It's a Good Life If You Don't Weaken

By David Holmes

Life in the 1950s and 60s sometimes appears to have been lived by people from another planet. Such is the difference in lifestyle between now and then. Computers, social media, and all the problems that come with living in the 21st century were a distant dream (or nightmare). Life was lived at a slower pace, and people had more time for one another. This is not to say that times couldn't be hard, and life certainly wasn’t always a ‘bed of roses’.

Through it all, there was always a shoulder to lean on, or a nice cup of tea made by a friend or neighbour, who would listen patiently to your troubles or triumphs (counsellors extraordinaire!)

There appeared to be no shortage of characters, and everyone had a tale to tell. ‘A peck of dirt won’t kill you,’ was a well-used adage, and from childhood to old age, people were less fearful than today, thus allowing them to live their lives to the full.

This book is about the people who lived through those times, their quirks and habits, their generosity and good humour. Humour plays a big part in this book, with a sprinkling of every other human emotion.

The author sincerely hopes that young and old will enjoy looking back at a bygone time which was only 60 short years ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398443907

Book preview

About the Author

David was born in Rochford, Essex in 1950. He has been happily married to Heather for 41 years and has three children and four grandchildren. He ran his own wholesale coffee business for 35 years and also worked part-time in a crisis and assessment unit with young vulnerable people. David played rugby for Colchester and Mersea clubs, and tennis for his local club. The author now enjoys playing bowls and watching a variety of sports.

David loves spending time with his family and is very proud of their various achievements. He also enjoys a pint with friends on his beloved Mersea Island.

Dedication

To my darling wife, without whose nagging, (sorry, encouragement,) this book would never have been completed.

To my beloved children, Jonathan, Katy, and Beau; and grandchildren, Jay, Ben, Madison, and Georgey Boy. You will no longer need to ask, What was it like in the olden days, Grandpa?

To my parents, Norman and Joan, whose love of life, numerous adventures, and friendships across the social spectrum inspired me to write this book.

Copyright Information ©

David Holmes 2024

The right of David Holmes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398442979 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398443907 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.co.uk

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

To dear Sue, who was so brave and is sadly no longer with us. Thank you, Sue, for making sense of my appalling handwriting, and typing the original manuscript.

Chapter 1

Leigh-on-Sea 1954

The morning sun was about to peep over the church steeple as the 4-year-old pedalled his red car along the wide pavement outside his father’s coffee shop/tea room. He wasn’t allowed out on his own; however, the coffee shop door had been propped open with a 4-pound greengrocers’ weight in order to let the warm morning sun enter the premises and the youngster had taken advantage of this and slipped out unnoticed.

Hello David, called out Mr Baxter, who owned the tobacconist shop next door.

What are you doing out on your own? Jim Baxter had spied the boy from behind his shop counter as his door was also open on this unusually warm early May morning.

Just taking my car to the end of the road, replied the boy as he pretended to change gear and pedalled faster.

Mr Baxter was a kindly man of generous proportions with large ears that fascinated David. His mother had told her son that it was rude to stare and the boy had taken to looking at Mr Baxter’s ears when the big man was serving customers.

If I had ears like that, thought the lad, I would flap them with my hands and take off. Jim heaved his large frame from the creaking stool he had been sitting on and ambled next door to inform the boy’s parents of their errant son.

David’s father was putting raw coffee beans into a roaster and didn’t hear the big man enter his shop.

Morning Norman, called out Mr Baxter, young David is off down the road in his pedal car: thought you should know.

Just at that moment, Joan, David’s mother put her head out of the kitchen.

Thank you, Jim, I just don’t know how to keep track of him; didn’t you notice him leave the shop? she asked her husband.

Norman had just turned the roaster on and pretended not to hear his wife. She ran down the road and found David chatting to Annette, a very attractive young lady who worked for a firm of accountants at the other end of the parade of shops.

David was rather annoyed that his mother had interrupted his conversation with Annette; he was enjoying talking to her.

Hello Mrs Holmes. I was delivering some post when I spotted David and was just about to bring him to you.

The boy wished that Annette had taken him back to his mother, then he could have chatted longer to her as he pedalled his car. When he grew up, he would buy a car like his Uncle Bill’s Ford Zephyr. The car had a long front seat, column gear change, and went very fast. His mother thanked Annette and escorted her son back to the coffee shop.

You really mustn’t go off on your own David, talking to people you hardly know.

I do know Annette, protested the boy.

She visits the shop sometimes to buy coffee and I have seen her when we are out shopping.

That’s not the point, replied his mother, don’t go out on your own again.

Is it alright if I pedal just outside the shop then? I am nearly 5.

David always wanted the last word thought his mother. Some days she felt exhausted just answering his questions and keeping track of where and what he was doing.

No, you can pedal in the back yard.

At the rear of the coffee shop was a large, enclosed concrete area with a garage for Norman’s car and a washing line tied from the garage to a rickety old wooden post that wobbled on the outside wall of the kitchen.

It was the perfect area for David to pedal his car, however, there were no people to meet and greet and the boy was not happy in his own company.

I’m fed up with the car anyway, countered David defiantly, I’ll play in the yard with Sue.

Sue was the family dog. Joan had bought her from a pet shop in Southend and when she had asked the pet shop owner what breed he considered Sue to be, he had replied that she was a bit of a 57.

The puppy was two months old, mainly white, with a medium length silky coat and soft brown ears and eyes. Joan had fallen in love with her and happily handed over the asking price of 7/6p. When David saw the bundle of fun, he squealed with delight and they instantly became firm friends.

When Sue was older, the dog would accompany David to bed at night. She would lie on her friend’s bed and wait for the boy to fall asleep. As soon as his breathing slowed down, (which could be some considerable time,) Sue would jump off the bed and run downstairs to ‘inform’ Joan and Norman that their son was finally asleep.

Joan would breathe a sigh of relief, and relax for the first time since David had awoken that morning. If the term ‘hyper active’ had been coined in 1954, their son would most certainly have fallen into that category.

On this particularly warm morning, even the normally boisterous puppy was content to lie in the shade, however, it didn’t take long for the boy to coax her into playing ball with him. After a while, the little pup scampered, with difficultly, up the open wooden staircase that led to the flat above the shop where the family lived.

David was unable to coax her little legs down again and reluctantly trudged through the back door into the kitchen. He found his mother making cakes to sell in the tea room and Norman was just about to empty hot roasted coffee beans from the roaster into a wire mesh tray.

The process involved turning the gas off when the beans were roasted to the correct shade and switching on the fan under the tray that would cool the beans. Norman would assist with cooling the beans by stirring them for a few minutes with a small metal spade.

David loved the smell of coffee, especially when his father ground the beans for customers to buy or used the ground coffee to serve customers in the tearoom. Many people were drawn into the shop because they could smell the beans being roasted.

Norman also sold loose tea over the counter with exotic names such as Lap Sang Shoo Song, Orange Pekoe, Darjeeling, and Pure Ceylon.

The coffee shop/tearoom was in two parts: At the front of the premises, facing the pavement stood a large coffee roaster. Norman had positioned the machine in such a way that people in the street could watch the coffee beans roasting.

In front of the roaster there was a long wooden counter on which stood a commercial coffee grinder and a large brown till that had a keyboard rather like a typewriter, except that the keys had a different amount of money printed on each key.

When a key, or keys were pushed down the till would emit a ringing sound and the amount that had just been ‘rung up’ would appear on a small window on top of the till.

Next to the till was a set of scales with a brass hopper shaped container with a spout. Coffee or tea would be weighed into the brass container and poured into coffee or tea bags. Under the counter, neatly stacked, could be found reddish brown greaseproof lined coffee bags waiting to be of use, and next to them were white and pale blue bags with fancy Chinese or Indian scenes printed on the side.

These bags were for the loose tea that was kept in metal canisters on shelves behind the counter. The tea canisters were painted black and gold and Chinese writing was painted on the side of them. The fatter, maroon coffee canisters were numbered 1 to 6 and had gold edging.

The tearoom was situated in the other half of the open plan shop. The two halves were distinctly different in so far as the tea room side had a serene ambience engendered by the tasteful furnishings and soft lighting.

Round, dark wood polished tables with matching chairs were dotted around a large Chinese rug, and positioned on high shelves were ornaments, including pewter coffee pots and china tea pots. Two brass bed warmers with long wooden handles hung on the far wall.

On this particular morning, as with most weekday mornings, four ladies were sitting at one of the tables having coffee. The ladies were from the ‘Highlands’ in Leigh and spoke with very posh accents.

Norman complained that they would sit at a table for two hours with one cup of coffee.

David would hang around while they chatted and later mimicked the way the ladies spoke. The boy wandered into the kitchen one day repeating the words, Big Earrrs, with the same accent he had heard earlier.

His parents deduced that the ladies had probably whispered: careful what you say, Big Ears is about.

What would you like for lunch David? his mother asked.

Saus saus and chips please, replied the boy.

He was capable of pronouncing sausages, however, when he had first started to talk, he had difficulty with the word sausage and would say saus saus. This was now a family joke and the youngster continued with the words saus saus.

No David, you can’t have sausage and chips for every meal. What else would you like?

Saus saus and chips, insisted the boy.

Here we go, sighed Joan, why does everything turn into a battle where David is concerned?

She shrugged her shoulders and put the grill on. In truth Joan knew that she should insist on David having a more balanced diet, however, she had a business to run and duties to perform: she really didn’t need another ‘head-to-head’ with David.

That night the air turned sultry and the pitter patter of raindrops developed quickly into a torrent of warm rain. Thunder and lightning soon followed and the sound of the storm awoke David. He started to cry as the rain lashed against his bedroom window.

Sue, who had been sleeping beside the boy’s bed quickly jumped onto the covers and snuggled close to her best friend. She pushed her soft black nose into David’s cheek and gave him a small lick. Her actions quickly calmed the boy; his eyes grew heavy, and soon, he was dreaming again about Ford Zephyr cars.

The wet weather continued most of the next day and David watched the rain form into rivulets which ran down the wide window of the tea room.

Oh dear, what am I going to do with him today? thought Joan. She knew he would soon get bored of watching the rain and then what would he be up to?

David wandered over to the front door of the shop just as a customer entered. He thought better about wandering off down the road again, however, 6 pints of milk were sitting just outside the door and the boy quickly grabbed two of the bottles before the door closed.

What a good boy I am, thought David as he made his way to the kitchen. Mummy will be pleased with me.

Just then, a thought occurred to him. He had often wondered if the bottles would break if dropped on the stone floor, or any floor come to that.

I’m sure they won’t break, thought the boy as he made a quick diversion from his way to the kitchen and instead headed for the café side of the shop. David made his way to the furthest corner of the café and without further ado dropped the two milk bottles on the concrete floor.

The little chap had been wrong. The bottles smashed instantly and creamy milk slowly made its way across the floor. The Highland ladies hadn’t arrived yet and the café was empty. David watched, fascinated by how quickly the milk spread and eventually stopped under one of the tables.

Fortunately for the lad, Norman had the coffee grinder switched on, serving the customer who had entered a few minutes earlier, and didn’t hear the bottles getting broken. Joan was hoovering upstairs and, as a consequence, no one heard the result of the lad’s misdemeanour.

The boy, nonchalantly, wandered over to where his father was serving Mr Bryant, the customer who had entered the shop, unwittingly allowing David to grab the milk bottles.

Mr Bryant was a small dapper man with a perfectly trimmed moustache. He wore a smart pin striped grey suit, highly polished black shoes, and outside of his office, he always wore a bowler hat. On this day, he also had a black umbrella to protect his immaculate clothes and moustache from the rain.

Most people would say a few words of greeting to David or tousle his blonde hair, however, Mr Bryant looked at the boy as though he wasn’t quite sure of him and the best greeting David could ever get out of the man was a curt nod of his head.

Having purchased his coffee, Mr Bryant bid Norman a good day, and with a final nervous look at David, he left the shop and made haste back to his solicitor’s office.

Norman busied himself refilling the coffee canisters and sweeping coffee particles from the counter before the next customer arrived.

Sometimes, David would sit on the counter and switch the grinder on ready for his father to pour roasted coffee beans, that had been weighed in a brass container, into the large glass funnel on top of the grinder.

The boy knew that he had to wait for a few seconds after the beans had disappeared from view before he turned the machine off again. This allowed the last of the beans to be ground which made sure the customer received his or her full quota.

Norman would then take the hopper with the ground coffee inside and empty the hopper back into the brass container which had a tapered snout. David would then take the coffee bag that his father handed to him, (either a 1/4, 1/2-, or 1-pound bag,) separate the top, stick his small hand inside and hey presto, the previously flat bag would open into a flat-bottomed container that could stand up.

Norman would then place the snout of the hopper into the open bag and let the coffee run into the container. He would bang the hopper to get the last of the ground coffee into the coffee bag.

The final part of the performance was to use cello tape, that David had torn off from the dispenser that sat on the counter, to seal the bag that Norman had folded over.

Chapter 2

Eventually, the rain gave up and the sun came out. David watched the pavements magically start to dry out as steam rose up and disappeared into the warm atmosphere.

Come on Sue, let’s go and play in the yard.

His three-month-old friend hadn’t been her usual boisterous self during the last day or two and when David tried to pick her up, in order to carry the reluctant puppy into the yard, Sue had yelped with pain.

Joan heard her cries and rushed over to investigate. What have you done to her? asked a concerned Joan.

Nothing, replied the lad, I always pick her up.

Joan inspected the whimpering white and brown bundle and decided there and then that a trip to the vet was required and the sooner the better. Fortunately, it was a Wednesday and Norman closed the shop at 1pm for ‘half day’.

He reversed the car out of the garage and they all set off to visit the vet. By now, Sue was crying out in pain as Joan cradled the fluffy bundle on her lap and tried to soothe her. David, who was sitting on the back seat, started to cry at the sound of his friend in so much distress.

The vet WILL make her better? he asked anxiously.

I’m sure he will, cooed his mother, who was nowhere near as confident as she tried to sound.

Hurry up Daddy, pleaded the boy, I hate to hear Sue cry.

The year was 1954 and the light traffic enabled the car to make good progress. Unfortunately, mobile phones hadn’t been invented and the vet was unaware that a very sick animal was being conveyed, at speed, in desperate need of his care.

Noman’s car screeched to a halt outside the vet’s surgery, Joan banged on the door until the vet’s wife called out that she had heard. In fact, the whole street must have heard the commotion, what with Joan banging on the door, David sobbing and Sue’s cries getting louder and louder.

The vet’s wife seemed to take forever to unbolt the heavy door top and bottom, and push the button down on the yale lock. She then turned the key and slowly opened the door.

Joan passed her in a flash, demanding to see the vet.

He is on call, she replied casually as she looked in the mirror, he should be back soon.

Well, I hope he moves a bit quicker than you when he does arrive, snorted Joan.

You can see that I have a very sick dog here.

Well, the vet’s wife replied, there is no need to take that tone.

By now, Joan was in the vet’s surgery and had placed Sue on the examination table. She took a moment to study Mrs Johnson and immediately put her into the ‘God help us’ category.

Joan knew the type only too well, having served the Highland ladies with their coffee over the past two years. They were women who had never achieved very much in their own right and had made sure they married men who were able to support their rather selfish lifestyle.

Mrs Johnson’s hair had recently been permed, lipstick expertly applied, and her nails manicured and freshly painted.

I wonder when they last saw any washing up water, thought Joan. I bet the vet is lucky to get sex once or twice a year.

David’s mother was not usually judgemental and had many friends, however, she took pride in the fact that nine times out of ten, she could correctly judge a person’s character, and Joan thought she definitely had the measure of this one.

Fortunately for Mrs Johnson, they all heard the vet’s car pull onto the drive and Joan rushed out before the immaculate lady had moved a muscle.

Norman had been left to hold Sue on the examination table and David, who had been told to stay in the car, (fat chance) was stroking the small dog’s head and hopping from one foot to the other in frustration.

At the sight of Joan’s anxious face, the vet hastily hopped out of his car and was briefed on his new patient.

Wipe your feet, John, called out his wife and, don’t come into the house with that pipe.

For heaven’s sake, shouted Joan, and Mrs Johnson quickly and, probably wisely, retreated