I was born in Aberdeen in Scotland, I wasn’t aware of that at the time and I was raised in Lossiemouth so that’s where my memories of life began. My dad joined the RN so we had a few shifts around the country and, up to a point, it was great but when it came to schooling, not always so great.
So as a military brat, I learned to live in new places and make new friends quite quickly. Add to that, I was an only child for 6.5 years until my brothers and sister popped along, all made for a pretty varied childhood.
So, we lived in a small-ish farming town in N. Ireland when I first attempted to work for a living 🙂 I don’t remember why, was I prompted by my folks or did I just fancy earning some extra cash? That didn’t happen because, I only lasted one night! (I think). It was a paper boy job but, this one involved collecting a huge bag full of papers then heading around town to try and sell them! Why didn’t I last then? Well, it was N. Ireland. I wasn’t yet aware of underlying issues there but, I wandered into the wrong pub, trying to sell the wrong paper to the wrong crowd. I have a vague memory of being “asked” to leave in no uncertain terms.
There endeth my first attempt at a job! 🙂 Also ….. I was still in primary school so under eleven years old!
Fast forward to sometime after 1969. Yeah I know, EONS ago!
We were now back in. N. Ireland, this time living in Belfast. Talk about a culture shock? We had no idea what was about to happen but, dad had found work nearby so, there we were.
I quickly learned that in Belfast you had to be one or the other to get by. Didn’t mean you had to belong to any organisations just be Protestant or Catholic. We were Baptists, I tried that but it was too clever for some of the wee thugs I met so, I was a protestant which meant there were places I couldn’t go, therefor jobs I couldn’t apply for. Not that i needed to, I was still at school at this point but, earning my own cash was reasonably important. We owned (mortgaged) out own house and I would learn much later in life what that means financially, therefore, socially.
So, I got a paper round in our area. These were pre-ordered papers and magazine to be delivered through the letterbox so all I had to do was ….
a) wait for the papers / magazines to be delivered to the paper shop
b) help carry the papers in
c) cut the string binding them
d) sort through and select those I needed to deliver
e) load up my enormous bag and head out on my round, with very black hands
I have to say, I totally enjoyed this one … for a while. I got “stopped” a couple of times on the nearby estate because I wasn’t known but got away without any ‘kickings’ partly because I still had a Scottish accent so there was a wee bit of awe. I got bitten on the back by a small dog that watched me walk into its garden, post the paper through the letter box then jumped up and bit me on the back as I left. The biggest snag was when the owner opened the door to see me kick the said small dog so ……… I was the wee bastart who had to get away before he called the police! Yeah right, they had bigger worries. than this.
Anyway, at some point I gave that one up.
As a family of kids, we were shipped off back to grannies in Lossiemouth when the Summer holidays came around and I remember getting a paper round in Lossie one Summer. It was one of those early morning delivery jobs. I was up in the dark, off down to Mitchell’s the paper and toy store. Collect up my papers then wander around town delivering and HUGE BONUS, I delivered to one of the many bakeries in town so, got a hot buttery right out of the oven!!!!
Sidetrack! What’s a buttery? I hear you ask. An Aberdeen Buttery Rowie is a roll, made in Aberdeen!
Please note! I take no responsibility for the recipe above, they can be very different wherever you buy them. Aberdeen is best 😉
I don’t think that paper round lasted too long either, way too early for a young teen to be up and about.
On another Lossie holiday, I got a job as a porter in one of the hotels in town. Lucky to get this one, I now had a Belfast-ish accent which threw people a bit but I got it. This was different, hard work but often really enjoyable, not great money but it was my money.
Porter was a misnomer, I had many jobs which, again I quite liked. I was now 17, practically an adult (hah) so I got to ‘help out’ behind the bar now and again. I would act as a drinks waiter at functions, wander around the tables with a tray taking orders and delivering them back from the bar, I got quite clever at tray balancing 🙂 Coach trips would stop by for an afternoon tea in the big conservatory overlooking the beach and sea and I was expected to serve them up tea / coffee, cakes and sandwiches so, first was all the prep, which I quite enjoyed. It was always older people travelling around Scotland and mostly happy, fun people. They forced/taught me to pour coffee/cream at the same time as well as get the mix right as requested.
Sometimes those tours would stay overnight so the task of hauling the luggage upstairs fell to me, if I was on shift….. the tips worked out good.
I had a couple of experiences during that time. I was asked to go up to a given room and move “the major” to another room. I knocked, got the come in shout so opened the door and explained what i was there for. A typical, handle-bar mustachio’d older gentleman pointed to his bags then said, in a pompous tone “you’re not from here are you?” I explained that I was a Lossie loon but lived in Belfast now ….. “Don’t like the Irish for what they’ve done to this country!!!” I took his bags without a word, dropped them outside his new room door and left. Fuming. What an arse! I told the hotel manager that I didn’t want to have to be near him again and explained why. No problem.
Meanwhile, back at home, I got another job this time with the Belfast Street Directory, hadn’t thought that one through. Knocking on doors to confirm that the current listing for people living at that address was correct? In Belfast? Between 1969 & 1975? I didn’t last long with that one at all.
I also finally realised I really did not want to stay in Belfast and we were now in our fifth year at school, making those decisions was looming so ….
a) I quit school
b) I signed up for the Royal Navy!
I could not envisage staying in a city / country torn apart, that was my way out. My dad had served for nine years and I had seen enough of it to know (think) I’d like it.
I kind of just stopped going to school, eventually going in to leave formally. I had achieved O level grades enough to get me decent jobs but I had no idea what I wanted to do, I did know I wasn’t going to stay here.
I don’t remember when I got a date to attend RN training but of course I remember the date I was due to start, March 18th 1975.
So in the meantime, while I waited and prepared for my joining date, I got a job at a builders providers yard. This was my first real job and it meant real work. Essentially, builders would come in, collect all the good they needed, brick, plaster, cement, wood etc. then head out to their sites. There was also a hardware shop at the front but I rarely got to serve in there, I guess I’d have had to learn all the prices, how the till worked etc. and, as it happened, i wasn’t staying long anyway.
That was possibly one of the best, hardest work jobs I ever had. Carrying bags of cement, plaster, wet sand, tossing bricks to and from a lorry (truck) loading up work trucks and vans. Very mixed but very enjoyable work. I was only there a few months as my joining up date drew closer however; one learning event outside of the job ….
On a Friday, pay day, the man who could give me a lift nearer to home had to “make a few calls” to this day, I don’t want to know what they were or who with but, in a couple of very dodgy pubs and one “club” I, being a man now, had a pint of Guinness, in each one.
Not only was I home late to panicked parents, I was pretty pissed and a large chunk of my pay packet had somehow disappeared!!!! Oooops.
Not happy parents and i think I got grounded that night. I wonder if that shop is still there? I just tried to search for it on maps but I don’t even remember the street it was on, never mind.
My next job was the big one, the Royal Navy. I don’t think I really knew what i was about to take on, my folks didn’t think I would last long, I didn’t like being told what to do 🙂
I had only signed on for three years, that was nothing, right? I was 18 years old (and two weeks), more like 15 in maturity, when I left Belfast for Plymouth but, that’s my next story so, until then ….
Stay safe and well
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