Nice Little Earners

Derrick Woodward of Northwich, Cheshire remembers:

For my generation, who completed their education soon after World War Two, there were a wide range of employment opportunities. In addition to the staple industry of north Staffordshire – the making of pottery – jobs were available in the iron and steel works, in coal mining, tyre manufacture and so on. Young men were faced with the prospect of conscription at the age of 18, up to two years in the armed forces with National Service paying 28s a week.

The ideal goal for many was an apprenticeship, offering the chance to resume a career after completing one’s service. We were anxious to avoid a deadend job, marking time until our call-up. However, in those days when large families were the norm, wages for a 5½-day week were some £5 net, making it imperative to begin work quickly.

In my own case, my contribution to the family budget included a newspaper delivery round, which began when I was 13. As a sideline, the corner shop provided wooden boxes, suitable for chopping into kindling. For a penny a bundle, there was a steady demand on my paper round. In addition to the morning and evening papers, Saturday was an especially busy day. During the football season, the “football final” had to be collected from the printers, literally “hot off the press” with the ink barely dry. A Sunday paper, the Empire News, appeared late on Saturday making five delivery rounds that day.

Carol singing and “penny for the guy” were nice little earners in season. During the winter months, our homemade cart was used to fetch coke from the gas works, a fuel which was in great demand when coal was rationed. Decades later, our son made such a cart. A coalman had a garage in our street, selling “coal bricks” to supplement the coal ration. Moulded from a mixture of cement and coal dust, these bricks smouldered for hours. In company with my younger brothers, we’d be out after a snowfall, clearing neighbours’ drives for a few coppers.

When I got home the evening after leaving school, it had been arranged for several classmates to meet on Monday and go job hunting. My parents went to the cinema that evening, leaving my five young siblings and me listening to Dick Barton: Special Agent on the wireless. They returned with our regular weekend treat – a fish supper – and an announcement.

I’d got a job, trainee projectionist at the cinema starting at 4.30pm on Sunday. So that was my gap year: 48 hours.

Derrick’s parents secured him his first proper job as a trainee projectionist at the cinema, starting just two days after leaving school. Right: Decade’s later, Derrick’s son made the same sort of cart used by Derrick and his brothers to fetch coke from the gas works in the winter.