1938 and there were heavy falls of snow, and one Saturday night the bus stopped at Radway Green, and the driver declared that he could not go any further, so everyone had to get out and walk. The Alsager passengers were not too badly off, but we were sorry for people who were going beyond, some even as far as Hanley. They would have a very long cold walk.
As winter gave way to spring, the economic prospect became bleaker. More people brought ‘relief’ tickets into Hunters, and trade was very bad. Each week the takings dropped, and although Head Office was screaming by every post, there was little to be done about it. Of course the sad fact was that the general air of stagnation, and hopelessness emanating from the shop, put off the small amount of passing trade that we might have had.
Poor Jimmy was sunk in gloom, and I well remember one Friday evening he stood at the provision window, looking up Victoria Street, saying, “Do you know how much money we’ve taken today? Eleven pounds, eleven pounds on a bloody Friday”. Every morning he and Tommy decided what would have to be thrown away. Pieces of corned beef turning black, boiled ham turning green, lumps of rancid bacon, it was awful. About this time Tommy decided to try for another job, as it was obvious that there was no future at Hunters for him. He did get a job too, at the Railway Works, but not before the firm sent his ‘notice’ inferring, while not directly accusing, that perhaps he was partly responsible for the appalling stock shortages. This was the way reputations and good names of innocent people could be lost. Jimmy, of course, was more depressed than ever, as he knew the writing was on the wall for him too.
The firm however, suggested that another girl be set on in Tommy’s place, we did not need anyone else, but Jimmy gave an application form to the first one who applied, he was too dispirited to care. She was a very dozy girl called Mary, I can’t remember her other name. It’s funny, we called her Mary, but Jimmy continued always to call me ‘Miss’.
The trade continued to slump, and then the final crushing blow fell. One morning the post brought a letter from Head Office, stating that ‘they had managed to acquire’ a large quantity of picnic hams to retail at four pence halfpenny per pound, and we expect to have your order to hand by next post, as this is an opportunity to boost your sales, and improve the exceedingly bad trading figures we have been having from your branch’. Poor Jimmy was shattered, it was like telling a man about to be hanged, that he must ask for a stronger rope. He did not order any, knowing full well that we should not be able to sell them. If anyone wished to make soup they could get a shoulder hock, or a parcel of bacon bones for two pence or three pence, with a few dried peas, lentils and potatoes added, the result was tasty and nourishing. However, a box containing a dozen picnic hams was added (and charged) to the order when it arrived from the depot at Hyde Road in Manchester. They each weighed between two and three pounds, and were not even fresh. Jimmy displayed them on the counter, and we tried to interest customers in them, but we did not sell one, and day by day their condition deteriorated, making a sale less likely.
They hung around for about three weeks, turning dark brown and smelly, really only fit for the dustbin. Then one morning the Railway Carrier arrived with two boxes, each containing eighteen picnic hams in a similar state to the ones we already had! They had come from another branch under instructions from the area Supervisor, Fred Hurd. The branch in question was regarded as a ‘good shop’, and the manager had obviously been over enthusiastic when ordering, and then having found that they were hanging about, had put the problem to Fred Hurd, who had solved it by having three dozen sent to Crewe. Jimmy was too beaten to have hysterics. It must have seemed like a nightmare in which he was disappearing under a pile of rotting hams. Eventually the ‘stock’ was taken again, and of course the figures showed a loss, and Jimmy was given a weeks notice.
He and Lucy went back to the Potteries to stay with relatives, then he got a job with Masons in Newcastle where he remained I think until be retired. They had a house at Porthill; I met him many years later, just after he had nursed Lucy through her last illness.