Stringing the suckers along

AFTER I left school at 14, I started work as a messenger. This was just a name as we were really dogsbodies. We swept up, cleaned the toilets and fetched rolls and sandwiches, but not necessarily in that order. Our firm was in a basement underneath a shop. The only ventilation came from a trap that lifted up to the pavement above.

The environment was so bad that we were allowed extra milk and tea which the lads made in a big jug. The work was boring, so the lads made their own fun if they could get away with it. We opened a packet of tea and put it in the tin box we used as a caddy, and filled the empty packet with sawdust.

By standing on a stool we could just reach the trap and push the packet out on to the pavement through a corner of the safety screen which was supposed to stop people falling down the hole.

The packet had been tied to a length of fishing line which was almost invisible on the dirty pavement.

Once our lure was in position we stood back and waited. It seldom took long before somebody spotted it.

They usually did one of two things. Some would swoop down like a seagull and scoop the packet up and put in the wicker basket that most women carried when shopping.

They moved straight off without stopping until the line pulled it back out again. Quite a few never realised it had gone until they got home.

Others made a song and dance to try and convince any onlookers that they had just dropped it. We would then jerk it back just as they were about to grab hold of it. The packet would disappear down the hole.

The trick could be repeated until the foreman told us to get back to work.