“We’ve bin havin’ ‘fun, fun, fun’, practisin’ a new song by the Beach Boys,” said Albie, “ but someone, that seem, hen’t got the ear for it!”

www.albiestales.co.uk part four

ALBIE WAS REALLY FED UP! Since 1952, it seemed to him he’d spent most of his life, thus far, travelling by train somewhere or other. First he travelled to school at North Walsham, then later to Norwich to take up the life of a Bohemian at the Art School. Since 1960, his chosen place of work had demanded he must travel, once again, by noisy, smelly train to the big city – thirty miles distant from his home town of Sheringham. What a waste of time it was, how he wished he could do something about it – but what? His work colleagues, knowing full well his plight, suggested he lodged in Norwich again to be nearer his work, but he’d tried that once before and, missing home comforts, had soon regretted his big mistake. Never again, he told himself. But as he began to descend into the fathomless depths of despair a helping hand was to come from a most unlikely source.

S WAS USUAL for a Saturday night, Fred and Edith would spend the evening in the exclusive Tyneside Club, at the top of Station Road, and, for them, the night of 28 March – Easter Saturday – had the promise of another enjoyable evening.

Arriving just after half-past-seven, they made their way to the main bar where Edith had a sweet sherry and Fred his usual, a single malt chaser followed by a pint of the best. Taking their drinks with them they settled down in the cozy lounge, looking forward for a pleasant evening with their friends – playing cards, enjoying a quiet smoke and several more rounds of drinks. Every Saturday night was the same – plenty to talk about for the ladies, a fine Castella for the gentlemen, and plenty of warming spirits to induce happy laughter and a sense of well-being, but, most importantly: peace and quiet!

FRED IS NONE TOO PLEASED!

It was just after eight o’clock when all hell was let loose! First of all the windows in the lounge began to rattle, then the glasses on the tables began to move and chink together.

“Blimey!” exclaimed Fred, getting up from his chair and going to look out of the window. “What the devil’s goin’ on out there?”

Just across the railway line stood the Gatehouse Café where Chubby and The Checkers were practising a new song – a recent release by the Beach Boys – to add to their repertoire. By now, the group was in full swing with Fun, fun, fun and, with their amplifiers cranked up as far as they would go, the sound of their raucous music could be heard from one end of Station Road to the other – with the Tyneside Club standing in between.

“Strike a light!” said Fred, going back to his wife and friends who were finding it increasingly difficult to hold a conversation let alone even hear themselves speak. “There’s a right ole racket comin’ from that b****** caff across the road...”

And so it continued. The same tune; stopping and starting, time and time again, until the group were happy with first this bit, then that – and it went on and on, and on and on, and...

By nine o’clock there had been no let up in the noise coming from the Gatehouse Café – in fact, if anything, it had got worse especially after Chubby and his friends had opened up a few bottles of Bullards’ finest ales.

“I think I’m having one of my migraines,” Edith told Fred, taking a little bottle of smelling salts out of her handbag. “It’s all the noise – it’s making me feel quite faint...”

With that, Fred and Edith’s Saturday night out was cut short – and that of their friends too – and, as they all began to go their separate ways, Fred was not a happy man!

Just as he and Edith were walking past the café on their way home, Albie emerged, as large as life, with his guitar slung over his shoulder and went over to his Lambretta parked nearby.

“Gordon b***** Bennett!” shouted Fred, storming across to where Albie was standing beside his scooter, “Aintcha got nothin’ better to do than make all that flippin’ racket?”

“Oh, do leave it, Fred – plee-ease,” pleaded Edith, tugging at his sleeve. “Can’t we just go home?”

But her irate husband was determined to give Albie ‘a piece of his blimmin’ mind’.

“Strike a blimmin’ light,” Fred continued, as his wife began walking home on her own, “never heard such a flippin’ din in all me life, I en’t! Blimey, you lot certainly know how to spoil someone’s night out you do!”

“I’m sorry?” protested Albie, lifting his scooter off its stand, “I wasn’t aware our music was upsettin’ anyone...”

“MUSIC? – you call that music?” Fred shouted, waving his hand about and pointing up the road. “Everyone could hear your blimmin’ racket from hear to Cromer I should think!”

“But – we gotta practise,” Albie continued, “anyway – tha’s a free world, en’t it?”

This really caused Fred to see red!

“No thanks to the likes of you!” he replied angrily.“Me an’ me mates were up to our necks in mud an’ bullets to keep this country free... but was that all blimmin’ worth it? NO! They should’ve kept National Service – that would’ve taught drop outs like you a bit o’ respect. Strike a light! Just look at you – get your hair cut, lad!”

With that, Fred turned on his heel and set off down Station Road to catch up with his wife, leaving Albie standing next to his scooter.

“What on earth was that all about?” asked John, the café owner, hearing all the commotion outside. “A friend of yours, Albie?”

“Not flippin’ likely!” replied Albie, kick-starting his scooter and revving up noisily, “Never seen the bloke before. But I know one thing – he hen’t got an ear for good music!”

ALBIE BRAVES THE ELEMENTS

April certainly began by living up to its showery tradition, some of them quite heavy, according to Albie’s 1964 Diary. Whether the flowers would still bloom in May was a matter of doubt as bitterly cold winds raged off the sea, from a northeasterly direction. The local fishermen, gathered next to the Town Clock for a mardle, had this to say: “Thass an ill wind – no good ul come onnit, thass tarned thare insoides out that hev!” This, we take it to mean, was to delay the start of the crabbing season!

THE TOWN CLOCK AT THE TOP OF THE HIGH STREET

This inclement weather was most unfortunate, specially for Albie as he had planned to start using his Lambretta for work, even though his mother had warned him against it.

“Ne’er cast a clout ’til May be out,” she had said,quoting the age-old saying. However, this made him rather unsure; did she mean the month of May, or the aptly-named blossom?

Not relishing a lengthy delay in his change of transport, he decided it was May blossom his mother had meant, and began scouring hedgerows for early signs of life.

By the middle of the second week in April, due to some much milder weather, the hedgerows were bursting with frothy-white blossom. So, on the Monday of the following week, the ominous thirteenth day of the month, Albie made his first journey to work on his scooter.

Taking his mother’s advice, he put on an extra pullover and a thicker pair of woollen socks, and not wishing to tempt Fate, slipped a rabbit’s foot in his pocket for good luck.

The first week of his twenty-eight mile daily trek to Norwich on his Lambretta went well enough, without incident, but, the following week fared not so well as the weather took a change for the worse. Although he made the journey to work in the dry, usually in bright sunshine, by late afternoon the storm clouds had rolled in again and, by leaving-off time, he was faced with a wet and windy ride home. This gave Albie cause to question his decision, however, with his travelling time, door to door, cut by the best part of half an hour, he decided to brave the elements and press on.

Besides, he told himself, not having to pay extortionate train fares meant more money burning a hole in his pocket and he knew just how to spend it – playing the pinball machines in the Gatehouse Café!

ALBIE IS ‘FED UP’

Patsy had been working full time at the Gatehouse Café since leaving school at the end of the Easter term, thoroughly enjoying her work there, and very popular with all the customers – though still unable to attract the attention of a certain lead guitarist, who always seemed to have other things on his mind!

On Saturday 25 April, she was working in the café kitchen when Albie appeared, going into the back room to play the pinball machines – it being his Saturday off work. She vowed, there and then, there was no time like the present to gain his attention – but how?

As she stood beside him, watching his every move – flicking first the left-hand flipper, then the right, trying his hardest to avoid the ‘Tilt’ sign coming up – she decided there was only one way to win his heart!

“Would you like a coke, Albie?” she asked, determined to win his affections.

Albie shook his head and kept playing the pinball. He was far too engrossed in his game to even think of stopping for a drink, besides there was a target to meet – 100,000 credits – if he was to win a prize of 100 cigarettes – as promised by the sign over the machine!

“I’m busy!” he replied rudely, and continued playing.

“What about suffin’ to eat then?” Patsy continued.

For a moment Albie’s concentration lapsed. Was it from the slight pangs of hunger? After all it was nearly lunchtime he noticed, glancing at his wristwatch, having lost all track of time playing his favourite game. No; there was definitely something else but, try as he might, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

With his mind in a whirl, he failed to notice the chromium-plated ball sneaking past the right-hand flipper. At the last second, he responded by flipping violently, shaking the entire machine. Too late! TILT! His momentary lapse has cost him the game.

“Tha’s all your fault!” he complained, turning his attention to the pretty young waitress standing next to him. “You put me off, you did!”

“S-sorry,” she blurted, turning to go back into the kitchen, “I just thought you’d like a drink... but get back to that game of yours if it means that much to you!”

“Oh, all right,” Albie sighed, sitting down at the nearest table next to the pinball machines. “Being’s I’ve just lost another half-crown of my hard-earned money...!”

“It’ll be on the house,” Patsy whispered, going into the kitchen and putting the frying pan on the stove. “Egg and bacon, do you?”

“With some beans?” Albie laughed, as the smell of a full English breakfast wafted through the open doorway.

Five minutes later, with a large plate of bacon and eggs, sausages and grilled tomatoes in front of him – and a large spoonful of baked beans as well – Albie began to tuck into his meal, and delicious it was too! Meanwhile, Patsy just had to wait to see if indeed ‘the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach’!

“Phew – That wuz hoolly great, thanks,” said Albie, pushed his plate away from him and clutching his bloated stomach, “the very best I’ve ever tasted – but, where did you learn to cook like that?”

Patsy just smiled, picked up his plate and returned into the café kitchen. Had her ploy worked, she wondered?

Suddenly, it hit him. The sweet fragrance of orange blossom. He’d smelled that before – but where? Then he remembered: his anonymous Valentine card. It had been Patsy all along who had sent it!

“Patsy,” he called out, “have you got a minute...”

Nervously, she looked out of the kitchen at Albie standing in the doorway.

“I’ve bin thinkin’,” he said, “there’s a good horror film at the Cromer Regal tomorrow night – we could go if you like...?”

ALBIE’S DAD BUYS A NEW CAR

Early in May, Albie’s father was to take delivery of a new car, a gleaming Morris 1100, finished in British Racing green. It was high time for a change, he told himself, when he first saw the car standing in the showroom of Baxter’s Garage in Fakenham. Besides, another new car outside Regis Cottage would definitely set the neighbours’ tongues wagging, he laughed!

With none of the houses in Regis Place having garages, parking was always quite difficult. It wasn’t that every family in that small cul-de-sac owned a car, because they didn’t, so on-road parking was possible, although thwart with danger from the lorries using the small dairy opposite Regis Cottage.

On one occasion, Albie had made the mistake of parking his Lambretta outside his house, only for there to be a knock on the front door and for him to be told a lorry had just knocked over his scooter! Luckily, there was no damage but he never made the same mistake again!

Albie’s father, being the manager of Sheringham Co-op and in a position of authority, had certain privileges. A share in the Co-op ‘divi’ was one, Christmas gifts from traders and major suppliers another, but by far the most important was his ability – in the past – to park his car in the warehouse next to the bread van. However, this was all about to change as Norwich – having taken over the local branches, Cromer and Sheringham – had plans for the warehouse and that didn’t include garaging private cars!

When she learned of this, Albie’s mother became all hot and bothered.

“Oh – whatever are we gorn to do?” Gladys asked her husband, “that oan’t be safe outside ours, will it? If them lot next door don’t let the tyres down, them dairy lorries will run inta it, they will, an’ tha’s no mistake!”

READY FOR THE SHERINGHAM CARNIVAL: LORRY OUTSIDE REGIS COTTAGE

Her husband laughed. “Dorn’t you git so vexed about that, Gladys,” he replied, “I reck’n I’re found a garridge for our new car down in Blyth’s yard. I pick the keys up first thing next Wednesday, afore I open up the Co-op. Then, arter lunch – bein’s tha’s early closing – we’ll go over to Feark’nam, an’ git our little ow bewty!”

On Wednesday, 6 May, Albert and Gladys drove up in their brand-new car. So bright and shiny was the paintwork that you could almost see the look on the neighbours’ faces in it, as they peered out from behind the twitching lace curtains.

Locking the doors of Doris (the Morris) – their pet name for the car – Albie’s mother and father left their pride and joy parked outside their house for the neighbours to envy. Even Albie was quite taken back when he arrived home on his Lambretta, as his parents had conveniently forgotten to tell him of their plans.

“Who’s gone an’ parked outside our house?” he asked, after putting his scooter in the garden shed, “I s’puz tha’s someone at next door’s – the blimmin’ cheek onnit...”

“No, Albie, tha’s ours, that is!” his mother replied, taking him through into the front room and pulling back the net curtains. “We’re bin to Baxters o’ Feark’nam today, traded the old one in an’ bought that – en’t she a lovely car? Pity you hen’t got one instead o’ that ow Lambretta thing o’ yours...”

“But, I like my scooter!” Albie declared, quite upset by his mother’s remarks, “it gets me about and is proving quite useful for work, as I’m fed up with goin’ by train every day!”

“Mind you, I hatta admit that do git cold on that scooter,” he said, continuing to gaze out of the front room window at the shiny new car. “Sometimes I do wish I could afford something like that, but I can’t – well, not at the moment.”

“If on’y I knew of someone with a car who worked in Norwich as well,” he sighed...

AN ANSWER TO ALBIE’S PRAYERS?

Sunday, 10 May, Albie’s father decided it was time to give Doris her very first wash and wax! And so began the Sunday ritual, destined to last for a great many years!

Just off Cremer Street not far from the Co-op, was a sandy lane, its rough pothole-bound surface haphazardly filled with brick rubble from the builders’ yard nearby. Almost at the end of this track was a group of wooden garages, in various states of dilapidation – but a welcome home for many cars, large and small alike!

With a narrow access, barely wide enough for a car, the blocks of garages lined all four sides of a quadrangle, again unmade and infilled, here and there, with yet more brick rubble. There was one section of concrete hard-standing, out of which sprouted a standpipe supplying cold water for car washing. It was a question of first come, first served, when it came to attending to the external valeting of one’s pride and joy, or in the case of Albie’s father – a newcomer to the block – waiting your turn!

For many, Sunday morning had taken on a completely new meaning; the car being the centre of worship to be honoured with sponge, wash-leather and bright yellow duster! This was a meeting point – somewhere other than the Town Clock – where men could congregate for a Sunday morning mardle, then bestow their affections on their mass-produced pride and joy!

They all welcomed their newcomer, Albert Gray, the manager of the Co-op, but not as a stranger – for everyone knew everyone else in Sheringham in those days – more as a friend, and a new member to the ‘Sandringham club’. But, more of that in the days to come!

Just after ten o’clock that Sunday morning, Albie’s father returned home unexpectedly.

“En’t time for elevenses yet, Albert!” his wife told him.

“No, I know,” he replied, standing in the kitchen, “is Albie up yet? There’s someone I reck’n he oughta meet...”

“Albie...ALBIE!” his mother shouted up the stairs. “Are you up yet?”

“No,” came the reply from the little room at the end of the landing, “I’m not!”

“No, he’s not up yet!” Albie’s mother told his father.

“For goodness sake!” complained his father, “tell him tha’s important – I hen’t got all day!”

“Albie!” shouted his mother, standing halfway up the stairs. “Dad says tha’s hoolly important an’ to git down here right away.”

Eventually, with much complaining, he came downstairs, still in his pyjamas.

“Some people don’t seem to know what day it is!” he moaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How you can expect anyone sleep with that racket goin’ on beats me! – So, wha’s up now?”

“There’s a man I think you’ll want to meet,” his father told him, “he works in Norwich, goes by car everyday and, to cap it all, he’s offering to give you a lift to work!”

“I met him down at the garages,” he continued, “when we were washing our cars – if you get dressed quickly he might still be there...”

An answer to all his prayers, thought Albie as he rushed upstairs to get dressed – leaping up two stairs at a time – only to return, almost breathless, a couple of minutes later.

“C’mon, Dad,” he said, as he opened the passenger door of his father’s new car, “I can hardly wait to meet this, whatever-his-name-is!”

“And he’s looking forward to meeting you, too!” Albie’s father replied, as they drove down Cliff Road, heading towards the garages just off Cremer Street. “You’ve both something in common, it seems.”

I wonder what that is, thought Albie?

ALBIE HAS A SHOCK!

Albie’s father drove very carefully up the rough, unmade road leading to the garage forecourt, then parked his car next to his garage.

Getting out of his dad’s car, Albie began looking around at the parked cars, some being washed, others dried, whilst one – a big, cream-coloured rather ‘posh’ car – had its bonnet raised and the owner, half-hidden from view, was removing the dipstick and checking the oil level.

As Albie looked around he recognised several of the cars and their owners, having seen them many times before on his jaunts around town or his forays into Cromer.

“Hello, Albie,” said Bert Seeley, a cradle-to-the-grave insurance man with the Co-op, hosing down his black Wolseley 1.5, “not gallivanting about on that scooter o’ yours today?”

Albie remembered the last time he saw that car, just coming out of West Runton it was, he’d followed that old ‘slow-coach’ all through the village, he had, trying to pick the best moment to overtake. It came as they passed over the hump-backed railway bridge, just before the Beeston Bends, and he screamed past the car in front, tooting his horn! From the look on Mr Seeley’s face, he was not too pleased at being overtaken – certainly not on the bend!

Ernie Kimm, the shoemaker, was drying off his maroon Ford Cortina with a chamois leather, stopping to squeeze it out every now and again. Out of one corner of his mouth drooped a hand-rolled cigarette, now decidedly dampened. Never seen with it in his shop on Station Road, but never without his smoke when he was cleaning his car.

“Watcha, Albie,” he greeted, pausing to take the cigarette out of his mouth to relight it, “I hear from your father you’re fed up with travelling by train?”

“Yes, he is,” Albie’s father replied for him, heading towards the big cream-coloured car, just as its owner slammed the bonnet shut, before giving his windscreen a wipe over with a yellow duster. “But, I think this gentleman over here may well have the answer – en’t that right, Fred?”

The man glanced up, then looked towards Albie and his father.

“YOU!” laughed Fred, throwing his yellow duster on the ground. “Gordon Bennett! – and there was me thinking I’d seen and heard the last of you!”

NEXT: Has Albie has blown his chances of a lift to Norwich? And what of Patsy – will it be just purely platonic?

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 Sid Kipper

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