Welcome to the world of
Michael G Kimber
Michael G Kimber
The Nightwriter
About This Site
First Job - First Mentor
As you saw earlier, my school days were far from inspirational, but now that they were behind me I had to consider what to do with myself, and in particular of course was the irksome task of earning a living. I often wonder if all fifteen year-olds, faced with the realisation that from now on half their lives must be devoted to work, were as shocked at the prospect as I. What prepares an innocent unworldly and unskilled young person, for what is undoubtedly the biggest culture shock in their lives? The answer, in those days at least, was ‘nothing’. I do not think it was unwillingness in my case; more I think it was that little had been done to prepare me for the concept of work; to rationalise the need in either a cultural, or an economic sense. Nowadays much counselling and career advice is proffered, but then there was none that I recall. And how could one contemplate football with ones mates in the park one day, and weighing out sugar and flour the next. As I say, it was a culture shock beyond full understanding.
But worse; a bigger shock was just around the corner, for when that first week of sweat and tears was over, and proudly I took my Two pound Ten and Six home, I was to discovery that now I was working and earning, I was expected to pay for my keep. The five shillings that were left in my tired and sore hands seemed a poor return for a weeks hard work.
So there I was one rainy Monday autumn morning in Nineteen Forty Nine, waiting for the nearest branch of the local ‘chain shop’ to open. One must understand that the term did not mean then what it means now. Those were the days when the multiple stores ruled the roost. Long before supermarkets, and even before the self service system was introduced. In those days a customer would go into a shop and would be served over the counter. Walter Barker was one of a number of firms which had developed from its original single shop status until it had become a chain of stores. Many such firms had their roots back in the nineteenth century, a few even earlier, and had developed steadily over the years. Mostly they maintained a local identity, so that each city had its own crop of firms. In Leeds, names like Gallons and Thrift Stores were well known; as were Drivers, R C Hopkinson and others. There were other names too, which everyone would recognise, most noticeably perhaps the Co-ops. L.I.C.S to start with; Leeds own, the Leeds Industrial Cooperative Society. Other names were to burst upon the scene, though many more were soon to disappear.
Some however had broken free from local restrictions, and had spread beyond natural boundaries. These were the big boys in the world of groceries, some of whom went on to become the famous household names we know today, such as Saindburys and Tesco.
But Asda and Morrisons, destined one day to be giants, were unknown. The former indeed was not even embryonic at this time, though Morrisons was to grow via the traditional route of small stores and a faithful following in far away Bradford.
But times were changing, and so were peoples lifestyles. The first half of the twentieth century had been bumpy to say the least. Two world wars, a general strike, the slow but irreversible growth of people power and the political changes that this brought about, had changed everyone’s lives. Massive social and cultural changes had influenced peoples habits and expectations. A process of rationalisation had started which was to effect all types of business, and not only was the grocery industry a prime example, but it was there for all to see.
Gradually familiar names fell away, as one by one the little firms were bought out by the bigger ones; only for they themselves to be swallowed up by even bigger firms. Soon all the old local firms were gone, and the Nationals had taken their place. Even some of the long established firms, large now and responsible for the demise of so many of those familiar names that we grew up with, themselves became victims in the mad chase for bigger and better. The old fashioned counter shop disappeared almost overnight, to be replaced by self service, the forerunner of the now ubiquitous supermarket.
Privately owned corner shops which had for generations been central to the lives of millions of families, disappeared in their thousands. These shops had played an invaluable part in their communities, not only for the goods they sold, but for the social need they provided within tight communities, and the ‘tick’, which was a lifeline for so many families over all those years when times were hard.
This process was well under way when I came into the world of butter and baked beans. Walter Barker had been bought out by Thrift Stores, who had by now developed into a very large chain, and was considered to be the leader of the pack in Leeds.
Working in a food shop was not an edifying experience, and I doubt that I was the envy of my friends. Learning how to weigh, pat and pack lard or butter was never challenging. Packing sugar in those specially made blue bags in that special way, so that even upside down, no sugar was lost, was interesting at first, but somewhat short of riveting I did however discover that I had an aptitude for boning and dressing bacon and ham, and the ability to use knives as sharp as razors, without doing myself, or anyone else, any harm. The shop manager, quick to see an advantage for himself as well as for me, sent me for special training. A wise move on his part, and a valuable boost to my self esteem.
There were some benefits however. The handling of cash, and the mental calculation required in doing so, plus the inevitable telling off which would follow a complaint by a customer if I made a mistake, quickly conspired to make up - in a practical sense - for some of the deficiencies of my schooling. There were no adding machines then, or the super do-it-all cash tills, that today we take for granted. It was all done in the head, quickly, and more important, accurately. It also had to be done under the gaze of many a savvy lady who mental capacity was at the very least, equal to ones own. In those days when customer loyalty was every retailers byword, establishing trust and confidence between you and the customer was vital. Mistakes of a monetary kind could very easily cause not only the loss of that trust by a customer, but also their weekly trade.
Apart from the manager, who was of my fathers generation, somewhat aloof but kindly, there was a good mix of staff members, and I guess I learnt something from them all.
The assistant manager was young, energetic, always on the go and keen to prove himself. He seemed to have all the qualities I lacked, and I suppose he became a roll model for me. I latched onto him whenever I could, though he didn’t seem to be as enthusiastic as I was to become a duo.
There were also three ladies; two of an age similar to my mother, and one more like my elder sister.
Then there was Mr Lobley.
Most of the names of people I worked with in these early years have faded from my memory, but I will never forget Mr Lobley.
He had all the caricatures of an old man. Bald on top, white at the back and sides, thin gaunt face and a prominent chin, glasses at the end of his thin nose, a slightly stooping back, and thin long fingered hands, with a slight tremble that never stopped.
In some circumstances such a man might be frightening, but he took me under his wing and we were friends from the start.
He taught and encouraged me, and he became a bit like a second grandfather. It shames me a little to recall that I probably preferred him to my real grand-dad. Not only did he teach me everything worth knowing about the grocery trade, he was (I know it now if not then) instrumental in my development as a person.
Ah Mr Lobley; would that I had some-one admiring me, and looking up to me, as I did to you.
I also liked the interaction with customers; the lighthearted jokes from some, and the motherly affection from others, not to mention the shy glances and occasional awkward dealings with some of their daughters. I guess there were many lessons learnt about the difficult subject of relationships, and how to get on with people.
There was to be another benefit, albeit unrecognised at the time. For when I asked to help with window dressing and other displays, the manager, perhaps also more influential in my life than I realised, noticed that I could use a brush to some effect on the posters. He sent me off for more training at an art centre, and so, perhaps, sowed an artistic seed in me that was to bloom in later years.
All of this was the starting point of the gradual transformation of an untidy, rather clumsy, and lacklustre youth, into the suave, good looking, debonair, man-of-the-world person he became. Well alright, I can dream too! But for me it was a starting place, and no doubt, just as it was for others crossing that bridge between boyhood and manhood, an important point in my life.
It is not always easy to know which experiences in life one leaves behind, and which ones stay with you, but of one thing I am sure. My acquired skill at packaging has served me in good stead each Christmas since those days, for every year I get the job of wrapping up the presents.
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