My first pay packet ain’t half light, guv

BACK in the summer of 1964, I left school with no idea as to what sort of career to pursue. By chance, I spotted a job advertised at Ronson’s, the lighter manufacturers in nearby Leatherhead, Surrey.

It was a short bus ride away, I didn’t have to get up too early and they seemed like good people to work for.

At the interview, a lowly position in the cost office was offered to me.

Despite the fact that my two O-levels were in English Language and Literature and I had no aptitude for numbers, the job was mine — I suspect that no one better had come along. The chief accountant, a kindly man with a ready smile, told me the salary was ‘four fifteen’, which at the age of 16 I considered to be generous.

Even though my numerical skills were poor, I deduced that meant more than £8 a week.

Friday afternoon, at the end of my first week, and the wages cart was wheeled from office to office. Then I held my first pay packet, in cash.

‘Eh, this can’t be right, it’s half what it’s supposed to be,’ I thought. ‘Surely £415 a year equals £8 a week.’

I knocked on the door of the great man. Still smiling, he explained my weekly pay was £4 and 15 shillings.

Harry Pope, Eastbourne, E. Sussex.