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Graham Mumby-Croft
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Autobiography.
I had great help from my church; there was a Congregational Theological Training College (New College) on Finchley Road, London (near Hampstead Heath) which had made half its study/bedrooms available to other students from Christian background studying at other colleges in London. Its charges were reasonable, facilities good, a positive atmosphere, and once accepted you were guaranteed residence for the totality of your stay at university. With a letter of support from our Minister, I was granted a room there. We also for some reason had an old trunk in the house, which meant I could pack sufficient clothes etc. for my stay there. We also lived within half a mile of Ramsgate station. You could have your trunk collected and delivered at each end, this cost two shillings and sixpence (12.5pence) each end. Quite a lot when you realize Mum was only earning £3 for a week’s work. I knew the station had porter’s trolleys, so I went to ask if I could borrow one, to which they obliged, saving me half the costs involved. Those were the days! so on the 5th of October 1959, I went up to London to commence my 3 years at the London School of Economics.
My anxiety over the whole issue of going to University and what it all meant was greatly eased by the atmosphere at New College, and by the fact, there was another student who was also taking the same degree at the London School of Economics and agreed we should travel and enrol together. Peter was my saviour he was more self-assured and coped well with the hustle and bustle of fresher’s day, including collecting ones grant and paying any fees. He also introduced me to the complexity of the vast library and enrolled us both for use. We travelled in together by tube for the first week and attended the relevant lectures to our syllabus. Peter hated the travel even more than I. So, over the weekend, he said, I noted how diligently you took copious notes, I now have a feel for the lecturers’ so if I may borrow your notes I do not need to come into the LSE very often. So that was how we operated, I went in for necessary lectures, and to use the library; Peter borrowed notes and advised on what books to read. I then arranged to take my ancient bike to London so that I could cycle to the LSE. That was a joy as well as exercise, my route took me around the Outer Circle Road on the north side of Regents Park which went through London Zoo and could see the elephant and giraffe pens from there and could observe the animals which always gave a positive boost to the morning. I always padlocked my bike to the cycle rack at college, then one day when I returned it was still there, but minus one wheel. It was very inconvenient as well as costly, so I bought a second lock and managed from then on to lock both wheels to the rack.
The public image of the LSE seemed to be that it was a hotbed of left-wing and communist sympathizer students. This could not be further from the truth, there was one known declared communist enthusiast, but try as he did, he never managed to enrol any followers. There were students like Mick Jagger, but that was before he really hit the pop scene.
The lecture theatre at the LSE was large and could probably hold up to 500 at a push, the BSc (Econ) syllabus covered a range of economic subjects, and therefore students from various subjects attended some common lectures. The Professor of Local Government was called Smellie, and all new students were intrigued to see what he was like in the flesh. He always commenced his first lecture by saying, those who have come to see what this odd character looks like have now done so and can now leave, my main six lectures are summarized on the blackboard there, copy it down and then you can leave, those of you of a stiffer constitution and want all my wisdom, get ready as I talk very fast!
From a packed lecture theatre, by the third lecture, it was down to about 100 stalwarts.
Dr Himmilweit, who lectured on social psychology, and was very good, except she always arrived late, then spent 10 minutes apologizing and explaining why she was late, which meant her lectures were always rushed. In contrast, the lecturer on statistics spoke slowly, precisely and at the same pitch throughout. He walked to the podium, never moved in inch once there, concluded, and walked straight off. On one occasion, I assume to see what re-action it achieved, a student threw a banger firework onto the stage. It created no reaction whatsoever, no movement, no hesitation no sign that anything had happened.
The LSE had some world-class staff, but for undergraduates, there was little personal contact; there may have been more contact for the many postgraduate students. We were placed in groups of about 20-25 and allocated a tutor, who conducted tutorials every so often, in our case it was always Friday about 10 am. The large room that was used looked directly into a rehearsal room of the ITV studios in Kingsway, and at that time on a Friday, the equivalent of the ‘tiller girls’ were practising their dance routine. If you sat on the right side of the conference table in the room, you had a much more entertaining hour, but little of the tutorial was absorbed!
I did not always have to attend college on a Friday, so instead of the cheese on toast we normally had for lunch when I remained at New College, Peter and I would treat ourselves to an Indian meal at a little restaurant near the college which reduced its prices on Friday lunchtime. This was not all that Peter and I would share.
The Congregationalist Student Society met on a Sunday afternoon at Whitfield’s Church in Tottenham Court Road, and we both joined. A rather attractive nurse, Hilary from Hammersmith Hospital was also a member, and I became quite attracted to her bubbly personality. We began to see each other, and both go to the pictures (South Pacific at the Dominion Theatre was the first) and then theatre matinees as nurses were allocated free tickets when these were not selling well. All was very well for quite a while, and then it emerged that she was also seeing Peter. As we were mates, we agreed to draw up a Rota of visits to see her. I honoured the list as far as it went, but as Peter rarely went into the LSE, and I knew Hilary’s days off, I arranged to meet her every so often at the National Gallery, which was free and warm and only a short walk from the LSE along the Strand. This arrangement seemed to work quite amicably and there was no animosity between Peter and me. After some months Hilary invited me to come with her for the weekend to Ottery St Mary in East Devon and meet her parents, which I accepted. We travelled down by train and were met at the station by her father who drove us to their house. They were ex missionaries who had spent a lot of time in Africa, on retirement they bought a house with large grounds and grew vegetables and kept a few pigs. I spent a delightful weekend there and the conversation never stopped, until someone suddenly said, ‘what time is that last train back to London?’ Oh, we have cut it very fine, we must go immediately; can you throw your stuff together. Her father for his age drove as fast as he could on the narrow country lanes to Yeovil, despite which we saw the train pulling out of the station as we pulled in. Hilary was due back on duty at the hospital the next morning. It was quickly decided to make a dash for Salisbury, but that also failed so we were driven to Southampton to stay the night with family friends of the Abel’s so we could get up very early the next morning to get to the station to catch the very first train, traditionally known in those days as the milk train. I think after that adventure Peter’s interest began to wane, and he started seeing Anne from the Domestic Science College, just down the road from New College. I continued seeing Hilary even after I had left university, and her letters remained quite passionate, but the relationship was beginning to drift. It was my first week in the Prison Service when I received a letter from Hilary formally ending it and admitting there was somebody else she had been waiting for him to finish his medical degree, and then they were going together as missionaries to Africa. So, both Peter and I had been duped! I did miss her but looking back I now know it was very much the right decision. All was not lost; there was another nurse, also called Hilary who rather fancied me, which I did not discourage as free theatre tickets were at stake! I had also discovered that the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in Gower Street put on live plays and wanted an audience, so entry was free, but you could buy a program as a way of a donation. A number of the productions were from the classics such as Henrik Ibsen’s,’ The Dolls House’, Marlow’s,’ Duchess of Malfi’, and Shakespeare.
Peter and I remained friends to the end and I was honoured to be asked to be his best man at his wedding to Anne at St Mary’s Church Seven Sisters on the 17th August 1963. Anne’s parents lived in a coal mining village near Neath, South Wales and I remained with them the next day. The reception was held at the local pony gymkhana, so we had entertainment as well as good food. The next morning a Sunday, Anne’s father took me to the local mine, which was ‘a shallow one’ and still used pit ponies to haul the coal tubs up from the drilling areas. It was a thrill to see them all having a rest and munching hay. They appeared well looked after and enjoyed human attention. We walked a good way along the mine shaft, it was peaceful as it was non-operational on a Sunday, but not an arena I would have wished to work in.
The other benefit of having worked before going to University was that I had some time savings to fall back on. I had looked for weekend work since the age of fourteen, paper rounds were like gold dust, and you virtually had to have connections to the newsagent. There was a small local general store opposite the school that was looking for a delivery boy for Saturday mornings, so I enrolled and was paid 2/6 shillings for the morning. It was not a well-organized business, and when I arrived, they were invariably still putting the orders together, and I would be sent to the wholesalers for a couple of tins of baked beans and possibly a bottle of squash. It was quite embarrassing as everyone else was buying in bulk, but to give them their due they always helped out. Of course, the people who wished for their order to be delivered lived some distance away. I was provided with a heavy and old delivery bike with no gears to deliver a heavy load of vegetables and tinned items. By coincidence, one delivery to the western part of Ramsgate was to the school biology teacher, Mr. Bateman whom I did not particularly like. His son also went to the school and became a friend to my brother, Leonard, who would be invited to their house to play with his son. So he was inside in the warm, playing, while I was peddling the streets and then standing on their doorstep whilst Mr. Bateman took the delivery inside to check that the order was all there. I did not even get a thank you let alone a tip. On the other hand, I made another delivery to the Newington Council Estate to a lady of Caribbean origin who always gave me a 6d. In their way, the shop was very good to me. I was in my school ‘house rugby team.’ We played inter-house competitive matches at 10.30 am on the school sports field which was about 2 miles away. If I had not finished the deliveries, they would let me dash off to play in the match, and after a quick shower, I would return to finish off. The real summer job I really wanted was working on the deck chairs, you were out in the fresh air and I could go for a swim at lunchtime, but it was very popular, and I only secured it one year. Those who hired deck chairs had to pay a small deposit which they got back when they returned the chairs. When it rained heavily their priority would be to seek shelter. We would be sent out by the superintendent to collect in every chair standing empty so that they would all lose their deposit, and then if the sun re-shone and they returned they would have to re-hire!
Other summers I worked in the large Harrison’s Restaurant near the beach in Ramsgate, as did my friend Pinckney. We had to be there by 11 am and usually worked straight through until it closed at about 23.30. It was run by two sisters who were as hard as iron, and you certainly did want to be in their bad books. Our task was to clear tables as soon as plates where empty, place them all into the washing machine, and then dry everything individually. There was a large turnover at lunchtime and again at teatime. Being young and foolish instead of just gradually clearing tables, we had a competition to see who could pile their ‘clear away tray ‘the highest. You still had to be cautious to a degree as anything dropped and broken had to be paid for out of your wages.
Next year I also secured another job of affixing beer label to lacquered beer mats. This was piece work and could be done at home. There was also a job vacancy at the factory. I still had my other two jobs, so I persuaded Leonard to take the factory job, which he did. As bad luck would have it, within a few days of starting, the factory inspectors came round and said he was under-age, so the firm had to sack him.
Now I was at university I knew I could get a summer job on East Kent buses which paid well, it was a thriving company in those days as Thanet was a popular seaside town, and most of the visitors came by public transport. The first year you undertook the job it was tough as after two hours of the general information you were handed a complete route and fares manual (there must have been over 20 routes in all, and the longest circled the whole of Thanet with about 50 bus stops) and it passed all three railway stations. Each stop had a number and had a different fare to the previous stop; the number and the fare had to appear on the ticket which you had to reel off by hand. You were not allocated the same route each day but were given a weekly allocation of routes, which meant you probably had a different driver each day and a different bus.
The many tourists to Thanet not only expected you to know the correct fare to their desired destination, but also the nearest stop to their particular guest house. The first year was a steep learning curve but made it easier to be taken on again the next year and to be more confident in the job. The large double-decker buses could hold up to 60 -70 passengers with some standing, but there was no provision for luggage. So, on Saturdays, in particular, you tried to get passed Ramsgate station before a train had unloaded, otherwise, you were swamped with visitors either trying to get all their luggage stashes in the bus whilst other were clamouring to know if you went to their particular guest house. The whole process could take up to 10 minutes without a ticket being issued, and if an inspector got on later questions about why not everyone had a ticket, and why were you running late.
Butlins’s had established themselves in Cliftonville, East of Margate and had five large hotels there. The guests all appeared to have breakfast at the same time, and they congregated in great groups wanting a cheap ‘taxi ride to the beach and Dreamland. The Irish Universities ceased their summer term a week ahead of England, and number enrolled on the buses. They coped in their own way with so many fares to collect on a very short journey. The issued tickets to those downstairs, but never endeavoured to go upstairs, they just held their cap out as the tourists streamed down, and most of them threw some coins into the cap. No tickets were issued so at the end of the shift none of this money was handed over. I recall, three other events; East Kent Buses had some older vehicles and older drivers which were used mainly on the short housing estate runs. That morning we were allocated the Dane Valley run, the driver was a bit late arriving and was being pressurized to get the bus on its route. As a consequence, he failed to top up the water level before setting off. After about a couple of runs up and down the valley, steam was belching out of the engine and obliterating all the windows. Eventually, he had to find a resident who would provide a watering can of water and top up the water once the engine had cooled down. We ran late all day, but no Inspector appeared on the scene.
The longest route all around the Isle of Thanet took over an hour and ended up in Birchington where we took a short break for coffee. One dear old lady got on at Ramsgate but wanted to sit upstairs so she could have a good view. She wanted to get off somewhere just past Broadstairs but was unsure she would recognize it, I assured her I would let her know when we are nearing her stop. We got busy and I forgot her. Next time I went upstairs she asked if we were there yet, I realized we were past her stop. I told her not to worry, as we had taken a bit of a diversion, and she would have a longer ride and I would let her know when we were there. Of course, she had no valid ticket having passed her stop, so I crossed my fingers that no Inspector would board the bus, fortunately, none did. The lady appeared to enjoy her extra ride and thanked me for warning her early so she could clamber down the stairs and leave at her stop!
Nobody wanted to be the last bus at night that went to all the hotels. The late-night drinkers and revellers always left it to the last minute; consequently, there was always a queue of rather raucous tourists waiting. There were strict limits on the number of standing passengers. That did not impress them, they all clambered on regardless. When I pointed out that the bus would not move until X number got off. All that generated was abuse and threats. One particular night this went on for 20 minutes until the other passengers realized they were not getting anywhere and came to my assistance to remove the excess. You had to balance the cash in your money bag to that displayed on the ticket machine. Most of us did this whilst on the last run so that you could drop everything off straight away when you were back at the depot and could get straight home. You always carried some of your own loose change to balance the books if you had made an error
The worst routes money wise were the housing estates, as the well-meaning customers always tried to give you the right money, which in their case was usually pennies and halfpennies. Well before the end of a shift, one endeavoured to count and bag all the takings and balance it against the ticket sales, as these were heavy coins, your money bag was a good weight. You hoped passenger wise it would then be quiet, as you wanted to ditch everything once back at the depot so you could get straight home.
Mum took on any work she could find, the first I remember was a cleaning job in a big house in the East cliff area and we sometimes went with her. They had a television, and we were allowed to turn it on, but there was never much of interest of an early afternoon. Other jobs I remember her taking on included washing the football kit of Ramsgate Football Team after a match. They must have fallen over a lot as the white shorts were always full of green scorch marks. I remember them all lying in the bath for days, but they still would not come perfectly clean, so mother packed that in. Another task she took on was knitting elbow-length mittens for the war office, every spare moment not on some other task she was knitting. The local police station was very good when they had a new member of staff who required digs, they gave Mum the choice of taking them in. They had the small front bedroom and use of the front lounge which we rarely used. They were all very nice but very different. One if he heard a squeaky pram go by, would leap up, grab his oil can and rush and accost the owner to stop whilst he oiled every moving part on the pram. Another was a sergeant and rather laid back; he arrived back from his shift one day in a very grumpy mood. When asked what was up, he said he had to arrest somebody. He was in Harrison's having a cup of tea and sitting by the window, and someone started to steal the bike of a customer also in Harrison’s, so he had no option. I suggested I thought that was his job. He responded, ‘Do you know how much paperwork is in involved, then you have to go to court and be questioned, I can do without all that hassle. There are enough constables to do all the spadework, so I have managed to not get involved for ages! Another was a very quiet person who loved classical music. He had a portable wind-up gramophone and bought classical recordings and played them in the front room. That is where I obtained my interest, and he was quite happy to talk to me about them. In addition to that mother had her regular paying bed and breakfast seaside guests in the season. Later on, in the summer months she worked in the ice cream and soft drinks huts on the beach, which I believe she was only, paid £3 a week. I used to help out when I could. On a very hot busy high season day one could handle over 1,000 items, and virtually all had to be opened or unwrapped. On a cold wet day, it was boring, and time dragged. It all helped the many bills that had to be paid.
In our youth, Thanet was a thriving summer holiday resort, so Butlins Holidays took over five hotels in Cliftonville, the posh part of Margate in those days. Mum at some point obtained a post there as a room cleaner. Running up to Christmas one year, they asked the staff if they would put in extra hours, among others Mum volunteered, the expectation being they would be paid for those hours. She arrived home one evening near Christmas, sat down, and started to cry. I asked what the matter was, she replied, ‘You know I have been working extra hours, as I wanted to be able to buy you extra special presents this year, well Butlins’s have just told us we are not being paid, they claim it was all voluntary. I vowed I would never say a good word about Butlins, nor ever would I stay at any of its outlets. I claim that is still the position some 60 years later, it is, however, a little more difficult as they have merged with other companies, so I could have erred unknowingly. That evening is still vivid in my mind 65 years later.
My first summer on the buses was 1960. Mum had always wanted to go and see the’ Passion Play’ at Oberammergau in Germany. I now had money in my pocket; also, whilst employed by East Kent I had a bus pass for free local trips and a discount on excursions. East Kent then did European tours and had a trip to Oberammergau. I decided if I booked whilst still employed, I could probably swing the discount. The booking clerk did give it to me. Several days later one of the Superintendents’ came up to me and said, I believe you have booked a trip the Oberammergau and been given a discount, unfortunately, you will not be employed by us at the time of the trip, so you will need to re-book at the full price. Well, it was worth a try. On the Saturday I had visited Marks and Spencer’s in Ramsgate High Street that afternoon for some last-minute purchase. Later that evening I suddenly realized I had left my wallet on the counter where I had been served. No shops opened on Sundays in those days. So, I phoned the police to enquire if there was anybody to do with Marks that I could contact. They said there was a named night supervisor, but they suspected that was only for store emergencies. However, they gave me the telephone number. I phoned and a pleasant lady responded but said it could not have been left on a counter as they are all carefully checked before they shut up shop. I persisted that it was there, and I could visualize where I had left it. Somehow, she either felt sorry for me or gave in under pressure, both probably. She said she would not go that night as it was now late but would go in early the morning. She did, it was there where I had left it, and she came to the house with it, such relief! She had been so kind I rewarded her; she replied, ‘it has been a useful lesson, I will remind all counter staff to be more vigilant with their ‘close of store checks.’
On Sunday 11th September 1960 we set off along with mother’s friend Mrs. Cook and her son John, I was the odd number as the other four sat together, two and two. I had a young blond lady next to me; she had the window seat. She was not very chatty and kept falling asleep on my shoulder which meant I could hardly move until she woke up again. Leonard would recount that one of our service stations stops for drinks, I again left my wallet in the premises, and had to stop the coach leaving whilst I dashed back in to retrieve it. I had not realized Alzheimer’s set in that young!
We eventually arrived at the picturesque village, Mum was in a hotel room, and I was lodged in a farmhouse, which actually housed their few cattle in the winter in an annex to the house, so it had a real farm smell about it. Leonard is not sure where he was accommodated.
The Passion Play at Oberammergau in the Bavarian Alps is scheduled to take place every 10 years. This year (2020) it has had to be cancelled due to the coronavirus and will not take place until 2022. It has been held there every 10 years, give or take wars, since 1634. Ironically, it owes its beginnings to a pandemic as bubonic plague spread from Italy in 1629 the locals promised they would stage a Passion in perpetuity if they were spared.
