“I’ve just received a Valentine card,” Albie said, “but I hen’t gotta clue who that wuz from – ’corse they din’t sign it!”

www.albiestales.co.uk part four

FEBRUARY ALWAYS WAS SPECIAL for Albie. To begin with there was his birthday with the promise of presents as well as a Birthday cake his mother would always bake, then, a week later, there was Valentine’s Day! On the evening of the fourteenth there would always be a knock on the front door, which he would always be asked to answer, and there, on the doorstep, would be a little present left for him by Father Valentine. Sadly, Albie had never received a Valentine card, but 14 February 1963 was about to be much different...

LBIE HAD HARDLY set a foot indoors, let alone had time to take his coat off, before his mother began an endless round of questioning regarding a certain envelope the postman had delivered for him that morning.

“I reckun yew’ve got a lotta explaining t’do!” she chided her son, as she handed him a pink-coloured envelope. “Tha’s from some mawther in Norridge – accordin’ to the pust-mark! All covered in cheap scent that is an’orl, by the smell onnit!”

Albie felt his face suddenly redden. Could it be his very first Valentine card, he wondered? Then, glancing at the handwriting, which looked vaguely familiar – with its fancy flourishes – he too noticed the post-mark ‘Norwich’. Surely it couldn’t be from Roz, he thought, not after all this time? Although there was a certain familiar fragrance about the envelope he noticed.

“I think I’ll take it to my room!” he said, quickly concealing it inside his jacket. “Probably nothin’ much – more likely to be suffin’ t’do with work, I shun’t wonder.”

ALBIE GETS A SURPRISE!

In the privacy of his bedroom, Albie feverishly tore open the envelope and there, inside, was his very first Valentine card! On the cover was a large heart and the wording ‘Love You Lots’! But who could have sent such a thing, he wondered?

Quickly, he opened the card in the hope of discovering the identity of his unknown ‘admirer’, but he was in for a disappointment as there was no name – just a little poem:

Fur yew I dew pine,
Corse yew’re sweeter than wine,
Do say you’ll be mine,
My Valentine!

“Wuh! Whoever sent it, hen’t bothered to sign it!” he declared, stuffing the card in the bottom drawer of his tall-boy before going back downstairs for his tea.

“I’ve jist bin tellin’ ya father ’bout that card yew’ve hed,” his mother told Albie, as he sat up the table tucking into a plate of rabbit stew, parsnips and mashed potato. “That wuz a Valentine card, wun’t it? There’s no use yew a-denyin’ it! So, if that wun’t from ‘yew-know-who’ – who wuz that from then?”

Albie shook his head, picked up a slice of bread and began moping up the gravy until his plate was clean.

“If you really watta know, I hen’t got a clue,” he replied, pushing his plate away. “You en’t goin’ to believe it, but, whoever sent that card hen’t signed it! Just writ some soppy verse, tha’s all.”

Albie’s father leant back in his chair, threw back his head and laughed.

“But, Albie, yew en’t s’posed to sign it,” he said, giving his cup of tea a good stir. “Tha’s the fun onnit, tha’s meant to be a secret. Yew hatta guess who tha’s from.”

“How sorft! ” snorted Albie, getting up from the table, “you wun’t catch me doin’ that – if I ever sent one to a mawther I’d put my name onnit so she’d know tha’s from me!”

“Oh, Albie,” laughed his mother, clearing the table and putting the tea things away in the scullery for washing up, “yew can’t do that, tha’s not right – arter all, if yew meant ennything to a girl she’d know tha’s from yew.”

But Albie was adamant and told her so.

“Like I said, tha’s flippin’ sorft,” were his final remarks as he made his way back upstairs to get changed. “You’ll ’oan’t never catch me wastin’ my money – do you mark my words!”

A KNOCK ON THE DOOR

Later that evening, as Albie was watching television and his mother sat knitting, there came a loud knocking on the front door.

“Go an’ see who that is, there’s a good boy,” said his mother, glancing up from her knitting pattern, “I can’t go do I’ll drop a stitch.”

“What about Dad, can’t he go?” Albie replied impatiently, not wishing to miss the end of Wagon Train.

“No – you know Dad hatta go back down the Co-op,” Albie’s mother replied, “there’s suffin’ wrong wi’ one o’ the fridges.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Albie got up from his fireside chair and headed for the front room to answer the frantic knocking.

“No rest for the bloomin’ wicked,” he said as he opened the front door, but there was no-one there, or in the road. “If tha’s some practical joker I’ll give ’em a clip round the lug if I catch ’em!

He was just about to close the front door when, looking down, he spotted a little parcel on the doorstep. Covered in brown paper and tied with a piece of string, the package had a little label on it which read: ‘To Albie, from Father Valentine’!

“Of course!” he laughed, picking up the little gift, “good ole Father Valentine!”

“Who was that?” his mother asked, feigning ignorance.

“You may well ask,” laughed Albie, tearing open the package to reveal a packet of Spangles and a bag of Liquorice Allsorts. “Talk o’ the devil – here he comes now!”

And, with that, his father came in through the back door!

ALBIE’S QUEST

The following morning, Albie told his friends on the train about his mysterious Valentine card, as, although he would never admit it, he was quite ‘chuffed’ to have received it.

George, the accountant who worked in Jarrold Publishing, and Felix, the Design artist, both gave the impression they were most intrigued by Albie’s tale though, in truth, they were trying so hard not to laugh.

“That had a Norwich post-mark,” Albie told them, “so tha’s definitely someone I know, but you’d have thought the mawther would’ve signed it, wun’t you?”

“But you don’t do that, Albie,” laughed George, folding his copy of The Financial Times and putting it his brief case. “It’s meant to be a secret – you’re supposed to guess who it’s from!”

“You’re as bad as my Dad,” Albie replied curtly. “If she’s that keen on me, she shoulda writ her name – I en’t no mind-reader, y’know!”

“Seems to me,” chipped in Felix, looking up from one of his many train-journey-cat-naps, “someone’s having a joke with you, winding you up – and succeeding by all accounts. I’ve got a good idea who that might be – you’d best start by asking around at work!”

ALBIE IS STUMPED!

Taking Felix’s advice, Albie decided to ask his friends if they knew anything about his mystery Valentine. His first thought was Tony, well-known for his practical jokes – perhaps he’d put one of the office girls up to it. So, during the mid-morning tea break, Albie began by asking the girls in his department.

“I say, Dawne,” he said, as nonchalantly as possible, “tha’s no big deal, but I wuz just wond’rin’ if you happened to know who sent me a Valentine card yesterday?”

“Oooh – lucky you!” she laughed, nervously fidgetting with her bead necklace. “A Valentine you say? I’m so sorry, Albie, but I really don’t know anything about it. You know I’d tell you if I did, don’t you?”

Hazel, one of the Design artists, hesitated for a moment before answering: “I don’t know anything about it either, I’m afraid! But, surely it’s meant to be a secret, isn’t it ?”

Bubbly Tessa taunted him at first, almost getting him to believe she knew more than she was letting on. But then she told him, quite firmly: “It’s really nothing none of my business!”

Dawn denied any knowledge of Albie’s Valentine card.		Hazel hesitated, but thought it should remain a secret!		Tessa taunted him, then said it was nothing to with her!		Ann-Marie thought he was making a lot of fuss!

Tea break was almost over by the time Albie had asked all the girls in the Design department. Ann-Marie, a good friend of his, thought he was making a lot of fuss about something as trivial as a silly little Valentine card; Gillian, whom he’d known at the Norwich Art School, said if she heard anything she’d let him know, whilst Sue, Nita and Sylvia just fell about laughing.

The other designers and artists, especially his friend Felix, were equally amused. However, a rather non-plussed Albie remained none the wiser of the identity of his would-be ‘paramour’!

“Do you know, Felix,” he confided in his friend, “I don’t reck’n I’ll ever get to the bottom of it. If you ask me, tha’s someone hevin’ a cruel joke on me, that is – an’ I en’t amused!”

NEWS TRAVELS FAST

By lunchtime, news of Albie’s mysterious Valentine card had reached other parts of Jarrold’s printing works. In the Production Control department the typists brought production to a standstill, gossiping about Albie’s mystery card, and nothing was being purchased in the Buying department as their speculated over the mystery person’s identity.

Even the Order Clerks seemed to be out of order as they made insinuations about Albie having ‘made it all up’!

In the Publishing department, on the second floor of the Yarn Mill, they had other things on their mind rather than publishing – with Albie’s mystery card being the topic of the day.

“Come along, girls – please!” scolded Mr Trudgill, the Publishing manager, deciding enough was enough! “Break it up will you! I know it’s Friday, and the weekend is almost upon us, but there’s still work to be done, you know!”

At the epicentre of the disturbance was Suzy, a new girl, who had recently joined Jarrold Publishing as a junior shorthand typist. From what was being said, it seems she knew a little bit more than she was prepared to let on about a certain Valentine card.

George Edwards, the Publishing department accountant, was sitting at his desk when Suzy entered his office to take down some short-hand for him.

“Ah, Suzy,” he said, beckoning to her to take a seat, “what on earth was that all about outside?” Then, seeing her face visibly redden: “You didn’t have anything to do with Albie’s Valentine card, did you?”

“Tha’s for me to know,” she giggled, sitting down next to George and scribbling on her shorthand note pad as he began his dictation. “And for Albie to find out!”

THE COMMON DENOMINATOR

Albie and Suzy had something in common. Her father, like his, worked for the Co-operative Society. Whilst Albie’s father was the manager at the Sheringham Co-op store, Suzy’s dad worked at the Norwich Co-operative Bakery in Queen’s Road taking telephone orders and organizing bread and confectionery deliveries to the various branches.

A few weeks prior to the fourteenth of February the Co-op Bakery had begun producing a new range of cakes for Valentine’s Day, and, quite naturally, Albie’s father had telephoned an order through to Queens Road.

In the course of conversation, the two managers had talked about their families and it transpired that both youngsters worked at Jarrolds, although in different depatrtments and unknown to each other.

Albie’s dad, by the merest slip of the tongue, mentioned his son didn’t have a girl friend at present, to which Suzy’s father had replied that his daughter was in a similar situation regarding a boy friend! But whilst Albie’s father failed to mention the conversation to his son, Suzy was told all about it and, having an extremely mischievous streak, decided to play a prank on the lad!

However, what had begun as a foolish game for Suzy had set Albie’s heart all of a flutter, raising his hopes, and he was determined to find his anonymous admirer!

Alas, over the next few days – try as he might – Albie was no closer to discovering his ‘Valentine’. Then, late one afternoon, Suzy just happened to bump into him as they were both leaving off work for the day and, with guilt weighing heavily upon her, she decided to own up. But how could she go about it? What should she say?

“I believe your dad works at the Co-op, dun’t he?” she said, trying to find some common ground between them. Albie merely nodded that his father did, indeed, work at the Co-op in Sheringham. “So does my dad – but in Norwich,” she continued.

“But, what of it?” he replied, cutting her short. “Loads o’ people work at the Co-op!”

The cheeky-faced girl with a beehive hairdo then explained how their fathers often spoke to one another on the telephone in the course of business.

Albie, however, had other things on his mind – like catching the train home – but he just couldn’t shake her off as she walked beside him all the way to Thorpe Station.

Just as he was about to board his train, Suzy grabbed his sleeve and suddenly blurted out: “It was me – an’ I’m so-oo sorry!”

“Sorry about what?” replied Albie, not exactly the fastest greyhound in the race. “What are you goin’ on about?”

Suzy blushed, unable to find the right words as Albie closed the train door behind him and sat down in a seat next to the window.

		“I sent... that... Valentine... card,” she mouthed at the moving train, running along the platform beside it. “Oh – what’s the use, you haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” But Albie had heard, although at first he wasn’t too keen about the identity of his ‘Valentine’! However, by his journey’s end he was beginning to warm to the idea! “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask her out,” he said to himself. “Maybe next week!”
Suzy was sorry for sending Albie’s Valentine card!				Albie wasn’t too keen on the identity of his Valentine!

ALBIE IS EASILY FOOLED – AGAIN!

Philip Lunn was another friend of Albie’s, and was training to be an Order Clerk. During their lunch break they would often walk into the city centre together, looking around the shops, or partaking of chips from a stall on Norwich Market. More often than not, they would sit on a black-painted wrought-iron seat on the Castle mound, eating their chips, and just watching the world go by, at least until it was time for work again.

Living as he did in Lakenham, on the edge of the city, Philip usually caught a bus to work every day but, after a while, fed up with all the waiting around he began looking for an alternative form of transport.

On Monday morning – April the first, as it happened – Philip arrived at Jarrolds in style, riding a silver-coloured Vespa scooter – which was guaranteed to put Albie’s nose out of joint!

“It’s alright for some I s’pose,” said Albie sarcastically, seeing his friend arrive on the scooter, “so – where d’ya nick that from then?”

Philip laughed, took off his crash helmet and gloves, and placed them on the seat.

“That’s mine – all mine – that is!” he replied, as they walked the short distance from the bike sheds together. “I bought it from R O Clark’s, on Tombland, over the weekend. We could go for a spin on it at lunchtime, if you like?”

“Wow – yes, I’ll say!” Albie replied, eyes vivid-green with envy at sight of the little silver ‘wasp’ nestling in the bike sheds. “I’ve always fancied one, but me Dad wun’t keen, said they were too dangerous, what with the totty wheels!”

That morning, Albie found it impossible to concentrate on his work, as all he could think, or talk about, was Philip’s scooter and the ride planned for lunchtime. However, his friends and work colleagues had other ideas and, being April Fool’s Day, decided to play a prank on him.

“Oh, I forget to mention to you, Albie, you’re wanted at Norwich Union,” Tony, the practical joker of the Design department, told him just before midday. “I’m sorry, I should’ve mentioned it before – but there’s some copy for a financial report for you to collect!”

“What now?” Albie moaned, thinking more of his lunchtime scooter ride. “Can’t no-one else go? – I’ll be late for lunch.”

“That’s your job, Albie,” the Design manager told him, playing along with the game, “besides, they’re expecting you – off you go!”

Albie got as far as the Gatehouse when Arthur Coxall, the gatekeeper, stopped him.

“There’s a ’phone call for you, Albie,” he shouted, through the open window, “an’ it’s urgent!”

“What now?” Albie groaned, as the gatekeeper handed him the telephone, “I’ll never git me lunch now...”

“Hello? HELLO?” he said, holding the telephone to his ear. “Who’s that?”

“April Fool!” came the reply from Design department, amidst hoots of laughter for having caught Albie out yet again!

LIKE AN ANGRY WASP

That lunchtime, after quickly polishing off a cheese roll, Albie met Philip in the bike sheds to ride pillion on his new Vespa. Like an angry wasp the little scooter buzzed in and out of the traffic through the streets of Norwich: up Cattle Market Hill and down Ber Street until, turning onto Hall Road, they began to head for Lakenham and into the countryside.

Soon, the scooterists were bowling along the lanes around Eaton, through sleepy villages and into unfamiliar territory. Just before two o’clock, the little Vespa was to be heard buzzing along the main Dereham to Norwich road, and whizzing past the Norfolk Showground.

“We shall be late for work, Philip!” Albie shouted over his friend’s shoulder, above the noise of the angry-sounding Vespa. “Tha’s still a long way to Norwich, y’know!”

“You worry so!” his friend shouted back, half turning to look behind him, then, twisting the throttle wide open, he said: “Now let’s see what she can really do...!”

With that, the scooter quickened its pace, almost becoming airborne along the main A47 road, with its engine hammering away fit to burst – coughing, spluttering and backfiring every now and again as if in protest.

They were late of course, just as Albie had predicted, with both receiving a ‘ticking-off’ from their respective managers. But Albie was not at all bothered, for the exhilaration of his first scooter ride stayed with him for the rest of the afternoon, and he found it extremely difficult to concentrate on his work, let alone talk of anything else.

“Tha’s def’nit’, Felix, that is,” he told his artist friend.“I’ve med me mind up – first thing tomorrow lunchtime I’m goin’ to look for a scooter an’ I don’t care what me Dad says!”

“Nasty, noisy, smelly things – give me a bicycle any day!” his friend mumbled under his breath – and got on with his work!

NEXT: Albie goes on a quest for a scooter! But what will his parents say?

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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