First Job After Leaving School
Obviously nothing could be done about finding me a place in a 6th Form at a Wakefield school until we knew when we were moving. Days and weeks passed and the Wakefield house was still not ready and I was left kicking my heels at home when the new term started. Eventually my parents decided that I should find a job to bring some money in, instead of lounging around at home getting more and more miserable. I had absolutely no idea what sort of work I wanted to do. All my hopes and efforts up to that point had been devoted to studying for a career in music.Dad thought that I might like to work in a bank – that was deemed to be a respectable career. I went, somewhat reluctantly, for an interview with the Manager of Martins Bank in Pendleton but he was not interested in taking on someone who could be moving away in a few weeks and who seemed rather sullen at interview. His advice was to contact the bank of my choice when we had settled in Wakefield. ‘Not blooming likely!’ I thought to myself.
Next Dad took me to the Salford Youth Employment Service to seek advice. It was obviously unusual in those days of full employment for them to have a boy with 6 GCE O Levels seeking any job, let alone a temporary one. In fact, the only position they had on their books was for a clerk at a small building firm. It was arranged that I should go there the following day for an interview.
The firm was George Johnson and Son; they operated from a converted town house barely half a mile from the Grammar School. Young Mr Johnson seemed old to me and his father seemed positively ancient, but they were friendly. Mr Johnson Snr, intended retiring, and until they could make a permanent appointment they needed someone to run the office, maintain the inventory of the stock in the stores and run the petty cash account while young Mr Johnson was out on the jobs.
“We can pay only 30 shillings a week,” said Mr Johnson Jnr, rather apologetically. “It’s only a temporary job you see.”
With nothing else on offer, the following Monday I started my first job. My salary for a 45-hour 5½ day week equated to £1.50 in today’s money, almost exactly the same as my parents had been paying for two of my violin lessons with Mr Cunliffe! Of the 30 shillings, 5 shillings was spent on bus fares, 5 shillings was my pocket money, and the remainder I gave to Mum for board and lodging.
The job was never really interesting and to make matters worse I had to pass the Grammar School to get there. I felt completely abandoned and every day I pondered what might have been had I still been going to school. For hours on end I was left alone in the office answering the telephone and occasionally issuing items from the stockroom to the workers. The workers were banned from the office; they had to make their requests through a small hatchway so I never had an opportunity to get to know them. Every once in a while a cleaning lady, who apparently looked after several premises, brought me a mug of tea; it was the highlight of my day when that happened.
In November a letter for me arrived at home from the Grammar School, marked on the envelope in large letters ‘Post Office - Please Forward to new address in Wakefield’. I don't know how the Post Office worked out that I was still living in Salford and had not moved to Wakefield but we just took it for granted because the Post Office was a wonderful institution in those days. The letter contained my "Old Boy’s" invitation to the school Prize-Giving Day to collect my School Music Prize. Before leaving school at the start of the summer holidays, prize-winners had been invited to indicate what book they would like to have as a prize.
When asked, I couldn't think of any book I wanted and it would have been rude to say I didn't want one. Eventually I chose a rather erudite book on the works of Henry Purcell, price 10s 6d. I had seen the book advertised in a music magazine. I went to the ceremony to collect my prize but it hadn't arrived so I left the ceremony as soon as the luminary who was doing the presentations had finished. I got a letter a week later telling me to call into school to collect my prize from the office. The secretary gave me the book without any ceremony. It all seemed a bit pointless. I still have the book but I have never read it.
It was not until mid-December, when I had worked 12 miserable weeks at the building firm, that Dad wrote home to say that our new house in Wakefield was finally ready for occupation. In the confident expectation that I would be able to start again at the Queen Elizabeth Grammar School, I took my violin out of its case and started practising again. I was elated.