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OWARDS THE END OF HIS SECOND WEEK’S holiday, in August 1961,
it began to dawn on Albie that not only was his break from work
at Jarrold & Sons Printing Works nearly over but his time with
Nicole, his French girl friend, was almost up as well! During the
past two weeks, they had gone everywhere together – sunning
themselves on Cromer beach, sailing into the sunset on Wroxham Broad,
cycling along the quiet lanes of Northrepps, and shopping almost
until they dropped in the Royal Arcade in Norwich, or at least until
Albie’s hard-earned money ran out! – but he just knew
it couldn’t last forever and, as the fateful day got nearer
when even the closest of friends would have to say good-bye, his
heartache grew stronger...
EVENTUALLY
THE DAY DAWNED that Albie had been dreading all week, for it was
the day Nicole, his French girl friend, was due to return back home
to France. In the space of just two short weeks they had become
so very close, barely apart for a moment, and not a single day had
gone by without Albie visiting her at her uncle and aunt’s
home on the salubrious Cliff Drive in Cromer – but now it was
all about to end.
For
several days he’d tried to put the thought of Nicole leaving
out of his head, but on that sunny Saturday morning Albie was almost
beside himself with worry taking little comfort in his mother’s
ill-chosen words: “There’s
always next year, en’t there? Besides, she can allus
write!”
What?
A whole year before he could see her again? That was little
consolation to Albie and, as for letters from France, even Nicole’s
most intimate feelings expressed on paper would do little
to make up for them being apart for a full twelve months. And, what
if she met someone else in the meantime? It just didn’t bear
thinking about!
“You’re
goin’ to see her orf, en’t yew Albie?” his mother
asked, getting quite fed up with him moping around the house. “Tha’s
the least yew can do!”
“If
that wuz me I would,” she continued, thinking back to
the wartime. “I went an’ saw your father orf at the stearshun
when he went to France jist arter D-Day – although I din’t
know it then, ’cause he wun’t spuz to say where he wuz
gorn...”
TIME
TO SAY GOOD-BYE
“Cromer,
please,” Albie said, showing his season-ticket to Mr Blanchard,
the stationmaster at Sheringham railway station, hoping he might
just be in time to catch Nicole before she left.
In
the station stood the three-coach non-corridor local for Cromer,
headed by a tired-looking, grimy tank engine facing bunker first
and leaking steam from every inch of pipework!
“Not
workin’ this weekend then, Albie?” Stationmaster Blanchard
quizzed, and then added: “no overtime?”
 Mumbling
some excuse about ‘there’s more to life than work’
Albie opened the door to a vacant compartment on the waiting train,
slammed the door shut behind him, and sat himself down in a window
seat, looking out over the Goods Yard.
Twelve
minutes later, after a brief stop at the wayside station of West
Runton, the local was steaming down the cutting towards Cromer Beach
station, brakes squealing in metallic protest as the little tank
engine slowed to a halt just short of the buffer-stops in the bay
platform.
“Cromer
– Cro-mer Be-each,” shouted a porter, throwing open the
doors of the three-coach train: “All chearnge fur Norridge...”
There,
on the opposite platform, was the nine-coach train for Norwich –
headed by a magnificent engine, one of the last B12s to be seen
on the line – 61572
– billowing clouds of acrid, black smoke which drifted lazily
over the Goods Yard towards the houses on Central Road.
Albie
swiftly alighted and sprinted down the platform in the direction
of the Booking Hall and the way out.
“You’re
in all-fired hurry today, young fellow-me-lad,” declared the
Guard of the Norwich train, stepping aside to let Albie pass. “What’s
the rush?”
“I’m
sorry, I din’t see you,” Albie replied, recognizing the
Guard as his friend the Yorkshireman, never to be seen without a
red carnation in his buttonhole, and one of the ‘regulars’
he’d got to know on the Norwich line, “but I really
hatta go...”
“See
you next week then, Albie,” the Guard laughed, as the lad continued
his dash along the platform.
It
was then Albie noticed Nicole, together with her uncle and aunt,
and accompanied by a porter pushing a sack-barrow fully laden with
her suitcases.
“Oh,
El Bee!” she cried, flinging her arms around him, “I
thought you was nev-err coming to – ’ow you say
– give me your bye-byes!”
Albie
shook his head, blinking back a tear, “I just couldn’t
let you go without saying au revoir, could I, Nicole?”
“But,
I shall miss you, El Bee,” she replied, looking at him
through tear-glazed eyes. “We ’ad such good times togeth-err,
n’est-ce pas?”
Albie
just nodded, then answered, with a voice breaking with emotion:
“Yes... and I will never forget...”
The
waiting train gave a loud, screeching, drawn-out whistle, drowning
the rest of his words, whilst the friendly Guard with the red carnation
looked at his pocket watch, put it back in his waistcoat, then unfurled
his green flag.
“Are
you going to Norwich, my dear?” he asked Nicole, who
was kissing her aunt one last time, “if so, best get on board
now as we’re almost ready to depart!”
With
Nicole and her luggage safely on the train, Albie joined her uncle
and aunt on the platform to wave good-bye as the train moved off
– driving wheels spinning on the shiny metal rails sending
up showers of sparks.
“Au
revoir, mon oncle,” Nicole cried out of an open window,
“au revoir, ma tante.”
 Albie
began waving, with tear-filled eyes, watching as the train clattered
slowly over the points and wound its way out of the station at the
start of the hour-long journey to Norwich.
“Je
t’aime, El Bee,” he heard her cry. “Au revoir,
mon amour.”
Breaking
into a sprint, he began running up the platform alongside the departing
train. “Me too, Nicole – moi an’orl!”
he shouted.
As
Albie drew level with the Guard’s van, the friendly Yorkshireman
opened the door, held out his hand and said: “Come
on then, lad, jump aboard – then you can come too!”
Albie
didn’t need to be told twice and, with an almighty leap,
he was on the train to Norwich – with all the time in
the world to say his final ‘good-byes’ to Nicole,
his French girlfriend!
ALONE
AGAIN
At
Norwich Thorpe Station, Albie watched as the departing train, with
Nicole on board, disappeared into the distance in a cloud of steam
and smoke – then, sitting all lost and forlorn on a platform
barrow, surrounded by mailbags for North Norfolk, he began the long
wait for the train to Sheringham.
“So,
she’s gone then?” were his mother’s first
words as he set foot indoors.
“Yes,”
he replied sadly, “Nicole’s gone – and, for me, I
don’t think anything will ever be the same again....”
“You
said much the same about Roz,” his mother reminded him,
which did little to cheer him up, “but you soon put her
behind you, din’t you?”
Deep
down, he knew there was some truth in that, but, if he paused to
think about it, he realised he still had feelings for his
ex-girlfriend from the Art School – so how would he
feel now Nicole had left?
It didn’t bear thinking about, he decided, and, pulling
himself together and putting on a brave face, he said: “Well,
before you tell me so, there’s plus de poisson d’abondance
dans la mer!”
“Oh,
I don’t know about that, Albie,” his mother
replied, totally unimpressed by his mastery of a foreign language,
“but, don’t yew forget what I allus say –
there’s pletty more fish in the sea! – so, let’s
hev a nice cuppa tea an’ forget orl about mawthers, shall we?”
NORWICH
AND ITS REGION
After
the holidays, Albie had a new book to design! Not exactly all
by himself, but he was certainly determined to make his presence
felt and, besides, by flinging himself into his work it would take
his mind off other matters, or so he thought!
In
1961, the British Association for the Advancement of Science gathered
in Norwich for its Annual Meeting and a scientific survey of the
locality was commissioned – with a book called Norwich and
its Region being the result!
“These
here maps hoolly take some drawing, don’t they Felix?”
said Albie, working on a map of the Geology of Norfolk. “Which
one on ’em are you doin’ then?”
Felix,
however, was otherwise occupied, hastily scribbling a pencil cartoon.
“Tha’s
a good ’un, Felix,” laughed John, one of the other designers,
looking over the artist’s shoulder. “Wait ’til you
see this, Albie!”
Soon,
a crowd of designers and artists were gathered around Felix’s
desk, all falling about laughing.
“What
on earth’s all that commotion about?” said Mr Oliver,
the Design manager, getting up from his desk and striding to the
far end of the room to take a look. “Don’t you lot have
any work to do?...”
But,
even he had to smile at what he saw.
“So,
that’s what you get up to on holiday, Albie!” he
laughed, pointing to the pencil sketch on Felix’s drawing board.
Then, turning to the other designers: “Come on, you lot, we
need that book before Christmas, y’know!”
Then
Albie caught sight of the cause of all the mirth and hilarity –
a cartoon of himself and a certain foreign young lady looking
for a suitable spot on Cromer beach to engage in some quiet canoodling,
blissfully unaware of a certain Jarrold artist sunning
himself behind a rock!
 The
Lovers by Felix Bernasconi
(Wearing his trademark cap and with his three dogs)
“Here’s
a nice quiet place behind this rock...” Albie said to Nicole,
his French girl friend.
One
of many cartoons drawn by the artists and designers of Jarrold Design
department during the 1960s, when they should have been working!
At each and every opportunity, they would poke fun at each other
– the only way they knew how – in cartoon form and, luckily,
all the drawings were carefully saved for posterity!
“Tha’s
quiet enough here,” Albie recalled saying to Nicole, “there’s
no-one around for miles!”
How
wrong he had been, it seemed!
With
his face displaying a ‘healthy’ red glow, Albie said nothing,
but quietly returned to his map-making!
Norwich
and its Region was finished on time, and well-received locally
when it went on sale in bookshops.
“I
wun’t half like a copy,” Albie was heard to tell his boss,
a request that was to fall on deaf ears, and, although he didn’t
know it then, it would take him over four decades to obtain
his personal copy of the book!
ALBIE
GOES SHOPPING
Albie’s
great-grandmother, Edith
Blanche Middleton – who everyone knew as ‘Edie’
– had been in poor health for some time. She had lived with
the family in Regis Cottage for a great many years but, earlier
in 1961, due to her deteriorating health, was moved into a council-run
Old People’s Home just outside Downham Market – many miles
from her beloved Sheringham and her family.
By
now, his father had bought a new car – one of the latest Morris
Minis – having made the journey to see Edie on several occasions
with another planned for Christmas Eve, only a few days away.
Albie,
in the meantime, was beginning to panic as he’d left his Christmas
shopping until the last minute as usual!
“I’ll
hatta do the rest o’ my Christmas shopping this lunchtime,”
Albie told Felix, a couple of days before the start of the festive
season. “En’t that a headache to know what to buy people?”
“I
never have any problems,” his friend replied, “I don’t
buy nothing – ’cause, I don’t believe in Christmas
an’ all that squit!”
“But,
what about the Three Wise Men an’ Bethlehem an’ little
Jesus?” Albie replied, unable to accept his friend as an ‘unbeliever’.
“That all happened, din’t it?”
Felix
just shrugged his shoulders; he had never believed in anything like
that and nothing would ever change his mind.
“Old
wives’ tales,” he retorted angrily, “where’s
your proof that any of it ever happened?”
“Tha’s
all in the Bible,” Albie replied, sad that Felix didn’t
believe in spiritual things. After all, he was such a good
friend, and one who never touched a drop of drink, neither did he
smoke, nor was he ever heard to swear let alone utter a bad word
against anyone. But, when it came to religion... woe betide the
person who tried to convert him!
So,
Albie went shopping alone.
In
the city centre, Albie walked up Back of the Inns, then turned into
the Royal Arcade – with its vast selection of shops –
eventually emerging onto Gentleman’s Walk, where he headed
in the direction of Woolworths at the bottom end of Theatre Street.
“Possibly
razor blades and a desk diary for Dad,” he said to himself,
browsing the wares that ‘Woollies’ had on display. “And
maybe some nice perfume for Mum... but, what shall I get Nanny?”
Settling
for some triangular-shaped bath salts in a round box for his Nanny
Edie, Yardley’s cosmetics for his mother and a Gardener’s
Diary for his father, Albie paid the young lady behind the counter
and, happy with his purchases, left Woolworths and went back to
work.
During
the afternoon of Friday, 22 December, as usual, the Directors of
Jarrold & Sons distributed gifts to all members of the Office
staff – boxes of ‘smellies’ for the ladies, young
and old alike, and 100 Senior Service or Players to please the lads!
Albie, in spite of his New Year’s resolution, still hadn’t
quite given up smoking and, happy with his box of a hundred, popped
them in his briefcase. All that remained now was a visit from the
Chairman, Mr H John Jarrold, and they could all go home!
 At
about four o’clock, Mr John arrived in the Design department,
accompanied by his son, Mr Peter, and they began to ‘do the
rounds’ of handshaking and wishing everyone seasonal greetings.
“We
have a good reputation,” Mr John told Albie, shaking him warmly
by the hand, “for setting high standards of workmanship –
our resolution for the year ahead must be to raise these standards
ever higher... oh, and by the way, Happy Christmas to you!”
“And
to you, Mr John,” Albie replied, as the Chairman turned his
attention to Felix.
“We
must give the world our best in quality of work,” he told Felix,
clasping his hand tightly, “peace and goodwill to all men –
Merry Christmas to you!”
But
what would Felix say, Albie wondered? After all, he
didn’t believe in Christmas, he’d made that abundantly
clear.
“And
a very Happy Christmas to you, Mr John.” replied Felix! Well,
you could have knocked Albie down with a feather!
A
JOURNEY ON CHRISTMAS EVE
First
thing after lunch on Christmas Eve, Sunday 24 December, Albie’s
father parked his spanking-new Mini in front of Regis Cottage, ready
for the fifty-mile drive to Downham Market to visit Nanny Edie.
“If
we leave now, Gladys,” he told his wife, putting on his coat
and driving gloves, “we’ll get there and back almost in
daylight.”
“I’m
ready when you are, Albert,” his wife replied, picking up a
bag of prettily-wrapped Christmas presents, “have I got your
presents for Nanny in here, Albie?”
“Yes,
Mum,” the lad replied, standing by the Mini, “but, do
I really have to go?”
“Don’t
yew start!” his father said angrily. “Get in the
back of the car – you’re en’t stayin’ at home
on your own, an’ tha’s final!”
“And
yew can hev these here presents in the back an’orl,” his
mother told him, bundling the large bag over the front seats to
him. “There en’t enough room in the front, that there
en’t!”
After
an hour or so’s drive through the Norfolk countryside, Albie’s
father parked his Mini next to the Old People’s Home, just
outside Downham Market.
“You
stay here, Albie,” his mother told him, collecting the bag
of presents from him, and heading for the front door of the home,
“we’ll go in an’ see how Nanny is feeling, then we’ll
send for you...”
It
took but five minutes for Albie’s mother to re-appear, tearfully,
from the Old People’s home, with her husband, Albert, not far
behind.
“Nanny’s
not too well,” she cried, getting back into their car,
“best yew dun’t see her at present – jist try to
remember her the way she wuz...” With that she put her head
in her hands and began to sob, uncontrollably, to herself.
“Let’s
go home, Albert,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “
Nanny wouldn’t have wanted us to...”
It
was getting dusk as the little white Mini drove into Regis Place
again. It had been a strangely quiet journey, with no words spoken,
and just the sound of the engine purring to itself as a constant
companion. Finally, as they went indoors, Albie’s mother spoke:
“Nanny
did look peaceful though, Dad, din’t she?” she said. “I
dun’t think she’s suff’rin’, is she?”
Albie’s
father said nothing – he just took his wife’s hand and
squeezed it gently.
CHRISTMAS
DAY FILLED WITH SADNESS
First
thing on Christmas morning, Albie was up bright and early. As had
always been tradition in the Gray household he had hung a pillowcase
at the foot of his bed the night before and was now eager to see
what ‘Father Christmas had brought him’ – even though
he was all of twenty years of age!
Soon,
there on his bed, lay a collection of presents: red, white and blue
striped pyjamas, nice woolly socks for those cold winter days, a
colourful hand-knitted necktie, a white nylon drip-dry shirt, and...
a big box of Liquorice Allsorts!
Downstairs,
his parents were already up and hard at work. The fire in the front
room was lit and burning brightly – Albie’s father had
seen to that – to take off the winter chill so that they could
enjoy their Christmas Day festivities in warmth and comfort.
The
chicken was already in the electric oven – Albie’s mother
had seen to that, and she was now busying herself cooking eggs and
bacon for their breakfast, with best back-bacon from the Co-op sizzling
in the pan!
“Happy
Christmas, Albie!” they both said, as their son entered the
kitchen and sat down at the table.
“Happy
Christmas, Mum and Dad,” he replied, and joked: “Wha’s
for breakfast?”.
Breakfast
was always the same at Regis Cottage: a good fry-up, followed by
toast and marmalade, and washed down by several good, strong cups
of 99 tea!
“That’ll
set yew up fur the day, that will – a good ole hearty breakfast!”
laughed his father.
“I’ll
have my usual – a bowl of Force – if you don’t mind?”
Albie insisted, pouring a bowlful of nourishing, malty wheat flakes.
“Yew
an’ your Force, Sunny Jim!” laughed his mother, and Albie
was glad to see her smiling again, after yesterday’s upsetting
visit to see Edie, although he hoped his Nanny was feeling better
today – especially as it was Christmas Day!
But
it seemed his mother had read her son’s mind.
“I
wonder how Nanny is this morning?” she said, getting up from
the table. “Do you think we should go to the telephone box
near the exchange and see? – And we might be able to wish her
a Happy Christmas...”
Her
words were cut short by a sudden urgent knocking on the front door.
“Who
on earth is that? On Christmas Day of all days! ” Gladys
remarked, wiping her hands on her pinafore dress, “I s’pose
I’d better go – you sit an’ finish your toast,
Albert!”
There,
on the front doorstep, stood a very young-looking Police Constable.
It was the first time he’d ever been called upon to perform
his duty in such a way and, struggling to find the right words,
eventually spoke: “Mrs Gray,” he said quietly, taking
off his helmet, “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad
news... I’m so sorry...
But
Albie’s mother already knew by the pained expression on his
face which devoid of colour.
“Thank
you, Officer,” she heard herself saying, with a voice that
sounded hollow, as if detached from reality. “When... was it?”
“During
the early hours – this morning – Christmas Day,”
the Policeman replied, “if there’s anything we can do?”
“No...
nothing... but – thank you, Officer,” replied Albie’s
mother, and quietly she closed the front door.
NEXT:
A New Year, 1962, and the start of a
year of change for Albie!
Please sign Albie’s guestbook as I would
love to hear your comments –
or email:
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