Knock, Knock...
by Gwen Boswell
High-tech nowadays aren’t
we, what with telephone and Internet banking,
video links etc. We can even shop without getting
off our fat computer-chair shaped bottoms. But
let me tell you that it’s a sad and lonely
time compared to the happy 60’s when there
would be a variety of men knocking the door
during the course of the week in order to collect
a payment, or deliver a delicacy or two.
First of all there was the
milkman, all white and cheery, with his pencil
behind his ear, delivering a selection of milks
easily identified by their tops. "Dya fancy
a gold top today love," "No, I bloody
don’t, d’you think I’ve won Spot
the Bleedin’ Ball or something, I’ll
just ‘ave me stera if it’s all the same
to you!"
The bread man, chubby and
smelling delicious, especially at Easter because
of his warm hot cross buns.
The dreaded rent man.
"Kids, when the rent man calls tonight, just
tell him dad is out and I’ll see him alright
next week." "But dad, you’re not
out, so that’s a lie and if I tell a lie, I’ll
burn in hell?" "No-one has ever burnt
in hell telling lies to that robbing bugger. God
will be watching and will understand, because he
doesn’t like rent men either!" Strange,
I thought God liked everyone?
The insurance man with his
oversized mac, trilby hat and horn rimmed
glasses, smelling of Foxes Glacier Mints. When
someone was gracious enough to ask about his wife’s
health, we’d get a blow-by-blow account of
all her allergies. If we were really lucky, some
weeks she’d have haemorrhoids, so we had the
visual of her (I imagined her to look like Hilda
Baker for some reason) easing herself onto her
donut shaped cushion in order to gain some small
pleasure in life e.g., watching Ena Sharples
drink her stout. The whole family, cat included,
considered mass suicide after the insurance man’s
visit and he only charged us three bob.
The pools man calling was
always a positive experience. Well, he was part
of our hope for the future, because if we won the
pools and had lots of money, he’d checked
the coupon and sent it off; he’d helped. We
could invite him in and offer him a celebratory
miniature or two from the cocktail cabinet and
perhaps even a Jaffa Cake. Extravagant I know,
but after all, this was the start of life at the
top.
The scariest caller was the
coal man, as the family would be sitting quietly
watching something really enthralling on the TV
like Crackerjack, and all of a sudden there’d
be a noise that sounded like a huge underground
explosion. Then some dirty great bloke with a
sooty face and mad white eyes would hammer on the
window shouting he’d just delivered four
sackfuls. Really? That noise in the cellar was
you, was it?
Little did we know then
though, that the coal man, for all his noise and
sootiness, created an important fashion
statement, he was the first bloke to wear his cap
back to front and this way, way before it was
considered cool or sexy.
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