Gamages’ Girl

However, when I reached the kiosk on my way out there were only a few remaining, mine (purchased at Woolworths for 6d) was not among them. I was told, “Take any one then.” So I did! I picked one with a real bone handle. Not only did it have two blades, but a corkscrew and screwdriver attached. So sorry after all these years for the boy it did belong to! It is still in my possession to this day. —

DANNY DANIELS, SITTINGBOURNE, KENT. Sir: My daughter gave me a subscription to This England for Mother’s Day and I discovered “Memories of Gamages” (“Post Box”, Spring 2016).

My first job in 1949 was in Gamages’ enquiry office. I enjoyed my work there; I learnt to do invoice typing and people who were in town for the day would come in if they had a mail order that hadn’t arrived and I would be sent to find out what had happened to it. Also we did theatre bookings so that was interesting.

At 11am every day Mr. Gamage always walked through the store, starting off in the enquiry office. When we arrived for work, it was no use arriving on time at the staff entrance as we had to run up six flights of stairs to clock-in! It was good exercise, I never put on weight! — PATRICIA my weekly pocket-money and managed to acquire all four volumes by late 1960. Needless to say, I still have them. —

PATRICIA WARDLE, LEXINGTON,

Setting out on each seasonal excursion in this series has revealed to us that you don’t have to be a car enthusiast or mechanically minded to have fond memories of your first set of wheels. Much of this affection stems from what these precious, but usually battered and unreliable, vehicles represented to you. They remind you of milestones in your life — the events, the people and the places. Whether they gave you your independence; provided transport to work or college; aided a flourishing romance, or were necessary for those early days of marriage and family life — each car has occupied a special place in your hearts and minds.

Some unimaginative souls will merely see a car as a means of transport, but your stories have shown that there is much more to them than that. Many of you even gave them names and they became part of the family. They provide a heart-warming and often hilarious journey through your memories ranging from careers to courting; National Service to a misspent youth; marriage and mother-in-laws; children and holidays; foreign travel and adventures; risky repairs and encounters with the law.

Before we sit back to enjoy more of your reminiscences there’s a chance to see more than 400 veteran vehicles in action at the annual London to Brighton Run on Sunday 6th November. This is the world’s oldest motoring event commemorating the 1896 Emancipation Run, which celebrated the Locomotives on the Highway Act that abolished the need for a man with a red flag to precede vehicles on the highway. It also saw the speed limit raised from four to 14mph.

A fleet of three and four-wheelers, built before 1905, will be starting off from Hyde Park and making their way through Crawley to the finish line at Madeira Drive in Brighton. To find out where you can see these magnificent cars en route, check the website www.veterancarrun.com .

Dennis and Georgina Knight, Chemainus, British Columbia, Canada:

Our first car was a Humber Hawk circa 1950. Beige in colour, red leather seats, which I think must have been bench seating as we always had a full car when we went to Pagham Beach in Sussex, or Hastings or Brighton, for weekends. We were refugees from London, rehoused in Crawley New Town.

We bought the car at auction in Garret Lane, Wandsworth, for £120 with a bank loan. The log book identified its previous owner as an Hon. ------------. I remember browsing through it and noting the mileage and petrol consumption and other notes regarding the performance and service performed, plus the dates of service. It had been chauffeur driven.

Poor car, what a shock it must have had coming to us! We’d never had a car before and had no idea regarding the upkeep. There was a persistent “grating” noise, we took it to a mechanically-minded friend. He asked when had we last put oil in it, we said: “Where do you put oil?”! After that we had to carry a can of oil everywhere as so much oil was being burned off that friends would not drive behind us!

We had many years of pleasure with that car, and were sorry to see it go. We eventually sold it at auction before emigrating to Canada.

Brian Brightman, Herne Bay, Kent:

My first car was a green 1933 Singer Le Mans sports car, with a canvas hood and side screens, none of which fitted very well and leaked when it rained. I acquired it in 1957 when I was in the RAF stationed at Kinloss in Morayshire.

The car had been pre-owned by several airmen on the base, one of whom worked in the paint shop; consequently the British Racing Green paint job was perfect. Unfortunately, the vehicle was in dire straits mechanically and although it was fitted with hydraulic brakes, they were not very good at stopping the car.

The clutch slipped, the steering had a mind of its own, the lighting was feeble and it wasn’t a good starter. However, we enjoyed that old car and happily explored the beautiful Highlands of Scotland in it.

John & Josey Dann, Enderby, Leicestershire:

Sixty years ago we were living in Cosby, a pretty Leicestershire village, in a prefab for £1-a-week rent. This was our first house and we also had our first car — a three-wheeler made by BSA. It was a very fast little sports car with terrible brakes. We bought it for £27! It was made in 1932, I think, and when you sat in it you were almost lying down.

You may wonder why I am wearing cycle clips in the first photo (see below). The answer is that the brakes were so bad that I had to pull the handbrake up quickly to stop and the brake lever was the other way round and used to go up my trouser leg, so the cycle clips were a godsend! When I stepped out of the car with my cycle clips on, people thought I had pedalled it! We were sad when we sold it for four wheels.

The second photo shows Josey behind the wheel with our young daughter Stephanie.

to deal with it, had added a cat to their staff.

As assistant manager at Premier’s large Hounslow supermarket, I was fortunate to have help from a bright management trainee called Austen. We made a good team and both were keen footballers. Early one morning I checked out the store’s fresh-fish counter when I noticed a round fish resembling a football. Austen appeared by chance at the opposite end of the aisle so I shouted “Race you to the ball.” We both sprinted and, a split second before his, my foot connected with the target. Unfortunately he was wearing slip-on shoes and after booting thin air, his shoe flew up and smashed to smithereens the large mirror-glass fish mural.

“Quick, Austen, I shouted, get your shoe and start sweeping up.”

A couple of staff appeared to see what had happened so I told them what I later said to the manager: “Austen was sweeping behind the counter when the end of his broom went through the glass. Pure accident!” The store’s insurance covered the cost and by agreement Austen and I never talked about it. Both of us had learned a lesson and this is the first time I’ve ever come clean! Well, we don’t live in a perfect world, do we?

I must confess I also survived every manager’s nightmare which occurred while I was in charge of a supermarket in Golders Green. It was a nice sunny morning as I walked along the pavement to unlock, when I saw the baker’s delivery van draw up. “He’ll have to wait,” I thought, as he pulled the bread trays off his vehicle. “That’s funny,” I muttered, “Where’s he gone?” Suddenly reappearing, he pushed a second stack of loaves towards the front door but again did not re-emerge. “He couldn’t get into the store,” I thought, unless … surely not!

As I reached the front window, I carefully peered through and saw the baker busily stacking the loaves onto empty shelves. So I had left the doors unlocked overnight!

A rush of blood to the head told me I had to keep this hidden, so I hatched a plot. Nobody saw me race past the window, enter silently and tiptoe to the old wooden staircase leading up to my office and, with great caution, soundlessly climb them. Then I turned round and clattered back down as noisily as I could before walking across to the baker. “Morning! Pleased to see you getting on with filling the shelves.” He hadn’t twigged and nor had anyone else because if the news had leaked out then head office would certainly have got to hear about it. Amazingly the stock on the sales floor had remained intact.

I was lucky to wriggle out of that one but even more fortunate over my lifetime to have worked in a trade that never lacked in adventure. For that, I’ll always be grateful.