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Teenage in Devon - Hotel and Antique ShopWe discussed leaving the island of Jersey in 1938 because my father, who was politically astute, decided that a war could be imminent. He guessed that the rise of Hitler in Germany could be a possible threat to our safety should the Island be invaded. How true this turned out to be. We had to make a decision where in England we would settle. Gladys, a waitress who was helping in the hotel, strongly recommended the town of Torquay in Devon. After much discussion we agreed to examine that area and my father set off on his own to reconnoitre to see if it was suitable for business, leaving behind My Mother, and four children. I had just completed a course of History of Art at the local night school. Even at this early day, I had a great interest in history and had made my ambition to be involved in the antiques trade. My father did not telephone us for nearly two weeks and my Mother was worried for his safety. Eventually, the phone rang and Dad told us he had accepted the lease of a nice Hotel in the town centre. He said he had to furnish the premises completely. He told us it was a large house on top of one of the hills in Torquay, in two acres of gardens with beautiful sea views. He ordered us to close the Jersey boarding house, pack up the contents as soon as possible, and get ready for the departure. By the time he arrived back on the island, the work was well under way. In about four weeks we had settled all our commitments on the island and as we had all enjoyed living there the last seven years, it was with sadness that we departed its shores. When we told our friends and neighbours the reason for our leaving, they seemed incredulous, none of them felt that any danger could get to them from that quarter. I will never forget the moment we arrived in Torquay. The town looked so large and clean. In the early spring with all the coloured lights blazing it was like entering fairyland, It was love at first sight. The Devonians were most friendly and welcoming and we knew that we could be happy in Devon. The following morning we all went to inspect the premises taken by my father, which I could only describe it as a gentleman’s mansion. It had fourteen bedrooms, each with superb sea views, a wide drive into the house and a magnificent conservatory. The Garden at the front had wide lawns of about half an acre and at the back there was a vegetable garden growing tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, and flowers, all carefully attended to by an ancient gardener. We all agreed my father had negotiated a fairly reasonable rental for the premises even though it needed to be converted from a house to a hotel. We decided the hotel required a posh name and it was agreed to call it the Hotel Plaza. It took at least three months of hard work to open.
However, it was a great deal larger than we had thought. My mother, in her wisdom, thought that the best way to run this venture was to get some inside information on how a good Hotel should be run. She also realised experienced staff would be needed. I, being the youngest, (apart from my four year old Brother and six year old sister) was delegated to find out the how it should be done. My Mother had noticed an advertisement in the local newspapers announcing: Vacancy
Palm Court Hotel The Palm Court was a smart hotel on the sea front in Torquay and all the family thought I would be excellent for the job.
My father, in a flash of generosity told me I could keep 5/- of the wage for myself, but he also wanted his share of the tips of course! After all money in the family was pretty scarce as my parents had to furnish all the interior plus food, advertisements, and many other expenses required to turn a mansion into a hotel. I turned up at this lovely sea front hotel and the manager, I forget his name, was most kind. I told him about my parents plan for a hotel but he did not seem to mind. The Manager seemed to like me and he offered me the job, starting the next day. He first asked me to try on the page boy uniform, which was a little too large for me (I was only a little guy) and he informed me that if I was satisfactory at the job, he would order a new uniform. He told me to start at 7a.m. and polish all the shoes left outside the bedroom doors, vacuum all the lounges and sweep up outside the hotel. When I returned and told the family I had landed the job, I was treated like a hero. The man in personal charge of me was the head porter. I am sure that he took a personal dislike to me and I found myself being called upon to do a lot of menial tasks, like peeling potatoes and running to the betting shop, as he was a compulsive gambler. The betting shop was about a mile from the hotel and spitefully, he always gave me the bets to put on just before the guests were leaving. Of course that is the only time that guests would tip. Sometimes I would do lots of jobs for the guests polish shoes, run errands and I was very popular as I always was a happy and cheerful young man. This however did not go down well with the Head Porter who on many occasions was half drunk, making it plain to me that if I complained to the manager, I would get the sack. Some of the guests realising what his game was, waited for me to get back from the betting shop, and then the look on his face was a joy to see. In contrast, the manager told me I was doing a grand job. So much so, he told me that I would me fitted out with a new uniform the following day! An American ‘Lady’ came up to me with two heavy suitcases and asked me to walk with them to the railway station, which was about a mile away. When I tried to lift them THEY WERE HEAVY I told her to take a taxi, she declined, but said, "I would be amply rewarded if I took them by hand". I will never forget that ordeal, I am sure that my arms were an extra three inches longer and my back was frail for over a month. When at last she got on the train, she dived her hand into her purse, and gave me two pence! I turned up the following day, after another trip to the betting shop to find the tailor had turned up. He measured me for the new uniform. I did not like that tailor very much as he seemed a lot too familiar. When he measured my trousers his hands lingered near my private parts. I gave him a 'drop dead' look and he hurriedly finished the measurements and left the hotel. I complained to the manager afterwards and he dealt with it somehow. All I know was that when the suit was made, another tailor, fitted me up. I looked and felt very smart in the new outfit. The head porter was given the sack for coming in drunk, and a new replacement took his place. He was a different man completely from the last man and at last I was able to collect all my legitimate tips. I was earning about £5 a week and I stayed at the hotel happily for the whole season. I really enjoyed the experience and I learned a lot about how a large luxury hotel should be run. In the meanwhile My Mother & Father had done a grand job in the Hotel Plaza and many of my observations were utilised to the full. My Mother being a superb cook was appointed Chief Chef while I being the youngest was a Bell Boy and Under Waiter. I was to be granted all the tips I was given, but no wages. My father said he would pay me when he was 'rich'. My two sisters were also appointed waitresses with the same financial arrangements that I had. My father, of course, became the Treasurer and Overseer. Joking apart, this was a very difficult time for my parents as they did not have unlimited finance to run the hotel. For the first year it was run on a 'shoestring'. During the first year, my mother only charged our guests £3 a week, and £4 in high season which in hindsight was really uneconomical. The Season started in May and finished in the middle of September after which the hotel would be empty for the following seven months. We did make a small profit at the end of the rather too short season. I really enjoyed the happy times with the visitors, some of them became friends lasting many years. My father was not a man to remain idle all the winter, so he decided to continue his activities as an Antiques Dealer, as he had done on Jersey. He decided to open two antique shops in nearby Paignton and place my brother Stanley, who was 11 months older than myself in one and myself in the other. There was always fierce competition between us to see who was the best antique dealer. Of course modesty alone forbids me to say whom it was. Although I was 16 years old, I managed that shop like a duck to water. Antiques were then quite plentiful and I had (and still have) an unquenchable interest, and appreciation for all types of 18th and 19th Century applied arts. I was fascinated that every country had its own style and quality. After devouring every classical book on the history of arts of most countries, I became quite expert in my now chosen occupation. I did not always see eye to eye with my father on the way the shop should be run. By the time I was 18 my father 'generously' gave me wages of £1 per week - which was hardly a salary suitable for impressing the girls. I always tried to make our shop upmarket and would polish all the brassware, wash the porcelain and generally make the shop as tidy as possible. My Father on the other hand, would just place items in a higgledy way. He always complained to me that people expected an antiques shop to be untidy and they come in hoping to discover hidden bargains. I disagreed with this notion as I have always been tidy man. My theory was that if an article looked good and clean it would sell quicker and at a higher price. He disagreed with me by saying that I was a ‘snotty nose’ and that it was his shop, not mine. Our takings were at that time about £100 a week, which was about the average take at that time. It paid all the expenses and left a reasonable profit. However, I had always desired a quality antiques shop and especially one with a cleanly swept floor. At that time my dear Mother was quite unwell and Dad was to take her to Nice in France for a gambling holiday for three weeks. I was to be in charge of the shop for the first time! As soon as he departed, I got going to clean up the shop, polish all the brasses, bronzes and copper articles, polish the floor, clean out and reset the jewellery polish. In fact I turned it into the 'posh shop' I always wanted. Quite suddenly I realised I was attracting a new class of clientele. People were coming in asking if this was a new shop and my takings were increasing remarkably. The first week my takings reached £200, and by the time my father and mother returned from their holiday, it was in the region of £300. I had also bought quite a few selected antiques, so the stock was in a healthy condition. When my father returned, he looked around and in an angry voice accused me of ruining his shop! When I told him that the takings had increased, it did not placate him, but told me I am fired and I should look for another job! The next day, however he relented and offered me a £1 a week rise, which I accepted. I realised that his real displeasure was that I had showed him up to my mother. Slowly he began to appreciate my true worth. After running the shop for two years, I decided to seek my fortune in London and took a job in Chaple St Islington, which is now the major Antiques Centre in London. By this time the London was under threat from the advancing Nazis, and my parents begged me to leave the Capital and return to Torquay as the bombs were bound to fall soon. I took their advice And returned to run the antique shop. At this time the Germans were over-running France, and it looked as though we were in danger of losing the war. My Father who was always an optimist decided to ignore the danger of imminent invasion by the Nazis regularly arranging huge overdrafts and spending at auctions when everybody else was being cautious. (See the Sharpham Auction story). As far as I was concerned, my call-up papers had arrived, and I was informed that I was to present myself to Bulford Camp on the Salisbury plain and become one of His Majesty's soldiers. I always knew that if I survived the war, the antiques trade was in my blood. References:
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