In August 1934 I left school. I had not a clue what I wanted to do. There was no advice from school of course, and opportunities for a fourteen year old with no qualifications whatsoever were nil. Some parents just pushed the children into any old job, so long as it brought in a few extra shillings. Mum and Dad were not like that; they wanted me to do something in which I would be happy. I suppose I was very difficult, talking only of something out of doors involving animals. This was not realistic, so I went along with the suggestion of evening classes at Kidsgrove in book keeping and shorthand. Six of us from Alsager went to the classes, and I think the others did quite well, but I am ashamed to say. That I did not. The shorthand was not too bad but I hated the book keeping. Mum dearly wanted me to have a job in an office; I must have been a severe disappointment to her. Milly, by this time had been at Crewe Academy, a small private school, and thence to the Underwood Secretarial School, so her future was more or less secured. I did not envy her in the least, and the thought of being shut up in an office all day filled me with horror. Audrey had gone to ‘Henry Whites’, a dress shop in Newcastle. Other friends had gone into shops in town, or to the silk mills in Congleton. A few had gone into ‘service’, this was unthinkable, and I think Mum would have kept me at home forever rather than let me do that.
However, it became plain that I was deriving no benefit from the evening classes, so I gave them up. Then the suggestion was put to me that, as I enjoyed drawing and painting, perhaps I might like to be a paintress in a pottery. Mum took me to ‘Booths’ in Tunstall, and after an interview it was agreed that I should start work on the following Monday. The morning was gray and cold with a fine drizzle, and Tunstall, the least attractive of the ‘five towns’ at any time, looked positively horrible that February day. I picked my way through a large dirty yard, full of puddles, and up a flight of wooden steps, into a low gloomy room that appeared to be filled with noisy women. Trestle tables were covered with piles of assorted pottery, and the atmosphere was thick with the smell of turpentine. There were three small windows along one wall, but the grime of years had rendered their function minimal. The lights provided seemed quite inadequate for the type of work. The women were quite friendly, and I spent the day scraping bits of dried paint off tiles. The dirty, dingy atmosphere, the noise and the smell were like a bad dream. That night, after listening to my story of the day, Mum and Dad agreed that I need not go back. In this they were very forbearing, most parents would have insisted on a trial period. .