Starting out on the road of Life

Between 1790 and 1840, Fitzroy Square was partly planned out by the Architect of the day, one Robert Adam. He commenced on a speculative housing development aimed at aristocratic residents. Virginia Woolf & George Bernard Shaw took up residence at various times and helped to lend an air distinction to the area, something that remained for many years. The aftermath of war took its toll and the whole of the district fell into disrepair. Many of the grand Georgian houses became offices and businesses as one by one the residents moved out. By the end of the 60’s most had been converted into flats or small companies struggling to scratch a living.

‘Photo Aids’ was pre AIDS so the name at that time reflected that the owner of the business could aid people with their photographic needs. Nowadays the name would probably be bypassed in favour of a catchier one. Then though, the concern was a ‘one-man and his lowly camera’, outfit. Regardless, this small business had its base in the basement of one of the aforementioned houses in Fitzroy Square.

It was all so, …new. I was thrown out in the world to get a job and make my own way in the world.., School was over and time now to go forth and meet the world.

At the Job Centre, under the question ‘Hobbies’ on the form, I had written ‘photography. Which would have been a hobby had I a camera; the small half-frame plastic one I once had owned melted beside the fire one evening. The man behind the desk had probably grown desperate as he had suggested job after job in the hope that surely something looked interesting – The mention of photography had resulted in him finding the job that he was prepared to send me.

I had presented myself, School-Report in hand, to my prospective employer. He was in need of someone to do the fetching and carrying and I seemed to be the only one on offer. I started the next day.

Upon descending the spiral steps I found a small courtyard, open the sky and the footpath above. A feature that showed the buildings civil history was to the right of the yard where two doors gave access to cellars under the street. – I later noticed that, out in the street, every house had a circular iron manhole cover that served as a delivery point for coal straight down into the cellars.

Inside the basement itself open into a spacious hallway with stone steps leading up to the upper stories, a locked door at the top of the stairs now prevented access. This basement would once have been the Servants quarters.

At the front was the studio which was a large, mostly empty room. A rack with long rolls of variously coloured paper stood against the back wall and a collection of lights; along with a cupboard set into the recess beside the fireplace.

Next to the Studio was what once had been the pantry. Stone shelves now supported the rudimentary requirements to develop and fix panchromatic film whilst another shelf was utilised to support the kettle and coffee. Beyond lay the darkroom proper. Three large projectors took up the space along the back wall and a row of flat-bottomed, plastic baths filled with curious smelling chemicals formed a barrier down the middle. A large wooden screen to block light stood between the door and and the back of the baths and acted as a corridor to the one and only toilet area.

‘Home’, was a Flat in Camden which could be described as reasonable; even if I had to put up with a sofa bed in the Living room of the three-room abode. In its (Victorian) heyday the place had been a large three storey Town House with high ceilings and big rooms. In the late 60’s it had been converted into three flats, one on each level. It happened that the owner died and his wife was left with a large house she couldn’t afford to keep. The conversion was done on legal advice and she was happy enough to comply. She took over the lower floor and lived happily (apart from missing her husband), with her cat for company and her garden that she pottered about in throughout the year. On the few occasions I got to see her she was always ready to chat over a cup of tea. I am sad that these happenings did not have the frequency I would have liked.

Our - (Mother, Stepfather and Me) - flat was in the middle floor and because of the layout it meant that my room was separated by the landing so in order to wash I had to cross the hallway to get to the bathroom. This was fraught with difficulty as the occupants of the upstairs flat had to use the area as well. The other downside to the place was the fact that my Stepfather was there. He was not a nice person and we did not get on.

It was an interesting place to work. It did not matter then that I was simply the gopher. On occasion Rolph relented and taught me to use the copy-camera to greatest effect and, on even rarer occasion, he would allow me to accompany him in the studio – arrange the lighting, hold the flash-guns at discreet angles for those ‘Important’ (i.e., expensive) colour shoots. The amount of work in this area was limited. The bread and butter work came from simple Copy. Black & White photographs of a pasteboard from the Agency or perhaps a reference book of fonts that required sharper imaging. Simple stuff churned out on a half-plate camera on rails that was wheeled back and forth aiming at a stick-on board. It was staple food and we worked to tight schedules; the copy-writers always wanting things ‘NOW!’ They were the breed of the time.

My job was that of fetcher & carrier. I went to the various advertising agencies (at their request) and collected or delivered whatever it happened to be; In the world of Advertising, the sky was the limit. There seemed to be no limit to the amount of time & trouble they would go in order to produce the goods, unless you counted the available money.

Getting out & about in the vibrant City was everyday life to me. On a daily basis I was allowed to wander the streets. Trawling from one agency to another in doing the fetching and carrying.

I was late for work again. This time it wasn’t my oversleeping but traffic at Mornington Crescent. Even then London had it’s moments.

That I was in trouble was evident from the thunderous look Rolph gave me as he handed me the delivery bag. A bag that should have been delivered an hour ago… I took the bag meekly and ran from the building shouting ‘Sorry’ at the top of my voice. Rolph was not known to enter into conversation when deadlines HAD to be met. I scarpered.

I ran across the Square and hot-footed it down toward Warren Street Underground Station. I didn’t need the railway itself, I just wanted to make use of its handy, pedestrian-subway system to get across the junction/flyover/bypass/superhighway that swept the Euston Road through to Marylebone or Euston and beyond. The Agency I was late getting to was on the corner of the new development that had sprung up overnight.

Normally I liked to go there. But I approached this particular visit with some trepidation. The pictures I had with me were needed for a presentation in fifteen minutes.

I punched the button for the lift. Of course, it was at the top so I had to wait while it negotiated all the floors. Even so, it was quicker than walking. Twenty floors is fine for coming down.. walking up is not an option.

I was nevertheless breathless by the time I ran through the reception with a wave, holding aloft the package. The Receptionist recognised me as a regular and waved back. (How times change.) I delivered the bag.

All in all I think I took the verbal lashing quite well and I think I even blamed myself and emphasised that Rolph was in no way to blame. I made my own way out, which was different to many times when I would make my way through the busy office to stop and chat with a few of the familiar faces.

Back out into the street I drew a breath of air and made my way back to base.

My pace slowed as I approached the Square and with a heavy heart I adopted the air of one who is contrite and wishes to make amends… I made him a coffee, that was always a good start.

He had calmed a bit but was still grumpy and it was a relief when a job came in. I decided that if I did it in double-quick time I might yet end up in favour by the end of the day.

It turned out that the copy board was the size of a sail and carrying the damned thing back was no easy matter. The wind though light, would insist on catching the top and bottom making the journey slower than usual. Nevertheless I did make it with artwork intact and it no time at all I was setting out again with the board and the addition of some forty prints. Luck stayed with me and the walk (with the wind this time) was done in record time. I touted around the Agency to see if anyone had anything nearly ready to take back. I was ready to sell my soul if I thought it would help calm Rolph. I phoned him to ask if there was another job anywhere. Rolph suggested I took some lunch and be back at 1pm sharp!

It was yet to reach midday, nevertheless I took myself off to my favourite sandwich shop – Maria's, who knew how to put together a sandwich!

She greeted me as a long lost friend as she always did, along with every customer who graced the door. She had me wait while she ordered her husband to rustle up a sausage sandwich, she liked to show who was boss and he in return liked to feed people and returned her orders with insults and sighs and behaved like the ‘put upon’ husband he most certainly was not. They made a small fortune from the shop and did it to the delight of their customers.

I ate as I walked, cold sausage sarnies are just not right.

Rolph was back to his genial self and gave me a few prints to run off. They were only simple Line prints (pure black and white), so it was a relatively easy thing to do. I took my time and made sure that they were perfectly sharp and shoved a small test piece of paper under the lamp before running off the required amount. Each print was of the alphabet and I knew that the client wanted to cut out individual letters to paste onto a copy-board. The care I had taken was scrutinised by Rolph before he allowed me to deliver them. I even got praise for a job well done.

With the praise from Rolph ringing in my ears I headed off to deliver the copy to the Agency. It was one of my favourite places to visit because they had a new building in the heart of the West End and I liked the ambience of the place. ‘Laid-back’ understated the Agency; New Kids on the block and they already had accounts with many major names. Benson & Hedges and Ford to name but two, other well known names also featured; BIG spenders each.

A message from Rolph was waiting for me when I got there. The Receptionist handed me the address and the message to collect half a dozen rolls of film from an address just off from Dean Street.

It was in fact an alleyway that led to a passage that proved to be the rather seedy destination. Knocking on the front door proved fruitless so I climbed the stairs in gloomy light. At the top a corridor with about a dozen curtained doorways confronted me, I could hear a radio playing softly so I headed for the sound.

The curtain across the doorway was a thick, velvet-like material hanging on rings that scraped noisily as I drew them open and entered. - In hindsight, standing staring with my mouth wide open was probably not the best thing I could have done.

The three people within returned my stare with different reactions; well, two did, one man had his back to me. The other fellow leered and motioned that I should join them. The woman could not speak immediately but when she did, she screamed at me to get out because she wasn't sharing. She then leapt to her feet and ran toward me and drew the curtains with vengeance.

I fled down the corridor.

It was an hour later before I plucked up the courage to return and seek out the customer with the films. As I carried them back I could only imagine what images they contained.

Fractal