|
 LBIE
HAD BEEN QUITE BUSY, what with one thing and another. The Jarrold
Magazine had taken up most of his time what with the sizing
up of the photographs and making the prints on Design’s venerable
Xerox camera – much to the annoyance of certain people
nearby due to his over-enthusiastic use of the machine! Finally,
after preparing a proof of all the pages – and correcting them
to the Head Designer’s satisfaction – he was ready to
send his very first job to Press! All that remained was for him
to acquire all the necessary paperwork from the Order Clerk...
EVELYN
BOWMAN, the Order Clerk responsible for all in-house publications,
began looking through the pile of work Albie had laid before her,
carefully checking the number of photographs before completing an
official order form to accompany the prints for blockmaking at Norwich
Engraving.
“I
gather you’re taking them to the blockmakers yourself?”
Evelyn asked him, scribbling her signature on the chitty. “You
know where to find them, I suppose?”
“Yes
– thanks – Mrs Bowman,” Albie replied, taking the
piece of paper from her, “tha’s just round the corner
from the Art School – in Muspole Street, en’t it?”
Gathering
up the packet of photographs, each with a tracing paper overlay
showing the size and area required, he set off in the direction
of Fishergate, passing St James’ church and – on the opposite
corner – Taskers, the furniture store. Walking briskly along
Colegate, with his bundle of photographs tucked under his arm, Albie
approached the corner of St George’s Street and, for a moment,
was sorely tempted to deviate and pop in to the Art School just
to say ‘hello’.
“Best
not,” he muttered under his breath, “besides, it’d
only open up old wounds.”
Continuing
past the Black Boys’ public house near the Boot & Shoe
Factory, he crossed over to St George’s Plain with its fine
15th century church. St George at Colegate, with its richly-decorated
battlements, which clearly reflected the wealth that emanated from
the prosperous cloth trade of bygone times.
 At
the corner of the churchyard, next to the old drinking fountain,
Albie turned into Muspole Street, a veritable ‘rabbit warren’
of houses, some terraced back-to-back whilst others were quite substantial
buildings, although many were in an advanced state of decay.
“Tha’s
not that easy to find,” he had to admit, as he began
his search for the premises of Norwich Engraving, crossing from
one side of the narrow street to the other.
On
his right he passed the entrance to Alms Lane, noticeable only by
its dereliction, and commented: “Tha’s about time they
knocked this lot down!”
By
now, he was almost at the end of Muspole Street where, on the corner
where it joined Duke Street, stood a secondhand bookshop fallen
victim to hard times – but still no sign of Norwich Engraving.
“But,
hang on a minute...” he said, retracing his footsteps, “wha’s
this then?”
There,
over an open doorway, was a little sign declaring ‘Block and
Stereotype Makers’. He had arrived at last!
Entering
through the open door, Albie soon became aware of the frenetic activity
going on inside: in a room at the front of the house lights were
flashing on and off, accompanied by the sounds of men and machinery
going about their everyday business.
DANTE’S
INFERNO
“This
is Norwich Engraving, I s’pose?” Albie asked of
the first man he saw, coming out of a side room with a large yellow
and black box labelled Kodak. “If so, I’ve got some work
for you from Jarrolds!”
“Aye,
lad, it is indeed, and I’m the manager,” laughed the man,
taking the bundle of photographs from him. “You found us then?
Mrs Bowman ’phoned to say you’d be coming – follow
me, an’ I’ll show you around.”
Albie
followed the man down a gloomy passageway into a back room, where
the sight that met his eyes was truly out of this world! Blinded
by a dazzling white light, accompanied by clouds of acrid grey smoke
and a loud crackling noise, Albie stepped back in fright.
“Don’t,
whatever you do, look at that light!” the manager warned Albie,
putting a hand up to his own eyes, “do you do that’ll
give you ‘arc-eye’ and really make ’em
smart!”
Sounds
Scotch to me, thought Albie!
Eventually
the light went out and the smoke all but disappeared revealing a
large camera on rails, which was very similar to the one they had
in Design, though much bigger of course.
“We
use carbon-arc lamps here,” Albie was told, as the manager
pointed to two pairs of black carbon pencils set in brass holders.
“They give a really bright light, as you may have noticed,
and are far better than photofloods!”
Albie
just nodded, to him it was just like a foreign language and he really
hadn’t got a clue what the man was ‘going on about’!
Then
the camera operator, emerging from behind his camera, pressed a
large red button on the side and, with a loud electrical crackling
noise, the lights came on again as the carbon pencils came together
completing the arc. Plumes of smoke billowed from the top of the
two sets of lights as Albie retreated back along the passageway.
To the camera operator it was the same every day, it was his job,
but to Albie it was more like a scene from Dante’s
Inferno, and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough!
“Your
stereo blocks’ll be ready by the weekend – I’ll give
you a bell,” the manager told Albie, taking a cigarette out
of a packet, tapping it and lighting up, “...would you care
for a gasper?”
“No
– thanks – I’m tryin’ to give up,” Albie
replied, and quickly left!
TIME
FOR A CIGARETTE
Everybody
seemed to smoke in those days, thought Albie. There they were puffing
away at their place of work, whether in the office or down in the
machine room. In the works’ canteen it was just the same; in
between mouthfuls of egg and chips, packets of cigarettes would
be handed around as freely as passing the salt or pepper! It was
the thing to do, it seemed, being so socially acceptable and never
the hint of a Government Health Warning!
In
fact, the ubiquitous weed seemed to be everywhere, with most people
never happier unless they had a fag hanging from the bottom lip
for company – or, as the television advert of the day proclaimed:
‘You’re never alone with a Strand’!
 During
his time at Art School, Albie smoked all manner of substances in
his Churchwarden clay pipe: tobacco, the cheapest the student grant
could buy, leaves from a packet of Co-op ‘99’ tea purloined
from home, and iris leaves plucked from the garden – though
nothing illegal of course!
This
was part of his Bohemian lifestyle and he was not alone.
Johnny, his Art student friend from Cromer, made his own cigars
out of rolled-up chestnut leaves, allowing them plenty of time to
mature before putting a match to them. Albie tried one, but it was
obviously an acquired taste for, not only did it leave his eyes
streaming, it tasted rather like it smelled – the bonfire on
Guy Fawkes’ night! Besides, it made him frightfully sick!
Nowadays,
when it came to placing a cigarette between his lips, he could ‘take
it, or leave it’ – and he generally preferred to leave
well alone, but, at times, especially now, it was extremely
hard.
“Go
on, Albie,” laughed Ivan, drawing on a Gauloises
and offering one to the lad, “it won’t kill ya –
besides, that’ll make a man of you!”
Whatever
next, thought Albie, reluctantly succumbing and taking one out of
the distinctive blue packet with the winged-helmet emblem on the
front.
“Cor!
Urgh!
”
he exclaimed as the strong, raw flavour of the French cigarette
caught the back of his throat making him cough and splutter, “this
here’s a bit too strong for me... besides, I don’t
like untipped, an’ that smells more like burning tar! ”
“Clear
your head, that will,” Ivan replied, tapping ash into his waste
paper basket. “All we need to do now is to get you acclimatised
to a nice glass of beer...”
“No
– thanks!” Albie replied curtly, remembering the
day he mixed his drinks at a certain wedding. “You’ll
not get me to touch that stuff, you ’on’t, an’ tha’s
a fact!”
By
now feeling quite nauseous, Albie swiftly went to the Gents where
he stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, discreetly disposing
of it down the toilet, vowing never to smoke again. But would
he be able to keep his pledge?
ALBIE
DESIGNS A FRONT COVER
During
mid-November 1960, Albie turned his thoughts to designing a front
cover for the Christmas Jarrold Magazine. His brief was that
it should have a ‘seasonal theme’, but apart from that
he could do whatever he liked! What a challenge, he
thought, as he began translating his thoughts and ideas to paper.
“That’s
pretty good!” his friend Felix told him, as Albie sat
at his drawing board sketching out his initial design. “I’m
not one for Christmas myself, but it does look quite
seasonal, I would’ve thought.”
Encouraged
by his friend’s remarks, Albie began working on the final artwork,
having taken care to include as many things of a festive nature
as he could remember.
“I’ll
include a few bottles of wine, which most people like,”
he told those within earshot, “an’ a box of cigars, which
certainly en’t my cuppa tea – oh, an’, I mustn’t
forget apples, oranges and pears, and a Christmas pud – but
wha’s missing?”
There
was definitely something lacking in his design, but, try as he might,
he couldn’t work out what it was.
“Holly!”
exclaimed Felix, glancing over his shoulder, “you’ve gotta
have some holly!”
Quickly,
Albie sketched in a few sprigs of holly, but it still needed something
else...
“I
must be goin’ crackers!” yelled Albie jubilantly,
“’corse tha’s wha’s missin’ – Crackers
– how could I forget?”
Later
that afternoon, Albie’s design for the Jarrold Magazine
front cover was almost finished.
Mr
Oliver, the Design manager, was quite impressed. “That’s
very good, Albie,” he said, looking at the finished
artwork, “you’ll just need a festive typeface for the
wording, that’s all!”
“I
thought about using ‘Corvinus’?” Albie suggested,
it being his favourite typeface from Art School days, “but
I en’t too sure...”
“No
– definitely not!” interrupted Mike, the Head Designer,
listening in on the conversation, “That’s rather out-of-date
these days, don’t you think? – why not try ‘Mercurius
Script’? That has a nice feel to it.”
So,
Mercurius Script it would be, Albie decided, as he went downstairs
to the Jobbing department to discuss his printing requirements.
 Cecil
Whysall, the manager of Jobbing, took him to see the Rotaprint machine
on which the Christmas cover was to be printed.
“This
is Mark – Mark Bilham,” he told the lad, introducing him
to the machine minder, “he’ll be printing the covers for
you.”
“Hello,
Albie,” the machine minder replied, holding out an ink-stained
hand, “have you got your design with you?”
Albie
handed him a copy of his artwork. “It’s in three colours,”
he told him, “black, a nice lime green, an’... Jarrold
red – of course!”
As
Mark looked at Albie’s design he suddenly began to laugh.
“It
certainly looks like if you enjoy your drink,” he grinned,
pointing at the bottles on Albie’s design, “and a box
of cigars too!”
Then,
reaching inside the pocket of his overalls, he produced a packet
of Woodbines and said: “Do you smoke?” and offered Albie
a crumpled cigarette.
“No
– thanks!” replied Albie, and decided it was time to leave!
A
PRESENT FROM THE DIRECTORS!
On
Friday 23 December Albie arrived for work as usual, although not
much work would be done that day as, already, everyone seemed to
be in quite a jovial, festive mood.
After
a morning spent having a general ‘tidy up’, most people
disappeared at lunchtime to imbibe down in their favourite ‘local’
only to emerge – many the worse for wear – rather
later than they should have done! For them there would be little
or no work for the rest of the afternoon, it seemed!
However,
Albie and Felix had spent their lunchtime, an-hour-and-a-half, sketching
in the Market Place.
At
about three o’clock the Christmas edition of the Jarrold
Magazine – hot off the press – was handed out to everyone
in the General Office, bringing to an end the raucous laughter as
everyone buried their heads in the pages of the in-house journal.
“Good
cover, Albie!” Mrs Bowman called out from the Order Clerks’
department. Even Alec Miller, the copy preparer, was quite
impressed and began warming ever so slightly to the lad – although
he was never to openly admit it, of course!
Albie
just sat there with his very first effort ‘in print’ –
and he felt wholly proud of himself!
Towards
the end of the afternoon, Mr Oliver went to each designer in turn
– and their assistants as well – handing out little gifts.
“This
is a little something from the Directors, Albie,” he said,
giving the lad a small gift-wrapped package, “to show their
gratitude – but, don’t open it now, best to wait until
you get home!”
A
few minutes later, H John Jarrold, the Company Chairman, accompanied
by his son Peter, the Managing Director, arrived in the Design department.
As was their custom, they would have a brief chat with everyone,
thank them for their efforts over the year, and wish them all ‘a
Happy Christmas’.
“You’ve
all done ever so well,” Mr John told them, “and this has
been the best year ever, as far as our order books are concerned.”
The
Chairman
then went on to say how the year ahead promised even greater
prosperity for the Company, which was looking forward to expanding
its workforce to record levels.
Then,
after shaking them all by the hand, they were allowed to leave off
work early – well, at least a half-an-hour!
On
the train home to Sheringham, Albie was tempted to open his present
‘from the Directors of Jarrolds’. Squeezing his little
present, beautifully wrapped in festive paper, it felt like a little
box and was fairly light in weight yet rattled when he gave it a
good shake. How he would have loved to have opened it there
and then, but, overcoming his curiosity, he was determined
to wait until he got home, as Mr Oliver had told him!
THE
SENIOR SERVICE BECKONS!
“Finished
for a week or so, Albie?” his mother asked as he set foot inside
the back door. “We’ll gorna hev a lovely time, jist the
family, you’ll see!”
This
was his mother’s way of trying to take his mind off Roz, his
ex-girlfriend, although it had the opposite effect and immediately
got him thinking about her again. What a Christmas he was
going to have without her, there really wasn’t much to look
forward to, he thought. Even a Christmas card from her seemed to
be out of the question.
Shrugging
off his coat and dangling it on a coat-hook at the bottom of the
stairs, Albie returned to the warmth of the living room, with its
roaring log fire crackling and spitting in the grate. Sitting down
in his favourite fireside chair he began warming his hands in front
of the fire.
“Wha’s
that yew’ve brought home?” his mother asked, poking
his little present on the table with a prying finger.
With a big sigh, Albie got
up from his chair.
“No rest for the wicked,” he said, picking
up his present and returning to the comfort of his chair beside
the fire.
 “I’d
almost forgotten that,” he continued,
tearing at the wrapping paper, “it’s a present from the
Directors of Jarrolds.”
“Oooh, how lovely,” his mother
exclaimed, excitedly looking over his shoulder, “did ev’ryone
git one?”
“I expect so...” Albie replied, eager
to discover what his present was.
“Wha’s in it then?” his mother asked
impatiently, “what hev they given ya?”
“Oh – no!” sighed Albie, as
the gift-wrapping finally fell apart revealing a large box of One
Hundred Senior Service Cigarettes. “An’ there’s me
tryin’ so hard to give up...!”
“Never mind, Dear,” replied his mother,
taking the box from him and opening the lid, “mustn’t
let ’em go to waste, must we?
With that she lit up the first cigarette and began
puffing away. “Happy Christmas!” she said, raising a large
glass of De Kuypers’ Cherry brandy.
“Oh, well,” sighed Albie, lighting
one for himself, “only ninety-eight to go – p’raps
I’ll give up next year!”
NEXT:
Albie and Mike decided to go brass-rubbing,
but they get a bit more than they bargain for!
Please sign Albie’s guestbook as I would
love to hear your comments –
or email:
|
