Vic’s Jottings – May 2022

Memories of a London Lad

In this article I am going to say a swear word (WORK).
I promise to wash my mouth out now I have used it.
The year was 1957 and it was a couple of weeks before my thirteenth birthday. It was then that my father raised the issue. He told me that the newsagent at the top of our road was short of paper boys. He said I was reaching the age where I would want things that the other teenagers had. This was my chance to be able to buy some of them. A week later it all began.

Up at 06:30am and off to the newsagents to collect the papers for my round. All my deliveries were nearby so my bike stayed in the shed. There were however two downsides. The first involved a four storey block of flats without a lift. That’s right no lift!!! It meant a lot of exercise very early in the morning and just to post a couple of dozen newspapers. The second downside occurred every Sunday. As virtually all of the papers on the so called “day of rest” contained supplements. My paper bag weighed so heavy that I was tilted to one side when I left the shop. As the round progressed and the load reduced I gradually returned to an upright position.

One house in particular made my blood boil. They did not have just one of the heavy papers. They had four of the heaviest ones. To get them through the letterbox required posting the paper and supplement separately. Four papers and four supplements meant I had to post eight separate items. To ease my frustration I would thump each one as I posted it. Sending them flying down the hall. The occupants would have all been wide awake by the time I had finished.

The strange thing is that I never received a Christmas tip from that house. A few months after joining, I was offered what was classed as a better round. One where all of the deliveries were well spaced out. Of course this meant cycling to finish in time for school. As the houses were a reasonable distance from the shop the paper boy had the responsibility of collecting the payment. That meant going to each house twice on a Saturday.

Before breakfast, delivering the newspapers.

After breakfast, collecting the money.

That meant goodbye to a lazy Saturday morning.

However it was worthwhile at Christmas when the people tipped me for my hard work. There was one downside with living close to the shop. Because it meant that the manager knew where I lived. So if a boy failed to turn up he would come running, to ask me to do there round. As a result I have on a few occasions done two and a half paper rounds in the morning.

Then another after school delivering the evening papers.

Then finally ended the day by selling papers at the edge of a factory estate. I want to finish by telling my most embarrassing moment as a paper boy. Snow had fallen and the roads were very icy. I had just collected my papers and was about to leave the shop, when a lady came in to buy something. She turned to me and said “I hope you are not using your bike today”. “It is absolutely treacherous out there”. I replied saying “I will be fine” and then left.

Outside of the shop was a four lane main road, which I had to cross. I climbed on my bike and started on my way. Before I had got halfway I slid on the ice, and ended up on my backside. I got back on and continued on my way. Before the far curb I was on my backside for a second time. Realising that woman was likely to have been watching me out of the window. I picked up the bike and carried it back to the shop.
Then I threw it against the shop wall. I then set off on foot mumbling away to myself. I was a paper boy for two and a half years.
Finishing, only when I left school.

Two weeks later I started my first real job.

But that is another story.

Vic