(46) 'The Where's My Blo*dy Gift,' Puzzle?

[Ken]

On the dresser in my dining room is a framed photograph of a group of people.  It was taken in the summer of 1967 and all of them once worked with me at the firm of S.R Jeffery and Son's Ltd.  This Guildford based company which employed me between 1963 and 1968 had three separate sections.  They consisted of a Motorcycle shop, a Cycle shop, and the main high street retail business where I earned my crust of bread .  This was a top quality sports shop and it was situated in a prime position near the town hall clock of Guildford in Surrey in what was, and still is, one of the busiest and wealthiest towns in England.  It was large enough to have a Gun department, a specialist fishing section and the most successful part of the entire business, the Sports department which was managed so well by my eldest brother, Wally.

I grew up visiting Jeffery's sports shop on a regular basis in the 1950's and sometimes my brother would take me to see the motorcycle and cycle departments.  To get to them we had to walk through the private garden of the business's owner, a Mr Jeffery who would one day employ me.  The people of Guildford would not have believed the haven of calm he had created so close to the rush and tear of it's high street, but I saw it and was fascinated by it, even as a child.  It was a surprisingly large garden retreat and it was hidden from the world by an eight foot high wall.  There were rose bushes galore back then with winding paths through the flower beds and alpine style rockery's.  The paths led to the back entrance of all of his various shops with seats and benches throughout but the most surprising thing of all that he had secluded from sight in his town centre garden, was his very own outdoor swimming pool.  That was what I first saw when I visited with my big brother as a child in the early 1950's, and what I still found fascinating when I started working with him as a teenager in 1963.  I was told that Mr Jeffery, who had come to know me over the years, had suggested to Wally that I might like to work with him.  Perhaps he saw in me what he had seen in my brother two decades earlier.  I know that Wally, perhaps wisely, had serious doubts as to the wisdom of such a move, but he arranged for me to be interviewed by a Mr Ashwell, the head office director, and I was employed.

I was employed to work in the sports section and I followed without question any instruction my brother gave me. His example was a good one for anyone to follow and I came to realise very quickly that he was far and away the most capable person employed by the whole company.  He ran his department effortlessly, or so it seemed to me, and it was obvious a great respect existed between him and Mr Jeffery as well as a high degree of affection.  I could tell that it was a very old fashioned firm to work for and this was born out by something that happened in the December of my first year.  Mr Jeffery asked me to think about what I wanted for Christmas and at first I thought that he was talking to me about my home life and what my family may buy me. Later, I found out it was his custom to buy all members of his staff a personal Christmas gift every year, which I thought was a charming tradition.  My brother told me to think of something small and so I asked for a pair of cufflinks.  On that Christmas eve of 1963, at closing time, I found myself and the entire staff lined up as the old gentleman walked along the line to shake our hands and say a few words to everyone of us.  At the same time he handed each of us our presents and I noticed that most of the wrapped boxes were a darned site bigger than mine.  I was to discover over the years I worked there that some of the staff always asked for absurdly expensive gifts, that was something neither my brother Wally or I ever did.

At the end of this narrative I have a question to ask all of you who read this, but first I will write of just one of my old work colleagues, a chap I got on extremely well with.  His name was Harold Hall and every day he and I would visit a Lyon's tea shop for our morning break.  Despite him being twenty four years older than me we would have some wonderful chats covering all sorts of subjects.  Harold's main work responsibility was the running of the camping section.  He also dressed the high street shop windows, a Job I recall him doing rather well but at a painfully slow speed.  Once he had completed a window no power on earth could make him change or rearrange his display or so he once informed me.  This is the way I proved him wrong and it was connected to his ability to write his price tickets with some skill and much pride.  

In those long ago times it must have been a safer world, for every young boy I knew above the age of twelve seemed to carry a knife and I never heard of any accident of any kind.  I can still remember my sheath knife with it's beautiful bone handled grip and it's five inch blade.  If we kids went to play in the woods and we decided to make a camp, out would come our knives to cut down the required tree saplings. Likewise, if we decided to make a bow and some arrows, or perhaps a bracken spear, we all needed the help of our trusty knives.  So, if you were a kid with a knife back then, it was a pretty sure bet that it would have come from our shop for we sold every type imaginable.  Swiss army knives, sheath knives, fisherman's knives, smoker's knives, even flick knives, which in those days could still be legally sold.  A display of all these were placed right in the front of Harold's window to grab the attention of the passing public and by each knife was one of his beautifully hand drawn price tickets.  The trouble started when I decided to adjust the FLICK KNIFE sign that he'd drawn by adding just a small blob of ink to join up the L and the I in FLICK on Harold's price ticket.  The result was a display of F*CK knives that were available for all of Guildford to see!

I have no idea how long it was before anyone noticed the incorrectly worded sign, but it was about two weeks after he finished the display that a customer brought it to Harold's notice.  As the older members of the staff gathered around the window there was much laughter and leg pulling at Harold's expense, and I smiled as he had to break his golden rule about never changing a window once it was finished.  For weeks after he would badger me during our Joe Lyon's tea breaks on who I thought was responsible for changing his sign yet he was not angry, for he found the whole thing very funny.  I must confess that it still mystifies me why I, someone who dislikes bad language so much, found my somewhat childish escapade so amusing!

I have many memory's of the five years I worked for Jeffery's sports shop and I will tell of some of the things that happened in future Cosy stories.  But I will first ask your opinion on something that didn't happen, if that makes sense.  This event still puzzles me almost half a century after it first occurred.  I mentioned earlier the quaint but delightful tradition that Mr Jeffery had regarding his giving of a Christmas gift to all of us.  As explained earlier, I had asked for and received some cufflinks for the previous Christmas and as the next festive season approached I told the old Gentleman that I would like a tie pin for my gift.  Christmas Eve duly arrived and when Mr Jeffery reached my position in the line up of his staff, he shook my hand and said some kind words of encouragement as he handed me my small gift wrapped box.  I couldn't help but mentally compare it to the size of the gift box he gave to the next in line for his box was enormous.  We found out later it contained a very expensive electric train set, but I was more than happy with the tie pin that I had received on that Christmas Eve of 1964 when I was just eighteen years of age..

The next year was 1965, the year that my father and Winston Churchill died, as did, for reasons still unknown, the giving of a Christmas gift to me by Mr Jeffery.  The confusing thing was he still gave gifts to everyone else.  I was obviously aware that he hadn't asked me what I would like so I presumed a surprise was in store. Imagine how I felt as he slowly walked along the line, shaking everyone's hand as they received their gift until he eventually reached me.  With two quick steps he had passed me by, without a glance in my direction and I watched, somewhat astonished, as he shook hands with the next in line who gratefully accepted his wrapped Christmas gift.  Of course, much mickey taking at my expense took place when we all returned to work after the Christmas break and dear old Harold Hall was quite upset on my behalf. I know that as the next Christmas approached, all of the younger employees speculated on whether it would happen to me again, and it did. Just like the previous year, I was once again ignored as for reasons far beyond my comprehension................................the old sod walked straight past me.

I was more mystified than upset by being left out as the new year began.  But the strangest thing I found as I happily carried out my work throughout 1967 was that Mr Jeffery was perfectly nice to me.  I would see him often and he was always affable for he truly was a pleasant old gentleman.  The Christmas of that year was the last year I worked for him and of course I was once again ignored giftwise, and although this puzzled me it made my younger workmates chortled with delight.  Time passed and events led to the Christmas of 1968 seeing me sell sporting goods for a new shop that opposed Jeffery's in a business I had a stake in.  I have often wondered if the old gent had some sort of premonition that I would one day be his rival, hence the Christmas gift snubs.  I would appreciate it if anyone has any idea as to why I, and I alone, was not given a Christmas gift.  But almost half a century on I am still clueless as to why I was giftless!                                                                                      
                                                               

[Ken]

This is one of many memories I have of the five years I spent working for Jeffery's sports shop in the 1960's.  It tells of my bad taste in humour and of the privilege of being employed by a uniquely special company.  Even though it created a mystery that has puzzled me for half a century?