大象传媒

In 1942, I was a thirteen-year-old schoolboy. I worked part-time (after school and on Saturdays) for a Mr. J. Carver, who was a small grocer with a shop at the bottom end of Eign Street, where Paramount Windows are today. I rode one of those carrier bikes that had a small wheel in front and a big basket. I would deliver as afield as Tupsley one end of the town, to Burghill at the other end - but mainly in the Whitecross area.

My little story begins on a Saturday. It was a cold rainy day. I was told to go to Mr. Griffiths, who had a shop in Widemarsh Street, next to the Imperial pub, and pick up a side of bacon.

Well, I arrived at Mr. Griffiths' shop. I pulled the bike onto its stand, went in the shop and told them what I had come for. The said side of bacon was lying on the floor in the sawdust with some others. It was far too big for me to carry on my own, so two assistants carried it out to the bike.

I pushed the bike off the stand and cocked my leg over to straddle the saddle, while these two assistants carefully put the side of bacon in the basket. The shoulder was hanging well over the front.

Well, I started off wobbling up Widemarsh Street, turned right into Bewell Street, got down as far as the traffic lights which fortunately were on green, and arrived outside Carver's shop. When I stopped I put my left foot down; it slipped on the wet pavement and both I and the bacon went head over heels.

When it had been brought into the shop I had to get a bucket of hot water to wash off the sawdust, and the dirt from the pavement, and also as many maggots as I could. Oh, happy days!

I got paid a ten-shilling note for a week's work, which I gave to my mother. She would give me two shillings back, and my father gave me a shilling. I was well off in those days!

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