise, which he found almost overpowering: the sounds of mechanical clattering coming from the long lines of folding machines, the softer, sharper sounds of needles being forced through paper on the stitching machines, but above all this was the sound of happy voices, shouting, laughing, singing in time to the metallic music echoing from overhead loudspeakers.

By now his cover was gone and, stepping out into the open, he could see the long lines of girls on the folding and stitching machines working away like some vast army of automatons.

“Tha’s that boy frum the orfiss,” one girl whispered to her work mate, looking up from her stitching machine. “I saw ’im in Mathes arter dinner – buying cearkes, he wuz, a hool lot on ’em an’orl!”

“I reckun that hatta be his birthday – dorn’t you?” laughed another girl’, further down the stitching line, “they do that in the orfiss, or so I’ve heard tell!”

“Yoo-hoo!” they all shouted, as work on the stitchers ground to a halt, then, waving to the young man: “come on over here – ’corse we watta wish you a Happy Birthday!”

Then, above all the noise of the machinery, they began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

“Do we orl git a birthday kiss?” one of the girls asked, pouting her over-glossed lips at him in a most provocative way. “Or suffin betta behind the bike shed?”

“Come along, girls,” scolded Winnie Wilson, one of the Bindery supervisors, “let the poor lad be!”

Then, turning to Albie and giving him a wink: “Happy Birthday, my little ray of sunshine,” she said, having a soft spot for the lad she always called the ‘Rowntrees Boy’!

Red faced, Albie began quickening his pace past the long line of girls, almost breaking into a trot, with the strains of ‘Happy Birthday’ and all the cat calls echoed in his ears. Eventually, reaching the safety of the back door, he opened it with trembling hands and fled outside to the sanctuary of Priory Yard.

ALBIE ‘SCOOTS’ BACK TO WORK!

Augood’s shop – selling sweets, newspapers and cigarettes – was the last in an unbroken line of old shops and terraced houses almost in the shadow of St James’ church at the far end of Cowgate, almost at the crossroads with St James’ Street.

Cowgate, later to be known as Whitefriars, was narrow, paved with granite setts – slippery at the best of times and treacherous in the wet – and framed on both sides by tumbledown houses and several derelict pubs. In fact, in the space of 200 yards, there had been eight public houses, all vying for trade amongst the thirsty yarn mill and weaving shed workers in the old days – but, with those times now long gone, all had closed, with the nearest hostelry the White Lion on Palace Plain.

A little bell rang its flat, monotonous tone, as Albie entered Augood’s shop, continuing its brassy tinkle for a half minute or so after he had closed the door.

The shop had seen far better times, that much Albie could tell from the general appearance of the place – from the well-worn creaking floorboards, unswept and littered with discarded cigarette ends and sweet wrappers, to the flaking distemper and cracked plaster on the ceiling, fallen away in parts revealing the underlying thin wooden laths attempting to hold it all together.

The man behind the counter, with its untidy clutter of newspapers and magazines, was reading The Eastern Daily Press, seemingly oblivious to a customer in his shop. By his unkempt appearance he looked tired of life, fed up with it all, and giving the impression that life, in general, was one long dreary passage through time until his name, too, appeared in a certain column in that newspaper.

Looking up from his newspaper, the man plucked a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear. “Yes?” he said, folding the paper and placing it back amongst the others on the counter, “wha’d ya want?”

“A quarter of Mint Imperials, please,”Albie replied politely, handing over a half-crown. “And some Jelly Babies, if you’ve got ’em.”

From off a shelf, the man took a large glass jar of round peppermints, all of a uniform size, then placed a small brass 4 ounce weight on to an antiquated set of scales and proceeded to weigh up the sweets.

“Jelly bearbies an’orl?”he asked, tipping the mints into a paper bag and giving its top several twists. “Hen’t got none – will wine gums do ya?”

Albie nodded that indeed they would and, with two bags of sweets in his hand, turned to leave the shop. “Thanks very much,” he said, as the door bell tinkled to announce the arrival of another customer.

“Hello, boy Albie,” said Charlie Baker, the Jarrolds’ Works Messenger, stepping into the shop, “whatta yew doin’ here then? Shun’t yew be at work?”

Albie explained he’d been sent to buy some peppermints for Mike, the head designer.

“I hatta come through the Bindery,” he told Charlie, “an’ all those girls shouted and whistled at me – I wuz hoolly embarrassed, I can tell you!”

Charlie laughed: “Wuh – when I wuz young I’d a jumped at the chance a all them young fillies tearkin’ an int’rest in me,” he said, then, turning to the shopkeeper: “give us a packet a fags, will ya, Mr Augood?”

“Your usual, Charlie?” replied Mr Augood. “Woodbines, en’t it?”

Charlie nodded, handed over some money, then, opening the packet took out a cigarette, placed it between his lips and lit it.

“Hang on, boy Albie,” Charlie said, puffing on his cigarette as they left the shop together. “I’ll gi ya a lift back t’work, if yew like – that en’t far, I know, but that’ll searve yew gorn through the Bindery, ’on’t it?”

Charlie Baker’s ‘works’ transport – a Vespa scooter combination – stood parked nearby in Priory Yard. As the Works’ messenger, he was responsible for collecting small packages from Goods Outwards and, with the letters from the Post Room in the General Office, would then ‘scoot’ up to the Post Office in Davey Place.

“I gotta go tuh the Orfiss an’ pick up the pust,” Charlie continued and, pointing to the parcel rack on the back of his little single-seater Vespa, said: “Hop on boy – we’d betta git goin’!”

“But – what about the Gatekeeper?” Albie asked, cocking his leg over the back of the scooter and sitting on the uncomfortable luggage rack. “I mean, he’ll mark me with a red cross in his book, ’on’t he?”

“Mark you down wi’ a red crorss?” laughed Charlie, as they spluttered off, with the little scooter bouncing over the uneven sett stones along Cowgate Street heading for the main entrance of Jarrold Printing.

“What book?” he laughed, as they neared the Gatehouse, “someone’s hoolly bin hevin’ you on, boy Albie – that they hev an’orl!”

Inside the Gatehouse, Mr Coxall, the gatekeeper, looked up at the sound of the approaching scooter and stepped outside to see what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, tha’s yew, then, Charlie,” he laughed as he stood in the doorway, then, taking a look at his pillion passenger: “en’t that the lad frum the orfiss what works with our Nita?”

“Ye-yes,”stuttered Albie, nervously, about to explain his reason for not being in work. “I’m sorry Mr Coxall... if I shoon’t have...”

“Tha’s orl right, boy,” smiled the gatekeeper, hands on hips and roaring with laughter. “Yew don’t hatta explearn tuh me – but I’m rather parshul tuh wine gums, tha’s if yew’ve got one of course?”

A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER

When Albie arrived home that evening his father had already shut up shop for the day, and his mother was busying herself in the scullery preparing an extra-special evening meal as a birthday treat for their son!

“Happy Birthday, Albie,” they both said as he stepped indoors, “have you had a good day at work?”

“Not bad,” he replied, taking off his coat and hanging it up in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, “although I’ve bin cleaned right out after buying all those cakes for everyone – birthdays, who’d have ’em? – I ask you!”

“But, tha’s a speshul one though, en’t it?” his father commented, as Albie sat down by the fire to take away the worst of the February chill. “I s’puz yew bought the cearkes at the Co-op in St Stephens?”

Albie just nodded, considering it prudent not to reveal to his father, the manager of Sheringham Co-op, that he’d actually bought the cakes from Mathes in Bridewell Alley!

“Phew – tha’s hoolly good t’be home,” he said, quickly changing the subject, and continuing to warm his hands in front of the roaring fire. “Tha’s cold out there that is – wha’s for tea, Mum?”

“Beans on toast!” joked his mother in the scullery, opening the oven door to see if the roast chicken was nearly done.

“Suits me!” Albie replied, looking back over his shoulder to see his mother plating up the evening meal. “You can’t beat a good tin of beans, as long as they’re not from the Co-op – Batchelors are much better!” he laughed.

“You and your beans!”snorted his father, “there’s more to life than beans, you know!”

“Come on, Albie,”said his mother, “get up the table – here’s your tea!”

Soon, they were all tucking into a hearty meal of roast chicken with all the trimmings: sausages wrapped in bacon, crispy roast potatoes, glazed parsnips, buttered carrots and peas.

“Not surprise peas, are they, Mum?” laughed Albie, ladling a forkful into his mouth, “do you git chapped legs!”

“Tha’s enough o’ that, Albie!” his father said with a note of disapproval in his voice.

“Can I hev some tomato sauce, please Mum?” Albie continued, shaking pepper all over his roast potatoes. “And – what about a batta puddin’, or en’t there none?”

Albie’s father put his knife and fork down on his plate with a clatter.

“I’ve told you before, Albie,” he said, “you don’t... hev... tomarter... sauce... alonga chicken!”

“And, as for batters,” replied his mother, looking slightly hurt by her son’s comments, “neither do you hev them wi’ chicken either!”

“That may well be your birthday, Albie,” continued his father, “but – just shut up and eat up, will you? Do you ’on’t hev any birthday cearke!”

After their meal – and he’d blown out all twenty-one candles on his birthday cake, specially-made by the Co-op bakery in Norwich – Albie began opening his birthday cards and displayed them on the mantlepiece above the fireplace.

They were all there as usual: one from his mother and father with a big silver ‘21’ in the top right-hand corner, another from his grandparents at Wyndham Park, and several from other relatives and friends all wishing him well, now that he’d come of age. Then, there was one from his friends and colleagues at work, which everyone had signed, as well as writing little comments – but unrepeatable here!

One card, however, was missing this year, that from his favourite great-grandmother – Nanny Edie. How Albie wished she could have lived a few months longer to have seen ‘the apple of her eye’ celebrate his twenty-first birthday, but, alas, it was never to be.

After looking at all his birthday cards, Albie then turned his attention to unwrapping his presents.

His grandparents had given him a nice leather wallet to keep all his pound notes in, with a little compartment for any shillings and pence, or any other loose change, he might have. Uncle Charlie and Aunt Frances, from the farm at Binham, had sent him a year’s subscription to Farmers Weekly, whilst Aunt Gladys, who lived in Threadneedle Street, London, had sent him a large stamp album, which had belonged to her late husband, Uncle Harry.

His friends at work had raised some money by having a collection throughout the General Office and presented him with an ash tray, even though he was still trying so hard to give up smoking! But it was the thought behind it, he laughed, or, as one major cigarette advert used to proclaim: ‘it’s the tobacco that counts’!

“Here you are, son,” said his father, handing the lad a small package. “Happy Birthday!”

“We hope you’ll like it,” quipped his mother, giving him a big kiss, “and that din’t come from Woolworths either!”

That expression was a standing joke in the family whenever presents were given, first said by Nanny Edie, Albie recalled with a tear in his eye.

But just what was it? Albie wondered, as, brimming over with excitement, he began unwrapping his present.

There, in an leatherette display case, was a wristwatch – an Ingersol, no less – with a luminous face and a second hand!

For a moment, Albie was lost for words. Then, taking the watch out of its case, he placed it on his wrist and fastened the gold-coloured clasp.

“Tha’s smashing, that really is!” he said, after admiring the glittering watchface with its small hand sweeping the seconds. “Thanks ever so much, Mum and Dad – it’s really terrific – just what I wanted!”

“Now there’s no excuse for you to be late up in the mornin’,” laughed his mother, “an’ that goes for Saturdays as well!”

“Early to bed, early to rise!” began his father’s sermon, “and bein’ twetty-one dun’t mean stayin’ out all hours neither!”

Nothing was about to change, was it, thought Albie.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Albie’s mother, suddenly going into the front room and returning with a buff-coloured envelope, “this came for you in the second post.”

Taking the letter from his mother, Albie glanced at the envelope, with his attention immediately drawn to OHMS on the front.

“Probably from the tax man,” laughed his father, “caught up wi’ yew at last, I shoon’t wonder!”

Quickly, Albie tore open the envelope and there, inside, was a provisional driving licence for a motorcycle!

“At last!” he said, waving the little red book high in the air for his parents to see. “Now my birthday really is complete! All I need now is something to go with it!

NEXT: Albie takes to the road on two wheels – and comes a cropper!

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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