After leaving school I started a full time course in shorthand typing and bookkeeping at an establishment with the grand name of Nuneaton Commercial Training College. The Principal was a full bosomed lady called Miss Boris. If I remember correctly, she had one lady assistant. The bookkeeping included in the syllabus was quite simple and basic, and the fictitious name of 'All-tryers Ltd' was used in the exercises. My mother put me on this course as she was, at least in my view, an excellent Pitman's shorthand writer and had been a shorthand-typist in her business days. This ability, as she correctly foresaw, has been very useful to me ever since.
In September 1933 I was taken from the college straight to an estate agent in the town where I was immediately engaged as a shorthand-typist. No doubt the owner of the business, a Mr W Croshaw, FAI (he was a Mason), had contacted the college asking if one of the pupils had reached a sufficiently proficient standard as to be available to fill the vacancy. During my period of employment at the estate agency, I did a bit of rent collecting on a Saturday afternoon, for which I received an extra half-crown (2/6d). Most of the tenants were working class people of mining families and some were very poor. Living conditions were extremely bad in many cases, and some not as clean as they might be. The staff besides myself employed at the estate agent was small and consisted of the boss's son, Leslie Crowsham, and an assistant who travelled in from Kenilworth each day, and an apprentice. The apprentice did most of the rent collecting during the week.
The estate agency offices were on the first floor above some shops, and right opposite on the other side of the street, Stratford Street, was a very small cinema called The Royal, with gaudy blue neon lights outside on the front of the cinema. We could hear the whirr of the projector and the music accompanying the films which I think were mostly westerns, and we could imagine the galloping horses by the tempo of the music. I only went there once. The seats consisted of wooden benches, and when the kids got too noisy the proprietor stopped the film and shouted at them to keep quiet.
We were also agents for a building society and for an insurance company. The building society representative, called Joe Stringer, always seemed to be bubbling over with enthusiasm as he mounted the stairs to our office. He did stage work in his spare time, running a sort of one man show at the piano. I still have a photo of himself in his flashy silky fancy dress and his piano. The insurance representative was a heavily built man, quite the opposite from Joe, and with a strong northern accent. As well as talking about the insurance business of the company he represented he often brought several jokes of questionable quality with him. Knowing I was a parson's son, the other staff sent me out of the office while they were telling dirty stories.
Property auctions were held periodically at a hotel in the town, and I had to attend these during the evening. My function was to hand out catalogues to members of the public who were present. My parents, being strict teetotallers, caused me to be so predjudiced that on these occasions I declined to drink with the others in the hotel bar, even soft drinks.
After I had been at the estate agents for nearly two years I left in July 1935 to work for the Nuneaton Borough Council. I gathered that my successor at the estate agents was not as conscientious as I had been, so from this I assume that in spite of my prejudices my work had been appreciated.
My mother encouraged me to apply for a post as a typing/clerk in the Finance Department of the Nuneaton Borough Council which had been advertised. When the day for the interview came, I was instructed by my mother to put on my best Sunday suit. This went a bit 'against the grain', but I duly attended, smartly dressed, at the appropiate time. There were about four or five of us for interview, and we were called in one by one to confront the selection board. I was called in a second time, and then eventually the deputy Borough Treasurer appeared and said, 'We thank you all for coming' (at this point I thought 'that's that') 'and the board have decided to appoint Brooks'. I afterwards learned that had they known I was not a Grammar School boy, one of the others, a candidate who was a Grammar School boy, would most likely have been appointed, so I really got the job by a fluke.
The Nuneaton Council offices, called The Council House, had been quite recently built to accommodate all the council departments, which had previously been scattered about various parts of the town. The electricity power station was right next to The Council House and had a very loud siren that was sounded to call out the firemen from the fire station in the case of a fire. It was also sounded at 1.00 pm every Saturday for testing purposes. The siren, I was told, had originally been a ship's siren and could be heard over a very wide area. I was awoken early one morning in our house at Attleborough by repeated blast on this siren. Talk of war was very much in the air at that time and I immediately wondered whether this could be a air-raid alarm. However, it turned out to be a flood warning, and the centre of the town became flooded under several feet of water owing to the local river, Anker, having burst its banks after heavy rain.
As well as the General Rates, the charges for electricity were also dealt with in the Finance Department where there was a suitable counter at which the public could pay their bills. I was never employed at the counter but occasionally on a Saturday morning I had to go out to collect for electricity bills. My work, however, was shorthand writing and typing for most of the time. On certain occasions, when we had to work on into the late evening, we were given a meal after the offices were closed to the public. The Borough Treasurer did not possess a motorcar and I frequently had to take his bicycle to his home at the end of the normal working day while the Town Clerk gave him a lift in his car. I was on my bicycle while I towed the Borough Treasurer's bicycle with my other hand. His home was farther out of Attleborough than where we lived. I took rather a dim view of that at the time, having to tow his bicycle! One thing I well remember is when leaving the offices at the end of a normal working day I heard the voice of an old lady, named Mrs Ducket if I remember correctly, who was sitting on the steps of a nearby building, a bank I think, selling evening papers and shouting, 'Tribune sixthurty'. Very strange I should remember this after all these years.
We had some friends who lived in Old Hinckley Road, Nuneaton. The father was a butcher and every Saturday he kindly gave us a packet of beautifully tasting sausages. I was very friendly with their younger son, Derek, and we played together with model railways. When writing to me he would very often draw sketches of railway engines and others which he was very good at. The branch line from Leicester to Nuneaton Trent Valley station was quite near the back of their house. The friends, I think, were Plymouth Brethren.
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