Looking Back: Sheffield Girl - The First 19¾ YEARS

LESSONS

Well, I'm here barely a week and already I'm walking headlong into danger! Had I learned my lesson? - Hell no! Already my attention is taken by a very good-looking young man called Mr. Fisher who is staying in the hotel. There are three phone booths in the same room as the switchboard, where guests can take their incoming calls after I have paged them, and this is how I get to meet the guests, people who use the bar, also come in here to make phone calls, so one way or another, I am constantly meeting people. I'm quite taken by the handsome Mr. Fisher, and pleased when he comes in to talk to me, he tells me that his name is Alan, and that he will be going to Sheffield in two weeks time, to visit a friend who's throwing a party and would I like to go - Yes I would! (No alarm bells ringing, then?)

On Tuesday actor and comedian, Peter Butterworth, came into the hotel, he came in the switchroom to make some phone calls - now where is my autograph book?? Speaking of which, I have lost no time in contacting Craig's office, which is not too far away, on Knightsbridge. I spoke to his manager, Michelle Weir; she tells me that Craig will be in the office tomorrow and to ring then. Went round the West End with Brenda, and surprise, surprise - bumped into an old school friend, Cliff Hodgkinson. I'm so surprised that we gabble on ten to the dozen wanting to know what each other is doing there - he has joined the Cold Stream Guards!! Brenda is not excluded from the conversation, but she doesn't say much.

After we say goodbye, with a promise to keep in touch, Brenda bursts my euphoric bubble by turning on me angrily. "Why didn't you introduce me? I felt such an idiot standing there whilst you two gabbled on". I really didn't know what to say; northern folk just don't find the need of an introduction before joining in a conversation - we just, well, join in! I was quite taken aback by this lesson in manners, feeling slightly miffed at what I considered to be Brenda's over-sensitivity. But it was just the start; I would have many a rough edge knocked off me in the years to come!

Wednesday rang Craig's office and sure enough, he was there. Says he's surprised to find that I am now working in London and to come round to the office and say hello. Went round after I had finished the morning shift, (didn't let the grass grow, did you gal -straight round there!) Wasn't too difficult to find, as it is right next to Kensington Barracks, just four bus stops away from the bottom of Gloucester Road. We went to the Alpine coffee bar, next door to his offices, run by two middle-aged sisters, who are friendly and very chatty. It's a place that I shall come to often, in the hope of running into Craig.

It's Thursday before Alan Fisher gets around to asking me out, then I can't go because I am on the late shift. But after work, Schulz, the German comi- waiter asks me to join him and Sheila for a cup of coffee. I quite like Schulz, he's a nice looking young man and the possibility of learning a few more German words also has its attraction! I'm not sure what the relationship is between Sheila and Schulz, she is a lot older than him, but they appear to be quite good friends and she didn't seem to mind me joining them for coffee. After that, Schulz often came into the switchroom to have a chat with me, but now, from the remarks she makes, I am getting the impression that Sheila is jealous of the attention he is paying me.

Saturday I went shop window gazing along Knightsbridge, there are such wonderful shops here, but I cannot afford to buy anything, I am just going to have to buy some material and make myself a black dress. Just as I am walking to the bus stop to catch a bus that will take me to Kensington High Street - and Derry & Toms, I bump into Craig! I don't know who is the most surprised; and I didn't even engineer this meeting! He's very friendly and we chat for a while, I can't help but notice one or two passers-by who do a double take when they see Craig, but thankfully, nobody disturbs our conversation by asking for his autograph.

I love Derry and Toms - even by the standards of 1961, it is quaint and old fashioned. For some reason, I love the glove department, (What - no shoes??) they have so many to choose from, and we are still in an era where gloves are part of everyday dress. The assistants stand in the middle of an 'island', completely surrounded by counters, and one wonders how they manage to get out. The method of payment is the strangest thing I have ever seen. The bill and my payment is put inside a bullet shaped container which is then, with a great whoosh, propelled - via wires, up the wall and along the ceiling to the billing office on the floor above. After a while, there's another loud whoosh, and back comes the bullet, with my receipt and the change. It is a most extra-ordinary procedure. (But one I shall miss, in the years to come, along with the rest of the archaic quaintness that is so very Derry and Toms) But I love the vast range of material here, bails and bails of it, and at prices I can just about afford.

I finally decide on a washable material priced at 4/6 yard (22½ p) I buy a simple dress pattern, semi fitted, plain round neck and with long sleeves. I know from experience that the pattern always over estimates the amount of material I need, so I buy 2½ yards instead of 3, the dress will cost me 11/3 (56¾p) plus cotton, zip and pattern. The encouragement to save, that my mother always gave me, ensures that I put £1 a week into my post office savings account, and I have also bought my first premium bond. (But in 40 years, I have never won a penny from these bonds!)

Going out with Alan Fisher tonight, (Wednesday) so went to get my hair done at Charnos, Mr Gino is my hairdresser; my hair is getting quite long now, so he set it in a rather sophisticated up-swept style. Alan says I look terrific - so worth the 23/- (£1.15p) then! (I'm amazed at my extravagance - I eke out 11/3 on material for a dress, and then spend more than double on having my hair done!) Went out with Alan again on Thursday, had a great time, he leaves in the morning, but says he hopes to see me again soon.

During the early shift today, I became aware of a gentleman hovering around the hotel corridor, just by the switch room and I wondered if perhaps he was waiting for a phone call. He was particularly noticeable because was so tiny - well, as men go, anyway. But he has a nice friendly face, and smiles when he catches me looking at him. He came into the switch room and began to talk - hesitantly and shyly, until a porter ushered him away on business. But he came to talk to me several times over the next few days - he strikes me as being rather lonely, and I quite enjoy his company, he is so well mannered and polite. Someone I have never seen before brings me a piece of paper with a rather strange name on it, but it is one I recognise as being one of our guests, he asks me to ring his room - there is no reply, but I offer to page him, just in case he is in the hotel somewhere. It is a name that is vaguely familiar, I call the name over the tannoy system, pronouncing the odd looking name exactly as it is spelt. Immediately a porter rushes into the switch room in a mad panic -"What on earth do you think you are doing?" he yells at me. "No one is supposed to know he is here!" Well nobody told me, I respond, feeling somewhat miffed. He turned back and added sarcastically "...and his name is 'Hylie' Selassie not 'Haley' Selassie!" Now I knew who this shy, diminutive person was - Haile Selassie - The Lion of Ethiopia!
(I was deeply saddened in later years, to read of the upheaval in his country and to learn that he lived in constant danger of assassination - I have everlasting memories of such a sweet man.)

Continued...

Copyright © Freda Brown.