A Photographic Memory #2
eidetic • /aɪˈdɛtɪk/
Welcome to part two of my memory backup!
Zen and the Art of Window Display
On my return from a month-long trip to Canada in 1977, I needed a job, so my father had a word with someone he knew; a man called Henry Hutt, who owned a print business. He agreed to take me on as an apprentice printer at 12 quid a week whilst funding my training at the Croydon Technical College for Printing. Getting covered in ink and narrowly avoiding losing my fingers in the old Heidelberg Platen Press was not for me, so I managed to get upstairs to the Lithographic plate making department and… the darkroom! Now it became far more interesting.
Though, not really interesting enough. They taught me how to mask out backgrounds of photos, and make cut-outs of Jerry Lee Lewis for his fan club circular. They even let me make my very first halftone print which I still have (above). There was a lovely, quietly spoken guy called (let’s call him) Harry, he worked upstairs too, but every now and again he just didn’t turn up. One day I asked him where he’d been the day before, and he told me he’d been there the whole time. Puzzled by this, I was taken aside by the manager who explained that Harry was schizophrenic, and sometimes he just disappeared for days on end. What with that, and a Fireman who was also our type compositor. He’d come in and do all of the lead typesetting by hand when he wasn’t in his fire engine. It was an odd place to work.
One particular day the senior plate maker happened to mention that his wife worked as a ticket writer alongside a Visual Merchandising team in a large department store called Debenhams. They were looking for another Display Artist which sounded intriguing, so with his wife’s help I managed to get an interview with the store’s outgoing manager, Mr Dowse. I had no display experience whatsoever, but I did have a portfolio of insect illustrations that I’d created for the Grosvenor Young Naturalist Society. At the sight of these, he beamed at me and shouted ‘the GYNS!’. I was astounded. The G.Y.N.S. was a small local suburban group in Carshalton a few miles away, that he’d very coincidentally also been a member of as a teenager, and this was almost as good as a Masonic hand-shake for me. Without further ado he offered me my first proper job as a Junior Display Artist in a large department store, and I set to work learning the ropes.
Debenhams was a labyrinthine place, previously known as Kennards, which was built in 1853. I knew the place well because my mum used to take me there as a kid, for believe it or not… donkey rides. Sixpence would get you onto a donkey and a slow trot up and down their very long arcade, but now I was working there, and the donkeys had long since gone. Navigating the hidden corridors between floors and departments took a very long while to get accustomed to. One day I got completely lost in one of the tunnels, but bumped into a guy who’d just started his first day there as a porter. I was surprised that he seemed to know his way around already, and when questioned about it, he explained that he’d astral projected himself there the night before to familiarize himself with the place…!!
A few days into the job, our display team were hanging banners from the ceiling of the perfumery department, and I needed to continue the work on the next floor up, so without a second thought, I decided to carry my eight-foot wooden ladder up the escalator. It wasn’t long before the ladder started tugging at my arm and making rather strange creaking noises. To my horror, I realized it was jammed between the escalator going up, and the ceiling above, which wasn’t going anywhere at all!
As it compressed, the creaking, splitting sounds got louder and I decided to let go and run for my life! The moment I reached the top of the escalator, the ladder exploded, showering the poor perfumery staff below with an assortment of debris.
This was the week before I accidentally stapled through a series of telephone wires and short-circuited the main switchboard. It’s no real excuse, but I was seventeen at the time.
Next to the perfumery department was a small photographic section that sold cameras and other equipment. After a while I got to know the guy that ran it. Malcolm was his name, and he agreed to sell me his own camera for a very reasonable price. It was a Praktica Nova SLR, and with a few short lessons from him I began to practice taking photos during my tea breaks.
The first of my subjects was my friend, Karen who worked in the women’s fashion department upstairs. I’d also bought an old Bakelite Weston light meter, so that took a bit of getting used to, but it helped with getting the exposure right. I really like the colours in this shot.
The women who worked in the perfumery department were also up for having their photos taken. They were always friendly towards me and the display team, even though I’d created exploding ladder carnage just a few weeks earlier.
Sarah, who worked on the Lancôme counter was someone I traveled to and from work with, and I took this now rather retro looking photo of her on the platform of West Croydon station.
Working in a window is a novel experience, because we were constantly observed by passers-by. Sometimes we’d get the odd weirdo who’d stand next to the window and just gawk at us while we worked. For this particular problem there was an incredibly easy fix. You just look down and stare at their shoes intently, and if there are others working in the window you’d beckon them over and we’d all stare at their shoes together. They’d get so uncomfortable that it never failed to send them packing. That was the safest option. The alternative was something my colleague, Maurice tried, but unfortunately the guy on the other side of the window was able to lip read the words, f u c k o f f ! and much to Maurice’s regret, the guy climbed in through the back of the window and broke his nose with one punch.
The most embarrassing window dressing experience I can remember was trying to put a pair of pantyhose on a cross-legged mannequin. You have to unlock the leg from the torso and try to stretch the tights onto legs that are totally not flexible. After ten minutes of contortions and trying to slot the leg back into the torso, I looked up and to my horror realized there was a long line of people at the bus stop, ALL watching intently. Ugh!
As part of my training, I attended a two year Visual Merchandising course at a college in Charing Cross, Road, London, and while exploring the area I discovered a comic shop called Dark They Were and Golden Eyed, to my absolute joy, so that’s where I’d spend most of my lunch breaks.
Who knows why I kept all this stuff, but I'm kind of glad I did. I present the Dark They Were and Golden Eyed, paper bag...
Another of the shops nearby had started selling small photographic prints of photos taken at punk concerts, alongside this Blondie badge.
Next, Anarchy in the UK!
Loved this. The Seventies eh, where you got a job because you knew someone who knew someone who worked there, and person interviewd you liked insects too.
I genuinely laughed out loud at this post. The exploding ladder and the cross legged mannequin.
The photos are great.
Love your writing and glad you kept all the stuff.
It's great that you documented this period of you life. Wish I had the forethought to do the same, particularly comic / record shops I visited in my youth. Waiting for a train, looks like it could be a frame from a movie.