Chapter Seventeen

     We commuted to The Victoria Halls in the centre of London daily, returning home well after midnight six days a week. There were two banqueting halls, both operating nearly every night of the month, each with a large bar. Once more it was very hard work,  operating with no kitchen facilities on the site. The Liverpool Friendly Society, owners of the building did not permit any cooking on the premises so all meals were prepared at Camden Town in another branch. It was then transferred to us at Southampton Row, to be kept in hot cupboards. This meant a lot of organisation to ensure the food remained hot and attractive for service. There were two banqueting halls, both operating nearly every night of the month, each with a large bar.

      Most the staff, both waiters and bar staff were casual, many of them foreign, as each event had different requirements. West End casual staff, we very soon found, were both difficult to control and up to every trick to make an extra pound or so. They sought every opportunity to steal food or drink or make money out of the bar customers. Many spoke poor English. It was a nightmare. Finally, we paid a Restaurant Manager, on a permanent retainer of an extra £10 a night, a fortune in those days, to frisk the waiters’ coat tails and extract sides of smoked salmon, bottles of wine or spirits from the hidden poacher pockets.

      The bar staff always made certain the Manager’s stock results were okay since there were regular spot checks on these by company stocktakers but they still managed to fleece the customers. This was completely different from Isle of Wight staff that consisted of locals and generally could be trusted. In London, we had to have eyes in the back of our heads and other places too! A favourite trick of one particular barmaid was count a customer’s change into her hand so they could see it, then hand it to him, whilst palming a coin, usually a half crown worth the equivalent of twenty-five pence. She would then adjust her dress, whilst dropping the coin down her cleavage. These coins were kept in place by a string tied round her waist, over a petticoat! We only uncovered this trick when Peter noticed how frequently she went to the cloakroom. I followed her one day and then heard the coins clinking as she retrieved them into her handbag. We had to call the police after this discovery. It certainly acted as a salutary lesson to the others.

      We never knew until the last minute how many waiters would be arriving, as an agent did the booking and every night was a different type of function. It could be a formal dinner dance, or a knees-up. It could be a Masonic Function or an Old School Reunion. There were Works Christmas Dances or Pensioners get-togethers. Each needed a different staffing arrangement and we were completely in the hands of whoever turned up on the night. Around midnight or even later each night we drove home to Stanmore, completely exhausted.

      During the second winter season, we learned the company had been taken over by an unknown Finance Group. Our friend, the General Manager Vernon Herbert, was moved sideways and one of the company’s men put in as Joint General Manager. It was obvious Vernon would be forced out.  We realised that we could not work happily or successfully under the new regime, especially as we were known to be friends of Vernon Herbert. We decided to resign and seek new horizons.

     Once again we had to take stock and decide the direction we would take. We thought perhaps we might take over a small tenancy with a brewery and at last have our own business but after contacting several breweries and having initial interviews, it became apparent our meagre capital was far too small for any viable or pleasant business. Then out of the blue, we were approached by Simonds, the Reading brewers after we had had an interview with their Tenancy Manager. Their Hotels Department had been told of our previous experience and there and then offered us a joint hotel management post at a Reading branch.

      It was a run-down city centre pub/hotel with a few rooms, some food capabilities and a bad reputation. We took it on and once more had to re-build a business. The clientele in the centre of Reading was mostly Irish workmen building the Aldermaston underground atomic research site nearby, some locals and an occasional prostitute – hardly a welcome clientele. We had to change the whole atmosphere of the place. We put up the prices, eliminated the drunks and ‘ladies of the night’ and started to offer a limited food menu. Fortunately, we came under the jurisdiction of a great mentor who was our General Manager and who supported us whole heartedly. H.C. Davies had started life in a Lyons Corner House when he was 14 years old and had learned the hotel and catering business from A to Z, finally working his way to General Manager of the Hotels Department of Simonds Brewery. He had a great influence on us and I personally owe him a great debt.

      We managed to turn around the Reading pub and change the clientele. One of the small snug bars we changed into a food buffet. We contacted a nearby Polish grocery store and borrowed interesting items to fill the shelves. We had a selection of his salami sausages, all sizes and shapes. Some were long and thin, some tied with string, some short and fat, some red, some brown, some ochre. The lunchtime snack bar became a popular venue for nearby office personnel. One day HC Davis called in to see what we were doing.

        He looked at the display of sausages and turned me and said ‘And what, Mrs. Younghusband, are those?’  Cheekily I replied ‘Men I have known, Sir.’ From that moment onwards, he and I became great friends. Obviously he had the same sense of humour as I did.

      After a while, Peter and I decided to redecorate the rather tatty hotel rooms and lounge in our spare afternoons. As we were doing this one day, there was a knock at the door. Coming downstairs in our paint-smeared clothes, we found it was the Brewery Managing Director, Duncan Simonds. He was as much surprise to see us in our painting gear as we were to see him. He had come to see how we were liking the job! We must have made a good impression because a month later, in November 1956, we were offered a promotion to the management of the Goddard Arms in Swindon.

      Meanwhile, Clive had been attending Presentation College as a day boy. This was a private Catholic school in the town. If we moved, this would mean another change for him. Deciding to accept the promotion, we enrolled Clive as a boarder at the school. He had had so many changes of schools; we felt it unfair to move him yet again. I still ask myself, were we right? He was only eight years old.

London calling!

Bridging the Centuries 

By Eileen Younghusband