“Well, my first day at Jarrolds duly arrived but - boy! - was it different to life at the Norwich School of Art!” said Albie.

www.albiestales.co.uk part three

HE NEXT FEW WEEKS in June 1960, were, without doubt, the worst days of Albie’s life! Following his disastrous decision to apply for a job with Jarrold Printing of Norwich, which had proven detrimental to his relationship with his girlfriend as she wanted the job for herself, most of the other students at the Norwich School of Art gave him the cold shoulder. Faced with open hostility he sat his examination – the Intermediate in Art and Crafts – with increasing trepidation and was filled with utter relief when it was all over. But, what of the job at Jarrolds, as they had promised to let him know? Then, a few days into Albie’s summer holiday, a letter arrived...

ANOTHER SATURDAY DAWNED for Albie and, as usual, he was lazing in bed, snuggling deeply under the covers and dreaming of nothing in particular, when his mother burst into his bedroom.

“Come on learzybones!” she shouted in his ear, having thrown wide open his bedroom window in an attempt to quell the malodour of stale socks. “Phew! Your feet dun’t half stink, do you hatta wear them there socks in bed?”

Albie just rolled over to face the wall and pulled the bedsheets high over his head. “Go away,” he grunted irritably, “wha’s the rush, dun’t you know tha’s Sat’dee?”

Pulling back the sheets, revealing him curled up in a foetus position, his mother continued: “Tha’s almost midday, Albie – an’ fine time you wuz up – besides the Pustman’s left a letter for yuh an’ I’ve put that on the mantlepiece.”

Could it be from Roz, Albie wondered?

Although his erstwhile girlfriend had told him she never wanted to see him again – let alone speak to him – perhaps she’d had a change of heart, missed him, and written a letter of forgiveness instead! With that, he leapt out of bed like a flash, got himself dressed as fast as he could and flew down the stairs two at a time.

“Where is it?” he shouted, bursting into the living room where his mother was pushing the Hoover Junior back and forth. “Where’s my letter? Where’ve you put it?”

“Tha’s there on the mantlepiece like I told ya,” she replied as the vacuum-cleaner cut out.“Now look what you’ve gorn an’ med me do – tha’s all blocked up now!”

Snatching the letter off the mantlepiece over the fireplace, Albie glanced at the postmark which was definitely stamped ‘Norwich’ – but did it come from Thorpe St Andrew and Roz, he wondered? With trembling hands he ripped open the envelope eager to see just what it contained.

The piece of paper that emerged looked very official, with its red and black letterheading and the more he read the wider his mouth opened in utter amazement.

“What is it then?” his mother asked, having put the Hoover away in the cupboard under the stairs after deciding she’d done enough cleaning for one day. “Cat caught ya tongue? What do it say, that letter of yours?”

Albie just stood there, struck speechless by what he’d just read, with the colour draining from his face from a mixture of disbelief and shock.

“Bad news, wuz it?” asked his mother, “that Roz agin, I’ll be bound! The shameless little hussy en’t worth it...”

“No...no, it en’t tha-at,” Albie replied, having regained his composure, “tha’s from Jarrolds; they say I’ve got the job an’ can I start on Monday?”

“Oh, Albie – I am so pleased,” his mother wailed, producing a lacy hanky from her pinafore pocket to cry into, “tha’s mearde me so happy...!”

Reading the letter again, Albie continued: “But they do say I’ll hatta be on probation for three months...”

“But tha’s good they approve o’ yuh, Albie,” laughed his mother, drying her eyes, “an’ I’m sure Dad’ll be pleased too!”

At least, thought Albie, now he wouldn’t end up working in the Co-op like his father!

A FAMILIAR FACE

The following Monday morning, Albie caught the early train to Norwich for his first day in his new job. Halfway into the hour-long journey, the train stopped at the little station of Gunton – just before North Walsham – where Albie noticed a familiar figure on the platform, none other than Felix Bernasconi, the ‘very best artist’ in the Design department at Jarrold Printing.

As the train puffed out of Gunton, Felix began walking along the lurching corridor of each carriage in turn searching for a spare seat. Eventually he reached Albie’s half-empty compartment, opened the sliding door and threw his large bulging briefcase – containing his sandwiches and flask of hot chocolate, amongst other things – on the rack.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, glancing in Albie’s direction. “Well – if it isn’t the lad Albie? So you got the job, I hear?”

“Yes,” replied Albie, half-turning in his seat ready to have a lengthy conversation with his fellow traveller, “but, I didn’t know you lived near North Walsham? Perhaps, you could tell me a little bit more about Jarrolds and what sorta work I’ll be doin’?”

Alas, his words had fallen on deaf ears for Felix was fast asleep – such was his daily custom when travelling by train – and he was oblivious to everything going on around him.

However, when the train pulled into Thorpe Station, as if by magic, Felix awoke, gathered up his belongings and made a quick dash for the carriage door with Albie in fast pursuit. And so it was to continue – day in, day out – without fail!

A CHANGE OF APPEARANCE!

It took all of twelve minutes for the walk to Jarrolds in Cowgate, as Felix knew all the short cuts, some of which Albie never knew existed. Passing James Stuart Garden in Recorder Road, they went through the first of three wrought-iron ‘kissing’ gates, passing close to Norwich Cathedral, until they emerged in Gooseberry Walk, leading into Bishopgate.

“That’s St Helens – the church,” Felix told Albie, as they crossed the road together, “and through these gates you can see the Old Hospital.”

Just around a corner, next to a wood yard, was The Adam and Eve, the oldest inn in Norwich and not far from Jarrolds, Felix told his companion. But Albie knew exactly where they were be now, as the familiar stench of the gasworks made itself known with smoke and steam billowing across the winding road. In the untidy Victorian complex men were going about their day-to-day routine moving vast quantities of coal and coke about, most of it by hand. Noisy lorries were arriving every few minutes, heavily-laden with more supplies of the fossil fuel, kicking up clouds of filthy black dust as the traversed the site.

From the top of a gaunt building – with its brickwork and windows blackened by years of grime – emerged a rusty metal chimney which funnelled, ever upwards and outwards, a column of smoke and flame given off by the burning of impurities in the gas. For a while, it seemed, the sunlight was all but blotted out by the swirling cloud of gaseous smoke that filled the sky and shrouded the nearby waters of the River Wensum, until drifting silently downstream to dissipate amongst the overhanging branches of trees, whose leaves showed the effects of premature ageing due to the obnoxious atmosphere.

Covering their mouths, Felix and Albie quickly made their way through the main entrance of Jarrold & Sons Ltd Printing Works, past the Gatehouse, and into the Yarn Mill.

Once in the Design department, Albie was given a desk next to Felix, in the far corner of the room overlooking the gasworks. Although a large room – open-plan it would be called today – to Albie it seemed so stuffy and short of air that he tried to open his window.

“For goodness sake!” yelled Felix, wiping a layer of fine black coal dust off his desk and drawing board, “don’t open a window, do you’ll let all the fumes and more of these smuts in!”

Running his hand over the desk Albie could see exactly what Felix meant, but wasn’t too sure how he would survive in such an airless environment, let alone being denied the chance to go sketching whenever he wanted!

Mr Oliver, the Design manager, arrived for work a few minutes later and quickly summoned Albie to his table.

“Well, Albie, before you start work there’s something I think you ought to know,” he said.

Whatever was it, thought Albie? Surely he hadn’t done something wrong already.

“It’s – how shall I put it? – your appearance,” the manager continued, eyeing Albie up and down. “It does leave rather a lot to be desired...!”

This comment left Albie feeling rather hurt, as he taken great care in making sure he looked really smart for his very first day at Jarrolds. In fact, he could still hear his mother’s words ringing in his ears.

“Give your face a good wash,” she had told him, “an’ don’t forget behind your ears – an’ put on clean pants, an’ you’ll find a nice new shirt in the cupboard on the landing!”

Remembering back, he’d done exactly as he’d been told, even putting on a clean pair of socks, but, instead of the new white nylon shirt hanging in the cupboard, he’d decided to wear his favourite lilac shirt. Perhaps it was the absence of his gold medallion which he usually wore around his neck – now somewhere in the muddy waters of the Wensum where Roz had thrown it. What else could it be?

“It’s your shirt!” said the Design manager, “if you care to look around you, you’ll notice all the men are wearing white shirts... and neckties!”

“I’m... sorry,” replied Albie, glancing around the department, “ but, I thought, bein’ as I wuz an artist, somethin’ colourful would be more appropriate...”

“No, I’m afraid not!” declared Mr Oliver, wagging his finger at the lad, “Company policy you see – with no exceptions – white shirt, collar and tie tomorrow, if you please! And, while you’re about it – can you do something about your hair as well?”

NEXT: Albie meets an old friend!

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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