MORE MONEYMAKERS
Some months later, the company Secretary Miss D, told me that she had been invited to a Masonic dinner and would like me to make her an evening gown. She was about size eighteen and didn’t care for the styles that were available in larger sizes. This was a lady who had lots of money, made tea in a black Wedgwood tea-pot and had a mink coat hanging in her wardrobe! As money was no object, she bought some extremely expensive, mid-night blue brocade. I had only ever worked with cheap and cheerful material and felt just a trifle apprehensive.
Once again, I made the sketches, held my breath and cut into the brocade. I had a deadline, several weeks away, which was necessary as there was a lot of work to do. This was to be a dress with a matching, fitted jacket.
All went well for a while, and then I suddenly became quite ill. The doctor was called in, and Arthur was informed that I had pleurisy and wouldn’t be well enough to go to work. In fact, I had to remain in bed for several weeks. Poor Miss D kept sending messages that, if she wasn’t to get her new dress in time, she’d have to go shopping for a replacement. I was so embarrassed, but could only assure her (with fingers crossed) that, come what may, she would look stunning in midnight-blue brocade on her special evening. I did manage it and she was overjoyed with the finished garment. I can’t remember how much I charged, but you can be sure it was put to very good use, however much it was.
Another little moneymaker that I managed to wangle was ticket writing. This was still during the birth of self-serving grocery stores, and bar codes and shelf pricing had yet to come. Attached to the edge of each shelf, in front of the commodity, was a piece of white card showing the price, written in black ink. This usually said something like: ‘Baked Beans 16-oz. Usual price 7d. Our price 4d!!!’
When SJI found out that I was artistically inclined, he asked if I’d like the job of keeping the price cards in our local store up to date each week. I said I’d do a good job if he let me buy the materials myself, and pay me one penny for each card I supplied. He laughed and said: ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek; I already pay you to work for me! But OK, buy what you need and let’s see how it goes.’
I went to a small artist supply shop in Camden Passage and bought sheets of the recently developed Day-Glo board in bright orange, plus a couple of thick marker pens. Next I went to Chapel Street Market and noted how the market traders formed their letters and numbers on their market stall price tickets.
I ended up doing all the price tickets for all the Anthony Jackson grocery shops. I charged a penny for small tickets and 1 ½d for larger ones. Nowadays it seems very little money for lot of work, but in fact it boosted my wages considerably and I became expert at it. However, I did feel a little guilty, being paid so much for an enjoyable job that was very quick and easy for me to do.
Some months later, the company Secretary Miss D, told me that she had been invited to a Masonic dinner and would like me to make her an evening gown. She was about size eighteen and didn’t care for the styles that were available in larger sizes. This was a lady who had lots of money, made tea in a black Wedgwood tea-pot and had a mink coat hanging in her wardrobe! As money was no object, she bought some extremely expensive, mid-night blue brocade. I had only ever worked with cheap and cheerful material and felt just a trifle apprehensive.
Once again, I made the sketches, held my breath and cut into the brocade. I had a deadline, several weeks away, which was necessary as there was a lot of work to do. This was to be a dress with a matching, fitted jacket.
All went well for a while, and then I suddenly became quite ill. The doctor was called in, and Arthur was informed that I had pleurisy and wouldn’t be well enough to go to work. In fact, I had to remain in bed for several weeks. Poor Miss D kept sending messages that, if she wasn’t to get her new dress in time, she’d have to go shopping for a replacement. I was so embarrassed, but could only assure her (with fingers crossed) that, come what may, she would look stunning in midnight-blue brocade on her special evening. I did manage it and she was overjoyed with the finished garment. I can’t remember how much I charged, but you can be sure it was put to very good use, however much it was.
Another little moneymaker that I managed to wangle was ticket writing. This was still during the birth of self-serving grocery stores, and bar codes and shelf pricing had yet to come. Attached to the edge of each shelf, in front of the commodity, was a piece of white card showing the price, written in black ink. This usually said something like: ‘Baked Beans 16-oz. Usual price 7d. Our price 4d!!!’
When SJI found out that I was artistically inclined, he asked if I’d like the job of keeping the price cards in our local store up to date each week. I said I’d do a good job if he let me buy the materials myself, and pay me one penny for each card I supplied. He laughed and said: ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek; I already pay you to work for me! But OK, buy what you need and let’s see how it goes.’
I went to a small artist supply shop in Camden Passage and bought sheets of the recently developed Day-Glo board in bright orange, plus a couple of thick marker pens. Next I went to Chapel Street Market and noted how the market traders formed their letters and numbers on their market stall price tickets.
I ended up doing all the price tickets for all the Anthony Jackson grocery shops. I charged a penny for small tickets and 1 ½d for larger ones. Nowadays it seems very little money for lot of work, but in fact it boosted my wages considerably and I became expert at it. However, I did feel a little guilty, being paid so much for an enjoyable job that was very quick and easy for me to do.
News came that SJI was opening larger and flashier premises in Dalston, and the old warehouse on the Islington green was to close. It was going to be a complete change and, as I had suspected, would no longer have the lovely ‘family’ atmosphere that we had enjoyed for years. Sidney Ingram was going up in the world, and we were all going with him. The trouble was that I loved the cosy, friendly little firm, and didn’t want to move into a cold, impersonal, ‘new-age’ company.
To be cont…
To be cont…
