An
account of the second half of Cyril Smalley’s life, in particular the last
decades, by his brother, Philip Smalley; and based on Cyril’s frequent letters.
Cyril used to boast that the photographic work at 221
Dawes Rd was the worst in London. Both the advances in black and white quality
and the gradual change over to colour was leaving him behind in the 1960’s. His
machines were getting worn out and he was looking for another challenge. Letter
78 shows him giving vent to his feelings about the state of things at that
time.
Thinking
back to your mechanical problems last week made me think of my machine when it
decided it was time to show who was master. Everything revolved around those
two machines --- the Kenprinter and the Processor. It was pleasant to boast
that the only time a print was touched by human hand was when it was tucked
into the Wallet but if the processor went temperamental then bedlam reigned.
How the machine continued to work so long more or less diligently is a mystery
for it was a mass of rust and eaten away metal, one daren’t disturb the tanks
or a mass of ‘orrid sludge would appear, even worse was the Grit which would be
compressed into the print ere it was glazed. It was my silent boast that we
turned out the worst photography anywhere, but the people never complained and
even came back for more.
It must have been in the Winter of 1963/4 that he took
a holiday on the continent with Molly a part-time worker at 221 Dawes Road. She
was for a few years his Mistress, coming in between Dot Stevens and Violet who
was to with him almost to the end.
Taking in the coast of Spanish could see the
possibilities of property development in the coastal towns and villages. He
found the kind of Brit around Malaga and Torremolinos
not to his liking and went on to take a liking for Calpe on the Costa Blanca.
In collaboration with 2 or 3 Brits who were I think
living there for the Winter they bought a plot of land at the back of Calpe.
The names of Gibbs and Heard show up in subsequent letters. Calpe at that time
was in fact just a large village. By some quirk of fate Jose Artieda had become
an acquaintance of Cyril’s in Fulham long before a penny was spent in Spain. Spanish
law demanded a Spaniard be a major shareholder in any enterprise as large as
this was envisaged. It so happened that Pepe had some building experience and
so he was brought into the scheme. Pepe, at this time was without a bean and
Cyril had developed quite a liking for him and so the die was cast.
So much trust did Cyril have in Pepe that he was given
Power of Attorney in the operation in Calpe Estates as the project was to be
known. The first projected ideas were very large, a sketch exists of a scheme
for 128 villas and two large blocks of flats plus swimming pools etc. In the end
39 villas were built together with a swimming pool, a Super Mart was planned
but when Peg and I visited the place in April 1968 I don’t recall seeing the
Super Mart. The pool was to become a source of agro as water problems occurred
more often than they should due to water shortage and mismanagement on Pepe’s
part.
Before the villas were finished another large project
was started in the main street of Calpe. Ponderosa was a block of flats with
shops at street level. 50 apartments of various sizes also offices at ground
level. It occurs to me that not a lot of money had been made in doing the villa
scheme as money always seemed to be short during this final venture and got
worse as time went on. Ponderosa, as far as Cyril’s fortune was concerned was a
“Bridge too Far”, and where his dream of being a property tycoon was to begin
to unravel.
At this time however Cyril’s prestige was very high
with the folks in Calpe. The building of the villas had brought much work to
the town and there was talk that he could be made an Honorary citizen of the
town and the road leading to the villas from the town be named after him. However,
in the Summer of 1968 the first rumblings of trouble started. One of the owners
of a villa complained to the U.K. newspapers carrying the advertising campaign
to the effect that Escritura’s were not being handed over after being fully
paid up and a further complaint was made to the Banks. With the end of the
advertising came the end of fresh money coming from U.K. to Spain and also
questions were being asked in high places. As Cyril could not come up with
satisfactory answers to these questions the pressure built up to such a pitch
that he must at that stage have lost his nerve and he decided to do a “runner”.
Why he took this path I never knew. It could have been loss of nerve or maybe
there was currency transactions that were not strictly adhered to. Money could
have been moved from U.K. to Spain illegally to ease customer’s purchases. Cyril
put the blame on Pepe for mismanagement of funds in the building of the
apartments and no matter how much money was sent over to Calpe it seemed like a
black hole that could never be filled. So whereas clients’ money should have
gone to the bank to release the Escritura’s it was used in the construction
instead. Clients lost their patience and the complaints began to mount. Several
people saw Pepe as a crook including Cyril’s wife Phyllis but possibly because
he had such a high opinion of his own judgement of people and a low one of
Phyllis’s that he could not see what was afoot.
August of that year saw him leave London and his
office at 166 Piccadilly for the North to try and get some anonymity where he
could not be got at. He had not been up there long before he decided a change
of name would be a good idea and seeing the name of Tom Chadwick over a Butcher’s
shop he thought “that’s a good name, I’ll have that”.
He wasn’t penny-less but he had to somehow get back in
business. His assets were the Dawes Rd property, (half in hock to the bank),
the lease at 166 Piccadilly, his old Cresta car, (a constant source of worry
from carburettor and overheating problems) and a few hundred in cash. An
excerpt from letter 23 gives the gist of the carb trouble.
Just
had a go at the garage people who replaced the carburettor some time ago. It is
still giving me occasional trouble after returning it to them several times. I
rang them up this morning to ask them for the address of the carburettor
people. This appeared to cause some disquiet and the works foreman came on the
phone. He remembered the car and asked again for details of the trouble. You
see, the damn thing doesn’t act in a reasonable fashion, it is only intermittent.
After the engine has done a bit of idling it suddenly stops and it is
impossible to re-start. The only way is to unscrew the four screws at the top
of the carb, drop the chamber and empty it, put it back, tighten up and start
it up and it is as good as gold, till the next time!! Of course it only happens
at traffic lights or some equally unfortunate place. The foreman now tells me
that it is definitely rich mixture coupled with pump trouble. Certainly my
petrol bills are heavy. But this asking for the address of the carb people
brought things to a head. It’s a terribly hard world.
This was to occur time and time again. It is a
constant theme running through the 150 letters that he wrote to me over the
first ten years he was in the North. None of the letters were dated, just
headed by the day of the week he was writing. The first 120 were during the
first three years and the rest came after. The only personal contact he had in
the early days were myself and Violet who was living with him at Dawes Rd and
remained behind until the place was sold. So worried was he that his position
would be given away that even Phyllis was kept in the dark for quite a long
time and her letters to him would re-directed from St Goar Cottage.
Without dates the letters were quite difficult to get
in some sort of chronological order. Only by reading them through and his
references to the weather and holidays such as Easter and Christmas and the run
of the story could any order be made. Mention of birthdays was a guide, namely
Grace, Phyllis and Father’s birthday dates as in letter 68.
Hell
of a night Friday, wind and rain in abundance, I earned my four quid on the
collection of the Television rents. I finished up about nine thirty a quivering
mass of venom, radiating evil and discontent to all who came within my range.
It
was Grace’s Birthday on Saturday, I remember the day she was born. Just like
Friday --- slates blowing off the roof and Christ knows what. She was a very
pretty girl.
The collecting of television rents was all part of how
he earned a living. Palatine Commercial Services was a firm he set up with my
help. The principle aim was debt collection from firms on a commission base but
he was forced to take on other forms of collecting including rent collecting.
As he had cut himself off from all previous business activity he had no status
to start up a business in his own name or even the name of Tommy Chadwick. The
only way out was to use me and the Ifield Road address as a cover as “The
London Firm” whereas he would pose as just working for “head office”. He would
write out a letter to whoever and send it to me to be posted showing a London
address. A small snippet on letter 30 shows his sound way of dealing with money
matters.
Just
had a telephone conversation with a builder client in Stockport. One of those
cases where a bloke does work on a verbal contract and when things go sour
there isn’t a piece of paper as big as a stamp to support the claim. If life
has taught me anything at all its taught me always get a piece of paper, a date,
an address and a signature. With those three things you can go as far as the
House of Lords. I don’t take a job on without they sign an application form and
there is supporting correspondence.
The letters are full of his experiences of collecting,
also running through are his trouble with Vi. The stress of the debacle had put
too much strain on the pair of them, and all harmony had gone from them.
However, she needed a roof over her head and to earn some money so Cyril was
useful and he needed her to help support his fiction of running a company, she
being down as company secretary. So as well as trying to pull himself up by his
boot straps he had to contend with her whiplash of a tongue. Letters 31 & 36
show the scene.
Got
caught in a shower this morning. I don’t like getting wet before I start work.
Vi has a very bad cold and although it must be on its way out by now it shows
very little sign. These smokers certainly make life difficult for themselves.
We are on a very poor personal relationship and have been for some weeks. The
reason is not difficult to see nor can I see it ever being ever any good. It’s
a pity but affairs like this can never turn out to be of any value. It’s
impossible to have any social life for all social life in a civilised society
depends on a sound domestic background. The only friends we could ever make
were the people who knew about us and were prepared to accept it. I never
wanted the damn thing to go on for ever but it did.
A week or so later on letter 36.
Still
living a day at a time which is nerve wracking and takes its toll. It seems a
long time since laughter rang through the place but doubtless the return of
good spirits will be resurrected in good time but this is a tough period. Vi
gives me a good pasting periodically which I can take on top of me ‘ead for she
is unable to hurt me which, when one ponders on things is a pity for her. I
suppose she knows this and is all the more bitter., but it can’t be otherwise
and I want it not.
I
try to provide a roof but apart from that there is little comfort and less
companionship which is bad for a woman.
My
thoughts are all taken up with survival and there are none left whether good or
bad and this must be the road until such times as a gleam of light shows. As
usual I am the Villain.
She
has just turned up at the office. A joyless face and she was sparing with words
to me. I wish her well but I am unable to give her much. I shall pick her up at
5.45 and the journey homewards will be empty of words of that know only too
well.
‘Tis
strange that I can make these liaisons so easily and the other side enter into
them with such enthusiasm, much more than they ought but they always end with
bitterness but oddly enough, with little regret. They learn a lot and get a lot
of enjoyment that’s for sure and experiences that they never thought possible
and freely admit it, but nothing last for ever and it’s wrong to expect it but
people do all the same.
On top off this domestic agony he had the daily worry
of his cover being blown during the first 12 months until the authorities found
someone more important to chase. Letter 7 contains a passage where he is trying
to justify his present position.
When
I came up here I did so in the full knowledge that I might never return
permanently. Staying in London meant never being able to start up in business
and at my age I’m quite unemployable at anything except a lollipop man. The
problems that I would have to face would mean no chance of ever salvaging
anything out of my assets, perhaps even worse. It may be that sooner or later
the smash will come but I would rather it was as late as possible.
It
is a pity that both you and Vi are in possession of certain facts which places
you both at a disadvantage but it’s difficult to operate without some sort of
connecting link.
Sometime during the first 3 months I got a phone call
from either a Mr Boff or a Mr Powell but whoever it was he was looking for Cyril
Smalley and could I help them with “their enquires” and if so would I ring
Whitehall 1212. I did not deny that he was my brother but chose to say that the
last I had heard from him was that he was in the East of the country. Letters
26 & 27 gives the reader the strength of the pressure that was building up.
By
the way, a bloke called Powell is looking around for me. He’s from the Bank of
England. I had previously received a note from him saying that he had called
but that I was not around. This time the news came from the solicitors who
asked Vi if she knew a man by that name. How he’s got there I know not but he
might contact you. I think it better to refer to the East coast rather than the
North, that is if at any time you are asked and cannot escape.
By letter 27 you can really feel that Cyril is getting
the cold sweats.
I
phoned Vi from Warrington and told her my news and asked her for hers. The
Police rang promptly at ten o clock asking for me. She of course said I wasn’t
there. They then asked for Mr Chadwick and were told he was out. She asked them
if she could be of help and was told it was a personal matter. She was then
asked to leave a message for me to ring Whitehall 1212. and ask for a Mr Boff
on an extension number.
It
really is shattering news. All this time and we get our first break and then
this business. Can’t see how I can escape now and I’m practically over to the
idea of going to London tomorrow and phoning this chap. If the end is on me I
want to keep this end out of it and would rather by far face it from London.
Wouldn’t be so bad if I knew the strength of it but it’s being played with
cards close to the chest. Seems all wrong to walk into it with eyes wide open
but it’s all got very complex at this end with names and addresses intertwining.
If
it was simple with one address it might be worthwhile a try to skip but now I
can’t see it getting me very far and sooner or later there would be a showdown
on ground not of my choosing.
If
I’m in London tomorrow, I’ll call on you and chat about it prior to me sticking
my neck into the lion’s den. Just when we ought to be shouting for joy we are
tolling the bell for another reason. Ah me.
Affectionately,
sorry the news is bad.
Frustratingly, I either never knew the outcome of the
London visit or even that it took place, but things never got as bad again and
of course in due course after a lot of people had suffered agonies over all
this sad business the bank took charge of the affair and everybody got either
their money back or their Escritura’s for the flats. Not only that but there
was one flat remaining which could go to nobody other than Cyril and which I
managed to get sold and the money into Cyril’s pocket.
Getting Dawes Road sold was quite a problem as it was
in his name and with his need to remain invisible he had to do some sleight of
hand to liquefy those assets. I see I have got this letter as Number 8 but I
feel sure it could easily be 88 in relation to the rest of the letters.
I
have seen the solicitor regarding Dawes Rd and he is preparing a Deed of
Assignment transferring the property to you. This is being done at a figure of
£3.500. The Bank have a charge of approx. £2,000 which will stand although he
is not informing the Bank of the assignment who may like it or they may not. If
they get to know and they are unlikely to do so and force a sale it matters not
because they will get their £2.000 and you will get the rest, or I would like
to think that we would get the rest as I still owe you the money you lent me.
The reason I think this letter is too early is because
Cyril mentions the money I lent him which relates to the £1.000 I let him have
to enable him to purchase one side of Andrew Street in Mossley from numbers 2
to 50 a total of 25 houses for £3.600.
Once Palatine Commercial Services was set up and
running adverts were going in the press telling of their services to collect
bad debts. This brought Cyril into contact with a Brian Buckley who was running
a joinery business and needed some debts collected. Buckley had inherited this
half street of properties but they were all let to statutory tenants at a very
low rent. Cyril suggested that he take on the collection of the rents and see
that all was kept up to scratch. First of all, Cyril managed to get to rent
number 50. He was very successful in collecting Buckley’s debts and eventually
managed to buy the rest of the street. Letters 73 & 81 mention the deal
with Buckley also more of the trouble with Vi.
Business
is a little brighter, not I hasten to say with any new clients but old clients
getting further and further into the fertiliser business. One was a bad debt of
Buckley’s to whom he had lent £750 which turned sour and it was my lot to retrieve
the situation which I have relentlessly and remorselessly assailed, early next
week I expect to garner in a cheque for £330 leaving a morsel of £100 which I
think will take the best part of a year to complete.
I
saw Buckley a fortnight ago when we discussed this account. He is unstinting in
his praise at our efforts being equally well aware that his chances of being
paid were absolutely zero without our professional efforts. I was at pains to
mention that in this particular case our commission would be in excess of the
usual as we had used special efforts and we would expect to be rewarded
accordingly.
Phyllis’s
letter arrived by this morning’s mail. She is well and loving me. The
relationship at this end must tear itself to pieces ere long for it is no
relationship at all --- to be on my own would be a happy release from all the
emotional upsets. Why she doesn’t cut the slender thread I know not for both
her daughters are anxious for her to join them. The daughter in Australia would
pay her fare and no one can be more generous than that but blow me tight even
that isn’t sufficient inducement. I’m told the daughter and son in law from
Kings Lynn are arriving here this Easter but what day I know not or for how
long. I desire no interference with my building operations as time is so important.
Letter 73 contains another item about the car and some
move to getting the big property purchase completed.
Picked
up the car Saturday after the exhaust had been fitted. Certainly makes a
difference, it’s as quiet as a mouse. It was too late to get the job done
Friday so I had to take it minus the exhaust. Christ what a row. Managed to get
back without interference which is a blessing. It rained again in the evening which
makes collecting anything but a pleasant job. This is one of those weeks when I
hang on to the money for another week. The exhaust cost me nine and a half quid
instead of twelve for the other people so the cost has to be financed out of
the television money for a week or so.
The passage graphically shows how tight he was for
cash.
Went
across to the solicitor this morning to find out progress re the purchase. He
tells me he has received the contract from Buckley late last week. He informs
me that the contract will be ready in a fortnight. I’m most anxious for this to
be a final move as the rents are badly needed to finance us through this
difficult time, not that there is any change out of the transaction in the
early months until we get something sold but once they’re under our control an
application for extra rents can be made of a threat of same, we must get more
income out of the tenants and make the set up more productive. I was beginning
to wonder if Buckley had second thoughts about the deal for the horizon is
slightly brighter for property owners now that the rent act is going to be amended.
I’m
glad I went across because I was able to pick up a cheque for eighty quid which
between us we had managed to lever out of a debtor.
From time to time Cyril could wax lyrical about the
day if his mood was receptive enough.
Letter 44.
Had
to go to a little place this morning the other side of Bury. The weather was
glorious and although my inner mood matched not the day it was nevertheless
very pleasant. The moors still retain their green look and what trees there
were seemed soberly dressed as if not to appear too frivolous for the long
unbroken line of the hills. I was away about a couple of hours and seemed reluctant
to return to --- I know not what.
His use of “Head Office” to deal with complaints is
shown in letter 34 also a smattering of his funny story telling.
No
sooner had I phoned Peggy when McKendrick came into the office to tell me he’d
had a complaint from Mr Smalley. He agreed very much with the complained items
and he had promptly put a bulb in the socket in the passage way and agreed to
put the suggested air brake on the door. He said it never occurred to them
about the noise. He naturally (I knew he would) ask me why I hadn’t complained
to him personally and I made some excuse or other, but I find that the correct
approach is always the one that gets the results.
Funny
how McKendrick turned up as soon as I had enquired from Peggy if the letter had
been sent off. It always happens like this. I’ve always found that the quickest
way to get someone to turn up quickly when you are waiting for them is to go to
the loo. They are SURE to turn up when it isn’t all that convenient.
Jack
used to tell a story about a chap who cured aeroplane’s wings from dropping off
by drilling a lot of holes just along where they were found to be snapping off
and it cured it. When he was asked how he had discovered this cure he replied
that he always noted that lavatory paper never seemed to tear along the dotted
line.
Letter 55 mentions Father’s birthday. Cyril being 15
years older than myself had no doubt time to get these dates into his memory
whereas the only one I could remember was Mother’s and that was only because it
was the same date as mine. It also contains the pie incident.
Fathers
birthday today --- I never seem to forget. I remember him with much affection
---pity he couldn’t have had more pleasure in his later years instead of the
burden he had to bear and I never heard him complain. It’s a great comfort to
me that I was able to spare Phyllis to nurse him and ease his last few months.
What
a week-end, and some of it is still with us, and so cold. I was glad the rain
kept off ‘till I had completed my collection which went over Saturday morning
for a few of the bigger accounts. Vi came with me, she called at our local
confectioners and ordered four pies to be picked up later but what she wasn’t
told was they close at 12.30 on Satdy. We returned at 1.30 to find the shop
shut. I was livid. Satdy without my pies is like suddenly being made an orphan.
I ranted at Vi for being a poor shopper and Christ knows what. In short we had
words and the week-end was bleak.
A previously mentioned visit by Vi’s daughter, hubby
and child came to pass, letter 54.
They
brought the baby AND the dog and stayed the night. Being in the heart of the
canning district they can acquire tinned
goods at ridiculous prices (tins of soup for 2d) and they brought twenty or
thirty tins of food for us. Lots of it unlabelled which makes preparing a meal
an exciting experience, the thing is to open the tins first so one knows
whether it is a savoury or a sweet.
The
dog is a great big brown collie which is quite well behaved and obviously a dog
of pedigree but unfortunately he’s been sold a stumer in so much as the dog has
developed some bone trouble in the back joints which makes it useless even for
breeding.
Never
could cotton on to dogs --- they’re not for me.
In the time period of the letters numbered in the 70’s
he is very close to gaining possession of Andrew St and has already got plans
to get a more profitable scene as number 78 shows.
Now
that contracts have been exchanged for the deal I’m thinking of advertising the
two empty houses for sale at £480. £50 deposit and the rest over 5 years. which
would work out at £3 quid a week plus rates. If I can pull it off it will make
the deal a lot more palatable and give us a bit more margin to work on
immediately. I expect to stand the mortgage in the early years anyway unless
the client is very credit worthy and in that case I’ll pass it over sharpish
and collect. The new rent act and a brighter prospect means we must make money.
We could hardly have bought cheaper unless they were given to us. £160 is no
price for a house, it’s only the price of a couple of concrete garages. Feel
sure the land can be turned into something viable. Worth a try.
It had taken him eighteen months to two years to get
to the position of being able to buy Andrew St which from the low base he
started at was a great effort. This must be the year 1971 approx. and he would
be 65. Just when he should have been thinking of retirement he is working and
scheming day and night to try and get to a position where he could be fully
independent and have some spare money.
He was now at the time where he could draw his
retirement pension but because his cards were unstamped for the last two and
half years that bit of comfort money was out of his grasp. However, I funded
him the money needed to get them up-to-date and he began to draw. How that was
done with him having a new name of Tom Chadwick and the cards in his own name I
know not.
The pressure of this daily struggle must have put him
close to going under with depression but his optimism kept poking through to
keep him sane. In letter 57 he is a little down.
Thursday
My
dear Philip,
The
days drag along with leaden feet but it’s always a pleasure to drop you a line,
one assumes that you are able to spare a few minutes from your envied activity
to give a slightly more than superficial glance at thoughts that are made
tangible.
There is no doubt and he made it plain to me several
times that his link with me in the letters saved him from going under
especially as he was in trouble with his live-in-partner Vi.
The
weather has been very trying although not cold. No shortage of water here as
there now seems to be not many days when it fails to rain to a major or minor
degree, mostly major. Vi is a little more cheerful now that she has a little
more money coming in from this new extra job. Certainly she is not afraid of
work and its odd how that there is a compulsion in working in order not to
starve, there is now no time off from work as hitherto when she was in London
working for Smiths and an absence of pressure of survival.
If
only business would take a turn for the better for me I would be overjoyed, the
days are so very, very empty and such little return for so much expected and
hoped for. I have such a capacity for work that anything shorter than a full
day of maximum effort gives me a guilt complex.
We
should soon have word from the solicitor that matters are approaching finality.
I can then give some thought to other matters instead of this insular concern
of mine and transform me with a degree of hope and optimism.
My
thoughts fly to you on the wings of a swallow.
Affectionately as always.
Vi’s refuge at this time of sadness must have been the
couple of jobs she was doing as well as earning some money. She had lots of
different jobs while she was with Cyril, letter 53 mentions a floor walking
job.
We
had words soon after arriving back at Andrew St. Blasted working class
attitude, makes me sick. It’s part of her job as a floor walker to spot and
apprehend if necessary any pilfering by the public. Saturday is always the day
for the ravaging to take place. Fifteen people were caught but none by her
although she admits to having had her eye on someone but they slipped away.
If
it’s a job to be done no matter now matter how unpleasant it must be done. They
are always easier next time. She won’t take on a job at this office although
the money is good.
I
can never be humiliated by any task no matter how menial because I am me. I
surround myself with a sheath of nonchalance and disdain for the opinion of the
public who interest me with their opinion not at all. My only concern is with
the opinions of the people I cherish and admire.
When
things were bad at Highfield Road, Mother used to tramp the streets selling
custard powder for about thirty bob a week and expenses. Slogging hard work in
all weathers and not too well in health and often with a blinding head ache,
but it was done and for a time the only wage coming in was what I brought as an
apprentice and hers. You were only four at the time and unemployment was rife, but
we got through but it was bloody tough going.
Seems
almost like a full circle sometimes.
My
love to all.
The occupation of 50 Andrew St gave him great joy, to be
able to improve the state of the place and just to be busy kept his mind in a
happier state. He had great pleasure out of getting the open fire going. there
was some coal left by the previous tenants but this got used up and then he
would scrounge timber for either burning or other uses. The construction of the
toilet seems to have given him some trouble and me much amusement.
Letters 70, 72 & 40.
I
have now left t’other place and spent most of yesterday at Andrew. A fair bit
of coal in the cellar and my first job was to light a fire. First fire I’ve lit
for years. Soon had a marvellous fire and loads of hot water, after a couple of
hours the cistern was heaving like an active volcano and I had to run off some
hot water to stop the convulsions.
The
hot water had that smell of super-heated steam. A load of “slack” kept it in
all night and a kettle of hot water for coffee was at hand. Although the
bathroom suite is brand new it has a slightly Gothic air about it. The loo is
tipped to one side and not accidentally, a small piece of wood under one side
is evidence of this and the experience is slightly maddening, one has other
things on one’s mind without having to concentrate on remaining seated.
It’s
a sort of double relief to eventually rise and allow one’s natural balance to
take charge. Something will have to be done about that, sharpish.
Later in letter 70.
A
bit of bowel-trouble this Sunday. Don’t quite know how it happened but I seem
to have landed up with a blunt end to start the evacuation instead of a sharp end.
Apart from this the Lob-Sided Loo tried my patience but the deed was eventually
done with no hard feelings. I had previously only superficially inspected the
Loo but on this occasion I made a closer scrutiny and found one or two
interesting things which will have to be rectified.
Letter 72 finds him on the lookout for timber.
Winter
is now on us and beating at the door, it was cold at Andrew last night and as
Vi is a fiend for fresh air and invariably has one window somewhere open and
with this altitude the wind whips through the house in a split second wiping
out utterly all previous efforts to induce some warm air into the rooms.
I’ve
spent a few hours sawing wood, which up to a few days ago was reasonably
plentiful. The youngsters with 5th of November in mind have made inroads into
the timber lying around. Last night I was in the cellar cutting away when I heard
a few youngsters outside and saw them throwing some pieces over the wall into
the field outside, pieces which I suppose that they had scrounged from some
outlying field. Once they had left the scene I nipped out sharpish and whipped
the lot into my cellar. Their faces when they discover the loss will be
interesting.
All this sawing of wood which he tackled with a little
too much vigour resulted in a tennis elbow The discomfort of the elbow was to
feature in many letters for the next few months as he had a job to get it mended
due to continually using it to get the house in order. It so happened that I
had been trouble with frozen shoulder due to my enthusiasm for making pots on
the wheel. At the same time as remarking on his elbow he would be commiserating
with me about my shoulder.
In one of my letters I must have mentioned the Fulham
Rd Pub “The Finches” that I would occasionally visit for a beer.
I
know “The Finches” well. I used to visit at one time but I never found it to my
liking. I was ever conscious of this awful leftish crowd who knew all the
answers except how to keep in regular employment and always there seemed to be
someone pushing a collection box under my nose for some “anti” movement. At
that time, it was one of the few places where you could get draught Bass or
Worthington and as such I found it tolerable.
Cyril had started keeping bees during the war mainly
because one could get an extra sugar ration and he had kept them on and off
since.
Took
possession of two hives and two swarms Saturday evening. It all came about
through Vi. She became acquainted with a customer who said he had some bees for
disposal. The swarm was in a tree and I arrived with a large plastic sheet.
Lucky I did as the hives were without roofs so they were most insecure.
Getting
them into my backyard at Andrew was a hell of a game as one of the hives was so
heavy it was almost beyond me. I got a barrow but the hive was too wide and sat
cock-eyed and on turning round the whole thing slid off on to the ground.
Luckily the whole thing was still inside the sheeting but as you can imagine
the bees found escape holes and let me know it. The noise was like being in a
power house with dynamos humming away. My face where it had been stung through
the veil was slightly out of contour and didn’t look like me but next morning I
had assumed my customary good looks.
I
have now abandoned my slimming and settled down at a loss of ten pounds. I
appeared to be getting too weak. Whether this was due to the crash timing I
know not but for the future I shall cut down on the fats and sugar. Went to the Doc last week and got a letter for
the hospital about my prostate but oddly enough it took a turn for the better
as soon as I got the note so I doubt whether I shall bother now.
Funny how he like the rest of us feel better after
seeing the Doc. That was letter 128. The following letter mentions letter
writing ability.
Number 86.
Am
sending out a hundred letters to the clients telling them of our collection and
asking for their best day and time. Another hundred needed but this is to see
how this one shot shapes.
The
T.V. boss mentioned what a marvellous letter I sent. THERE MUST BE A PLACE FOR
A BLOKE LIKE ME. But he never replied by letter as I knew he wouldn’t. So few
people can put pen to paper and convey thoughts into words. Strange ain’t it?
Mark
writes a good letter as you do yourself. I remember a letter I received from
you as a boy when you went to the Isle of Man for the T.T. Terrific letter,
remember it to this day.
Excerpts from 3 letters follow showing him buying
houses at prices you would not believe possible. The house at £250 was to
enable Vi to move into as there was the possibility of Phyllis coming over from
Spain for a longish spell and Vi had to be got off the scene although I’m sure
that Phyllis had an idea that she was not far away. The one at £450 was the
house they lived in after Andrew St and where Peg went up to stay a while with
Phyllis and Cyril after he had suffered a stroke.
A
small house advertised in the local paper for £250. Vi went after it, not much
interest as far as we can see, it might come off. Somewhere for Vi and to get
her off the premises. If it doesn’t come off it is a move in the right
direction. It was one up and one down with a bathroom and kitchen. No garden
back or front but it could be tarted up.
I
eventually bought that small house for £15 quid??? I prepared a preliminary
agreement and this afternoon I see the solicitor acting to give his
instructions. We pay all the legal fees. I went round to the house and slapped
the pound notes in her hand. I have no remorse for the undeserving poor.
The latter sentence sounds a bit brutal but I feel
sure he liked to portrait himself in an extreme light. He was fairly ruthless
but a lot of bravado comes through in the letters.
Had
the builders on the roof of the £15 pound house this week-end. The weather was
out of this world and they and myself enjoyed working no end. I was patching up
a ceiling and the dust of ages as well as the soot from countless fires dropped
on me and I got as black as a sweep.
Much
curiosity from the natives and an enquiry from one of the children and the
builders told them that the house had been taken by Pakistanis and pointing to
me said I was one of them!!
Managed
to get the roof fixed, gutters in place and woodwork painted. In comparison to
the surrounding properties it shines like a jewel. Next week we will concrete
the floors, kitchen and living room and from then on things will take shape.
Might get all the work done except for the bathroom for £70 quid.
Bought
a useful place last week for £450. Nice clean house on the main road to Ashton
from Mossley on the top road. Four floors at the rear and two at the front .
The two lower floors will be under a closure order but I might make them into a
garage.
Mossley was built on hills and it was not unusual to
have houses built on the side of a steep hill and whereas when they were built
the whole could be occupied but with present day regulations some were deemed
to be substandard with regard to light and air.
In the same letter which I date around early June 1972
he remarks on being contacted by the B.B.C.
Just
had a telephone call from the B.B.C. They are running some sort of an interview
with debt collections in mind and wanted some reputable firm to put the other
side. I think it could be the local Manchester radio although I didn’t enquire
too closely as I wasn’t interested in the thing as the interview would probably
been in the morning with a lot of stupid housewives listening whilst washing
the baby and with no impact with the professional classes. Nice however to be
classed as a reputable firm!! Made me think of the couplet “The working class
can kiss my arse – I’ve got the foreman’s job at last.”
The mention of “Stupid Housewives” put him on the same
wavelength of Alf Garnet as a male chauvinist but it was just another part of
the image I feel he was projecting in the letters. The next letter shows the
prospect of Phyllis arriving on the scene.
Vi
continues to be a demon and I could wish her far enough. Frustration is now
entering her soul and her actions are now triggered off by this embitterment.
The present situation with the entrance of Phyllis has aggravated matters and
as I say little about my future movements the arguments continue un abated.
Apart from the obvious unpleasantness of living with the situation I refuse to
let it affect me and try not to join in the slanging match, as you can imagine whichever
way I react it fans the flame.
In spite of all his trouble he had plenty of buoyancy
and bounce about him when it was needed.
Letter 62.
Still
living from day to day which is a far from easy life and yet I am constantly
surprised at my ability to change my mental approach to people I meet whilst
having this problem for ever on my mind. I went to a house yesterday and I was
the soul of animation for half an hour.
The resilience of the bloke is amazing!!
I
had a touch of the runs early Monday and felt far from well all day but
yesterday I bucked up and felt reasonably well. I could look at the weather and
not feel as miserable as I ought.
Vi
is feeling depressed for as usual at this time of the week her money has run
out. It’s true she gets little enough, but it was always a problem with her and
in any case I am in a poor position to help. I’ve already spent more of my capital,
which I was saving for the house purchase, than I should, but it’s bound to end
with me giving her a quid to eke out, we always loose --- Bloody Smokers.
Three letters later in letter 65.
Vi
was skint again this morning and borrowed a quid. What with that on top of all
my aggravations I can’t see any light. I keep saying the Lord doesn’t give one
more burdens than one can bear but I’m getting bowed down nearer and nearer to
the ground. My working hours with minor problems are bearable but the silent
hours of the night cannot be shared.
The next letter gives an insight into his collecting
experience with the T.V. people.
Spent
a few minutes with the television firm who allow me to collect the rents.
Squeezed a few more bob out of them for the people who pay direct. I doubt
whether they ever had anyone so dedicated to collecting. Little do they know
how I need the money.
Quite
a few clients when I call Friday suggest I call Saturday. I’m not making two
Bloody calls for their convenience and I just stand there waiting. Can’t come
Saturday ‘Cos it’s The Sabbath I tell ’em. Who, in their right minds would pay
seven bob a week for a second-hand T.V. set. I’ve been collecting six months
from the same people and that is over eight quid and you could buy a s/h one
for a fiver in the shops.
Most
of the clients are two weeks away from the workhouse and if they get into
arrears it’s a hell of a job to get them straight.
I
lent one woman six quid for her licence and collect seven at five bob a week!!
There is a great similarity in Cyril’s life at this
time to the principal character in Arnold Bennett’s “The Card”.
The land at the back of Andrew St was included in the
deal and Cyril had the idea he could get permission to build six bungalows
there. the following has been gleaned from the next batch of letters.
Have
applied for overall planning permission to build six houses on the plot of land
at the back of Andrew and if this is granted it will lift up the value of the
land enormously. There is a problem at the entrance to the land. We are about
ten feet short in width to conform with regulations This will either have to be
taken forthwith or make a “fait accompli” or some other arrangement.
Cyril was adept at producing a “Fait Accompli” to
force an issue but sadly this problem of the entrance was to be the stumbling
block in this scheme and was never to come about but his hopes remained high as
letter 112 shows.
There
is much future in our present package but timing is bound up with our limited
finances but when the first house is sold we shall be out of the mud. The
asking price is £1,200 which for a stone house with bath and inside loo and
decent kitchen is low enough in all conscience, but such a lot of people in
this district are afflicted with what I call “Mossleyitis” --- a refusal to
realise that a habitation has a relationship with comparative values. The town
is a tight unit and people seldom move in or out, as a consequence prices tend
to keep low. I AM GOING TO ALTER ALL THAT.
Letter 100 shows him getting well in with the planning
people.
Went
to the Town Hall yesterday to see them in the planning department and I was met
with a report that nothing could be done about planning. Local Elections are
intervening so the next committee meeting is in five weeks’ time. I told
Mathews that our dead line is the 22nd of June and there is not much time left.
However,
during the conversation he mentioned that there were no three bedroomed
bungalows in Mossley as well we know and suggested that he would be interested
in one as a buyer. he also suggested that he would prepare plans instead of us
using an outside architect which would slash costs and also facilitate the
passage through the departments as I could well agree. I followed this up with
the suggestion that as I wanted the first bungalow for myself he could have the
split-level job and do all the labour arrangements himself and have the plot
for a nominal price in exchange for his planning. He thought this a splendid
idea and I thought so too with having a bloke working for me on the inside of
the Town Hall.
Letter 112 reveals the exact date of the letter as Cyril
mentions his birthday which was the 12th of March 1906 and he is 65.
My
insurance card is still doubtless lying in the back of your office drawer and
me 65 this week. I sacrificed so many items to get this package under control
but as I say, once a sale takes place one can flow with the stream --- For a
time??
Letter 141
Still
haven’t got me pension so I sent off a letter today to complain. Only a few
days away from my SIXTY SIXTH birthday. Something cock-eyed somewhere because
it doesn’t seem natural to have all this energy at this age. Slept like a top
last night and loth to get up this morning. A real lovely feeling to lie awake
and wallow in the warmth and luxury of a comfortable bedroom. Had the fire lit
in the bedroom, I always sleep better when I’m breathing warm air.
Sometime later.
I
note with some modified satisfaction that the State is now granting me a well-earned
pension of £5.75 per week. Not before its time of course and they have managed
to gip me out of about two hundred quid.
He did get what he was entitled to, I was always under
the impression that as the cards were brought up to date that there was no
short-fall. In the same letter the following shows up.
A
couple of good blokes have started working for me at the week-ends. Sunday only
at the moment but they are willing to work holidays etc. I can get on with
blokes who are greedy for money.
These
two have their own transport which is a relief and they start at eight, working
right through dinner hour and their tea breaks and finish at four o clock.
Pretty flaked out I should hope. They turn out first class work although
obviously not professionals.
Letters 109 & 110 show some trauma with the death
of his solicitor and shock at engaging another.
Went
to the solicitors this morning and was met with the sad news that he had been
killed in a car accident. A great shock and one that is difficult to take in as
we were so close and I had only spoken to him three days before. We have so
much unfinished business it has put us in a hole and it will be difficult to
sort out for a while.
Went
to see the new solicitor yesterday who had bought the deceased business.
Although slightly prepared for his appearance I was not totally prepared for
the impact. He is hardly more than twenty-five and dressed as one would expect
a woman dress designer or a West End ladies’ hairdresser. Light coloured suit
with coloured shirt and flowing flowered tie, tied in a loose knot and acres of
shirt cuff showing. Shoulder, or near shoulder length blond hair and an image
totally unlike any solicitor you could imagine. I think the bloke is gormless
and reminds me vastly of Vi’s son Charlie. All the staff are dolly-birds as you
would think. A strange sight was the telephonist from Bennett’s office and in
THAT setup she didn’t look out of place but here she looks like bloody witch.
I’m
told the bloke is bright but without wisdom. After weighing it all up I shall
be on the lookout elsewhere. Give the bloke a chance first.
Letter 96 is interesting in so much as it shows how he
was dealing with debtors and how he got close to being opted on to the council.
We
have one bad tenant who keeps us waiting for rent. Arrears up to £12 now so I
told the collector not to call and sent them a letter by recorded delivery
giving them 4 weeks’ notice. Monday his wife is on the phone begging and
praying for respite but I told her it was all down to Head Office and I could
do nothing. In the meantime, she went to the local solicitors but he couldn’t
act as he was our solicitor. He shoved her in another office and phoned me with
the details. He told her if it went to the County Court they would show no
sympathy and it would be curtains. What alarmed them was our refusal to accept
the rent.
The
solicitor and I usually have noggin together Saturday Lunch time as he plays
dominoes with some chums. He’s a local councillor and very helpful. He
suggested me putting my name forward as a candidate but my past and my future
life does not permit such luxuries.
It’s quite possible that this was the same solicitor
who tragically died in the car accident mention in letter 109. It does show how
his charm and persuasive manner could get him through a few barriers. Letter
124 shows him “buttering up” the guy who had given him his big chance, Brian
Buckley.
A
short letter from Buckley. His wife has to have a small operation for female
trouble which coincides with the holiday to Calpe, so the visit may be off but
he wants the villa to offer to a friend if he himself cannot take it.
All
very matey and signs off “Brian”. Very nice boy and a lovely family.
The letter finishes off with a little bit about Roger
who at this time which I worked out was the time Roger was taking photos of
Estate agents shops/offices and selling them “open & closed” cards for the
doors. Roger must have been 16 at the time.
Glad
to hear that Roger has made a reasonable success of the enterprise. It will
soon wane of course as there is no necessity for him to continue. It’s not his
bread and butter unlike ourselves. Nevertheless, I was pleased that he could
make the thing work and whatever he accomplishes it will be sound experience
for later. Most important is the ability to face the public and separate them
from their money. Not an easy task for a youngster.
Cyril’s prediction that it would “wane” was not well-founded
as Roger just went on from strength to strength.
By letter 127 he has joy in his heart as Vi is making
positive moves for the Australian visit.
Cheap
trip to London on Tuesday, only £2.60 from M/C. Vi will travel with me as she
has to attend to her passport to visit Australia to see her daughter and
son-in-law, which will last 6 months. It will be a happy release for me for the
constant pressure is more than a little irksome. Wrong of me to say this of
course as she has so many good qualities but selfish as I am I ask for much
more, probably more than she or anyone for that matter, can give. But such is
me!!
He had been successful in cultivating someone at the
Town Offices and got some good news as a result.
I
received the valuation from the bloke I mentioned before. The report came in
and I was agreeably surprised as he had valued it at £5.000. Not bad when one
thinks that the land was thrown in with the package. Of course the planning has
made it viable, without that the land is just land. Anyway with this document
from him with his valuation is a passport to better things and it was a good
move getting him buttered up. if this second house fails to sell to this couple
I’ll pass it over to him and lift the price to cover his commission.
He was gradually getting into bigger deals but this
next deal was too big for him to swallow and he had got Buckley to go in with
him. The same letter shows that the scheme for bungalows has fallen through
after all his efforts of buttering up the relevant parties.
Enclosed
is the plan of the farm that Buckley and self are purchasing. Price £45.000 for
the whole thing. Deposit now paid and I’m negotiating the mortgage. Not easy
and I expect to pawn all my stuff but it’s just too good to miss. Unable to
pull it off by myself but Buckley is dead keen as well he should be. Trouble is
I have to strip all the assets and only be left with the 16-acre lot for
possible outline planning. The farm deal that went sour eventually sold for
£12.000 with only half an acre. Reckon this lot could be worth £100.000. I
shall claim the farm house is unfit for habitation and get permission to build
anew.
Under
the circumstances it’s as well that the Andrew St land job failed. Could not
have afforded both. This deal if successful could place me in the first
division --- bottom of course but easy to climb up. All I want is to be back in
the race.
I cannot recall this deal getting anywhere and in its ramifications
it caused a rift between Cyril and Buckley and brought an end to their
association. Around this time with Vi away and Phyllis on the scene he moved
out of number 50 Andrew St and occupied the £450 house in upper Mossley. At
some stage he must have bought next door as well as letter No 135 shows.
Broke
through next door during the week and bricked up the front door and windows, a
big room but not I think too big. The carpet will be a financial strain but it
will be worth it when its down. Three wooden steps up into this new room and made
before we broke through and a perfect fit. I shall have a Clematis ready for
when the outside is pebble dashed.
Three letters around
1976 show him with enough spare money to indulge in buying records albeit second
hand.
Last
Tuesday I was browsing a s/h record stall when I chanced on a box of three
records which I think were a library set. They were the complete Mozart Violin
Concerto for £2.25., turned out to be mint condition. They have given me
indescribable joy and ousted my previous Beethoven Violin Concerto. I also
noticed at the same time but felt unable to part with the necessary £4.50 for
the Mozart Symphonies 10-56, but as I’m going there tomorrow I’ll try to get
rid of the “mean mood” for I feel sure that it will be worthwhile eventually
parting with the money.
The
set of records I was after appear to have been bought by somebody but a
complete set of Mozart’s Sonatas was going for £4.50. Six records in mint.
These are now in my collection. A complete set of Beethoven violin concertos
were just outside my pocket at nine records for £6.0, might get them next week if
they are still there, if not, so be it.
When
to the record shop again but unfortunately the set I wanted had gone. Reluctant
to leave without something so I bought a Tchaikovsky set. I was sorry the
Beethoven Violin Sonatas had gone. He says he will have more next week.
A little while later Cyril spotted a farm cottage plus
a half acre of ground which took his fancy. The Upper Mossley house was up for
sale at £16.500, having paid £450 plus what he paid for the one next door. He
must have felt like getting a place in the country although it was a hair
brained idea as Phyllis would have been completely isolated as it was down a
long lane and miles from anywhere but that didn’t deter him.
My
recent purchase gives us added interest in life. Attended the auction with a
determination not to pay more than £22.000. Bidding started at £15.000, I
shoved it up to £20.000. The next bid was £20.500 so I knocked it on to £22.000
and it was all over. As I went up to the Auctioneers table he said “I think you
scared off the opposition”.
The property had belonged to a deceased couple and it
would be some time before probate was granted so that gave Cyril extra time to
juggle with monies although the deposit of £2.500 was covered from Phyllis’s account
as she was over for good from Spain and the Villa was already sold. A portion
of the latter letter is about his labour.
The
weather has been a bit on the harsh side of late but we have plenty of work
inside. I have a couple of chaps off work. Joe the electrician and odd job man
had a couple of weeks off with his knee trouble till I told him to decide
between his love of his knee or for myself and he decided to come to work. My
other chap Kelly who is the bricky and most useful rang to say he had
“shingles” but he thinks he will be in Monday. I do hope so as he is more than
useful. The other two continue to man the ship in manly fashion for its
important we see the end of it.
The
couple next to the farm sell eggs, most if not all are bought in from an
outside source, but that is farm dealing all over. The public will pay more for
eggs if there is a bit of shit on them. They mix brown and white to make it
look better. Never-the-less they are nice to me and will doubtless continue
till they find I have a healthy pair of horns but this idyllic situation
continues.
Letter 138 which I date at about October ‘81 shows a deterioration
in his letter-writing both in the lay-out and poor spelling. The reason is partially
explained in letter 142.
Dear
Peggy and Philip,
Don’t
know what’s happening to me nowadays for I don’t seem to write letters so
easily has (sic) hitherto for it’s now a fortnight since I’ve returned from
London.
Bought
a lovely wall tapestry a couple of weeks ago, only cost eleven quid and it’s
about six feet by four with the design woven right through, complete with rings
sewn into the top portion. It gives Phyllis a lot of pleasure and me too.
Thank
you both for a lovely couple of days which did me a lot of good, I am more than
a little grateful.
In the next letter is mention of a stroke which may
have been the cause of the poor writing as this letter is also badly laid out.
Not only has he managed to knock the two houses into one but he has managed to
get the lower half let off furnished. It is also on the market for a buyer.
Wrote
to Mark last Sunday and included our Christmas Greetings. Phyllis posted it but
due to her eyesight omitted the correct stamps. I was cross about this but
nothing could be done once it was in the box and all the profanity in the world
could have made little difference so my apologies to Mark if it caused any
eye-brow raising.
The
liquid section of my waste disposal system continues to give me trouble and I
shall be pleased when the dispute with the heath workers is over and a chance
given to those sufferers who need treatment. If the thing dries up completely,
panic stations and then the knife but not yet although I fear it is not far
off. I battle on confident that Father is looking after me.
Although
I accept these small irritations I feel some time in the future I’ll make a
journey from which there is no return, I’m reluctant to make that journey. I
confess that I miss Violet although she was a miss in many things she had a
simple loyalty which was very precious in retrospect. For instance, when I was
in hospital with that damned stroke not one day passed that she didn’t visit me
and on the Sunday when there were two visiting hours she would pass the time in
the park. Fortunately, my stay was short enough not to make undue demands on
her loyalty but for that which she did I shall be ever grateful Such is my
nature that although conscious of these things I was unable to recompense her
in the very things she wanted.
The stroke he wrote about I cannot recall and I think
he must have kept it from me but the next one in the following year 1982 we
were on the scene and Peg stayed up there to help Phyllis who by then had
arrived permanently from Spain. He had a problem with his weight and made
several attempts to reduce.
My
weight is on the up and up once again. I have found out the reason for although
I miss breakfast and the modicum of Lunch I will persist in munching biscuits
whilst I lay recumbent watching the BOX. Shall have to take myself in hand and
loose at least a stone.
The stress of his life style plus being overweight
must have been the reason he succumbed to the stroke. A series were to follow
over the next 10 years to his death in 1992 but he was fit enough to journey to
Calpe on his own in 1986 at the beginning of the year and the end by a two-day
coach journey and again with me in Jan 1988 and March 1990. All in the pursuit
of selling the final flat in Ponderosa. It took the efforts of an English
resident in the flats (Ann Percival) Thea’s Spanish language skills and myself
and a pair of dopey solicitors in Exeter the first six months of 1989 to
finally get a cheque for £13,099 over to U.K. The period covered by the letters
is from 1969 to 1989 but very few letters were written in the last 7 years. The
reason I feel was that he had Phyllis with him and the need to communicate with
me had gone. Whilst the farm cottage was being made habitable he embarked on a
sand-blasting job.
Section from letter 123.
The
sand-blasting seems to be now getting under way. It really started before it
should but the blokes were on their beam ends so a start was made sort of
piece-meal. First week’s job was a loss of twenty quid but this last week we
broke even. Future seems bright enough and I think it will be a useful
addition. These compressors are dear things to hire. Twenty-five quid a week.
Second hand come out at £800 and there must be a cheaper way of buying sand. A
lot to learn and one must learn fast.
I think this lasted a year or two and somewhere there
is a very nice photo of a large church that they made a nice job of. As well as
this he also went into damp-course injection.
Letter 142.
The
damp-course business is I feel a bit of a gimmick. I am far from satisfied that
it does the job it’s supposed to do for I have a little experience (not a lot)
and the subsequent covering of Fondu cement is more likely to do the trick. The
silicon MUST do some good but its effect on what it’s supposed to do is
doubtful.
The cottage needed damp-proofing and I guess that it
how he got into that but it also didn’t last long. With the half acre at the
cottage he had great fun in getting the hives sited and indulging in some
growing.
Letter 136.
Bit
of bad luck during the week. A couple of cows got through the fence and
blundered over the garden. All the cauliflowers went and the runner beans. the
only things unscathed were the turnips. The potato tops had been nibbled so we
shall see what is left when the rain stops. I blame myself as I took down the
stone wall to make room for the soft fruit. But that’s the price I had to pay.
A little more about his weight problem at this time.
Saw
the dietician and I’m now down to ten and a half stone. It’s taken a lot of
doing but I’m pleased it’s been achieved. ANY ROAD UP she doesn’t want to see
me again as I’m down to my correct weight. I celebrated by having a glass of
white port. The first for weeks.
By 1979 after 10 years of struggle he was feeling as
though he had really got into the big time. In the main his wheeling and
dealing had been successful. Letter 137 shows the size of dealings he was into.
Prices
of property is rising all the time in the North. Not a property of any use
below £10.000. One of mine in Andrew which I would have been pleased to sell at
£8,000 I must sell at £10,000. Our own at number 50 sold at £10,000 a few weeks
ago.
Amazing to think he bought the whole street 8 years
previously for £3,600.
Went
to the auction on the 19th for the enclosed property. Saw the vendor last week
and offered him £30,000 of which £5,000 would be in cash but he turned it down.
he said he had been offered £36,000. I see the Bank manager next Tuesday for a
final interview before he can get clearance from head office for the loan. Our
assets are close to £1,00,000, that is to say they will be if I can get this
new property. I shall dispose of the farm and get left with the barn and the
land which is all I want.
Is he doing a Walter Mitty or just counting chickens?
Since
our last visit to you I have acquired a small Imperial Type beard as a result
of not shaving (the chin that is). I mentioned my intention to Peg but she
didn’t believe me. The result is quite “fetching”.
Glad
to hear that Grace is quite reasonable, one cannot hope for more, I think of
her constantly.
Mention of our sister Grace puts the date of this
letter early in 1980 as she died in the June of that year. This must have been
around the time he and Phyllis came back from a three-month trip to Australia.
The following year ‘81 brought a further stroke and seemed to put an end to his
prolific letter writing. The eighties decade found him making two visits solo
to Calpe and a trip with me. The result of that trip brought about the sale of
the flat in Ponderosa which took almost the first six months of ‘89 to
complete. There are three letters written in July ‘89 thanking me for the money
I lent him to clear a debt to the Inland Revenue for £3,500 and also for
getting the flat sold. These were the last letters from him and his struggling
to get thoughts correctly on to the paper and its sad to read them and to think
how his powers of writing had left him due to the strokes.
My
dear Philip,
Yesterday
came the bombshell, letter from the solicitor you culled to deal with the Spanish
deal. The letter which came with the cheque is enclosed.
I
know not why the letter was sent to me instead of the party who had instructed
them in the first place, but to me it came and now I send it to you. Perhaps
you will deal with the amount I have to send to you. I can then make out a
cheque and deal with it. I am of course at a loss to understand why it was sent
to me instead of the person who instructed them in the first place., but there
it is. Perhaps there is some part of which I am not a party to. But there it
is.
I
send the notes as I received them.
Greeting
as usual.
Cyril
This last letter as transcribed looks and reads much
better than the original which is full of spelling errors and crossings out
possibly due to his eyesight going too.
In closing this account of the last two decade of
Cyril’s life I include the opinion on Pepe Artieda by Ann Percival a long-time
resident at Ponderosa and who was a help in getting the final flat sold.
“My first impression was revulsion. He was short, fat
and ugly. He visited us in our apartment in 1968 & made himself at home. As
he talked and boasted about his various manipulations & how clever he was
in his business dealings we were more “put off”. We could never see what
attractions he had that made Cyril consider him “as a son” or that convinced
another flat owner (a Polish Man) to go into business with him in the buying of
foreign timber. Over the years we came into contact with many people who were
swindled by him apart from Cyril and the Pole. He even swindled quite a few
Spaniards. He got fatter, uglier and richer. The last time I saw him, about 16
years ago he looked like a walking cube with arms, legs and head. As Cyril was
so closely associated with Artieda in the beginning, everyone but us thought
Cyril was a swindler too. Luckily the builder of this block put us right about
this as he knew Artieda. He (like us) felt sorry for Cyril.
There was a court case in Alicante a few years ago
concerning our little fracas. No Artieda appeared. He must be still missing.
The judge found him guilty.”
This was written 2nd Oct ‘94. Phyllis died two days
later on the 4th. Cyril had died 6th June 1992. This was part of a condolence
letter from Ann Percival.
