The Life and Times of “Arfer Teacake”: “Arfer” (1932)

By Arthur Durham

Arfer Teacake was the cockney nickname given to the author when he was a boy. The book is an account of the most memorable episodes in the authors long life, from the aftermath of the 1914/18 war through the Great Depression of the thirties, the 1939/45 war and its aftermath to the financial crisis in the second millennium.
It tells of his early memories of life in a sweetshop; as a schoolboy with a rifle; teenage thoughts and experiences; Fascism; the Territorial Army and the outbreak of war.
During the war:- Dunkirk; the bombing of London and its effect on family life; being on a gun site; getting a Commission (Mess etiquette and the Brigadiers tea party) preparations for D Day.
After the war:- married life, tragic death of son, Chairman of a District Council, a reception at Buckingham Palace and surprisingly varied career with travel to the out posts of the British Empire, Switzerland, Australia, Ceylon and Turkey.
Retirement years:- too much alcohol, working in a in a factory environment; visiting South Africa after Apartheid; the trial and tribulations of old age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467894876

Arthur Durham

An ex Grammar school boy, he joined the Territorial Army before the start of the Second World War and, rose to the rank of Major during that war. Post war as a civil servant in the Ministry of Employment, he had many interesting assignments several of which were overseas. During his career he managed various Employment Exchanges, was co-author of a medical dictionary on the nature and effects of disorders and compiler of a dictionary and classification of occupations. Towards the end of his career he became the Director of Londons Employment services. After retirement from the civil service, he worked for several years as Personnel Manager for a manufacturing company. In his private life he became Chairman of his local District Council and captain of his local golf club. He had a long and happy married life. Now in his nineties, he still takes a lively interest in current affairs.

Book preview

Part 1 

1919-1939

Early Years to the Outbreak of War

Chapter 1 

1919 – 1930 Early Years

Who am I? I came into this world on 4th September 1919, not long after the First World War. I knew my mother and father had married when they were very young and when mother said I was a premature baby I thought I had been conceived out of wedlock. Perhaps I was even a bastard! Then I heard that my grandfather had come from Germany some time before the First World War. A German! I grew up in the nineteen thirties when memories of the first world war were still very real and not only that, it seemed likely that we would soon be at war with Germany again. So a German Grandfather was something else I didn’t wish to talk about. To cap it all, my grandfather was a master tailor - a traditionally Jewish trade – and this together with my father’s pronounced Jewish nose caused me to believe I was of Jewish origin.    

Added to these difficulties there was my name. I could not understand why my surname was Durham when the names of my father’s three brothers were Dunham. Believing that I was probably the illegitimate son of a German Jew of doubtful origin I decided it would not be politic to delve into the family background and did not give the matter much more thought until sometime after the year 2000 when I was clearing out some old papers and my parents marriage and birth certificates came to light.

To my surprise and, with some relief, I found that my parents were married on the 16th April 1918, eighteen months before I was born. So I had not been conceived or born out of wedlock as I had thought. However, I saw that on marriage my father had given his age as twenty-one when his birth certificate showed he was only seventeen! The only reason that I can think of for him giving the higher age was because in those days you could not get married under the age of twenty-one unless you had your parents consent and presumably his parents were not prepared to give it. My mother, quite correctly, gave her age as twenty one and did not need her parents consent. In any case, as I had heard that she had a step mother who treated her badly I suspected she was pleased to leave home and her stepmother was pleased to see her go.

The family names remained a bit of a mystery. My father’s birth certificate gave his name as Dunyahn which presumably was also the surname of his father but my father’s wedding certificate, and my birth certificate, gave the names of Durham. How was it that father’s brothers, Fred, Charlie and Andrew, were called Dunham? My guess is that my grandfather changed the family name from Dunyhan to Dunham before or during the 1914-18 war because Dunyhan sounded too German at a time when Germans were generally disliked and could be assaulted in the streets. This did not explain how my father’s and my name became Durham. I can only think that the change in name had something to do with my father getting married without his parents consent. Tactfully I never asked him and therefore never found out.

So far as my father’s religious faith was concerned all I knew was that he hated being thought of as a Jew, so much so that he even bought a nose device which he wore at night in the vain hope that it would change its shape. He was not a church - goer but as my brother, sister and I were brought up as Church of England and encouraged to go to church, I must have been wrong in thinking he was of Jewish origin.

My memories of my grandparents are very vague. I remember them living in a three storied building at 20, South Street, Greenwich. The house also provided a workshop for my grandfather’s tailoring business. We used to go there for lunch on Sundays where grandfather, with his walrus moustache, sat at the top of the table, looking very much the head of the family. He always seemed to have a tankard of beer in front of him, a tankard specially designed to accommodate a moustache. I used to watch him in awe. Regrettably, I remember very little about my grandmother.

Then in about 1924 my father’s elder brother, Fred, for some reason or another migrated to America. He was followed shortly after by Andrew and then by my grandparents. From then onwards I lost all contact with them. My father intended to follow them and got as far as applying for passports but when my sister Jean was born he felt he could not take the chance of going to a strange country with very little money, a wife, two young boys, Donald and me, and Jean who was a baby in arms, so we stayed in England. Charlie, my father’s remaining brother who I was told had a good job in the printing industry also decided to remain in England. As my father and Charlie did not get on too well and I did not get on with his son, Reginald, we rarely had anything to do with them.

I knew very little about my mother’s background except that her maiden name was Cheeseman, her mother had died when she was very young and her father, a man of humble origins, had re-married. Hence her stepmother. I vaguely remember visiting her father and stepmother at Royal Place, Greenwich, where the walls of the rooms were papered with cut-outs from magazines and I was supplied with lots of cheap sticky sweets that I did not like.

Difficult times. The first place I remember living in was in a flat at the top of a three story house, 53 Tyrwhitt Rd, Lewisham. It had one bedroom, a living room and a kitchen consisting of a gas stove on the landing. There was a toilet and bathroom half way down to the second floor that we shared with those in the flat below. The flat was lit by gas and there were fireplaces in the two rooms. How my mother managed to produce meals on the landing and bring up coal when we had fires, I do not know. I slept on a bunk in the living room while my parents slept in the bedroom with my brother Donald and later, also, with my baby sister Jean.

My father, who had been employed as a trainee tailor by my grandfather, was left without a job when his father sold the business and migrated to America. At that time, about 1924, with so many of the armed forces having been being suddenly demobbed at the end of the war and still seeking work and there was a great deal of unemployment. So for a time when my father was unemployed, we lived on the equivalent of National Assistance and I remember taking relief coupons to the baker’s shop to get our bread ration. Eventually, by some means or another he got a job running a coffee stall in Stoke Newington near the Walworth Rd. It was a very rough area and I gathered that there were times when he even had to take up a carving knife for protection against local thugs who wanted free refreshments.

Obviously there was not much money around but I was never hungry. I remember having porridge with loads of milk, butter and sugar on it for breakfast but I had never tasted anything as scrumptious as when for the first time I had corn flakes for breakfast and some baked beans on toast for tea. My father and mother, still in their twenties, in spite of their youth were conscientious parents and so concerned with the good health of we children that they believed that we should have a good clear out at least once a week. So on Saturday nights we were given a laxative, castor oil, syrup of figs or a concoction of flowers of sulphur and treacle, castor oil was the worst.

In those days that all children were required by law to have their tonsils removed unless a special exemption was granted by a magistrate. At that time chloroform seemed to be the only anaesthetic and I remember when my tonsils were removed, waking up on a rubber sheet in hospital with an excruciatingly sore throat made worse by violent vomiting. There is no evidence that removal of tonsils prevented colds or did any other good but it shows the prestige of the medical profession at that time and how the ordinary person did as he was told.

At play There was a good sized garden to play in and I had friends about my own age in the flats below and in the neighbouring houses. I liked Betty and Jean Cruikshank who lived in a flat below mainly because they let me borrow their scooters and once when Betty gave me a sticky kiss I didn’t like it.

One day when out in the street playing with some other small boys one of them, Brian, aged about three, suddenly said I want to go home and started to run home. Then he stopped dead and burst into tears crying I’ve done it in my pants and crossing his legs started on his way home again. Then something dropped down his pants and he yelled louder. His brother Derek aged about five said Jump Brian, jump. Brian did as he was told and jumped, then a bit more dropped on to the pavement Again he said Jump Again Brian did as he was told and a bit more dropped on the pavement and then, including Brian we all laughed until we wet ourselves. I can’t remember what our mothers said when we got home.

I leave home One day when about six or seven years of age I told mother that I was fed up with being unfairly treated and had decided to leave home. I can’t remember why I felt that way but I think it was because mother told me that before I went to school I had to clean and polish my brother’s shoes as well as my own. I was surprised that Mother did not attempt to argue with me so I asked for my money box, which only had a few coppers in it, put on my hat and coat, said goodbye and trotted out of the house in a high dudgeon. However, when I got to the bottom of the road I had not the faintest idea what to do next and somewhat tearfully made my way home again. Mother wisely said nothing, just took my hat and coat and asked me if I would like something to drink!

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Father, Mother, Donald and me.

Primary school. I went to my first school when we lived at Tyrwhitt Road. The local school in Lewisham had such a poor reputation that my father arranged for me to go to a school at Brockley which, justifiably, he thought was better. The school was nearly half an hour’s walk away across the Hilly Fields and, as I came home for lunch, did the trip four times each day. Although so much walking would be unheard of today, I thought nothing of it at the time.

Although I can remember going to school with other boys I cannot ever remember ever being taken to school by my mother. However, I liked school and particularly enjoyed the short session of morning hymns and prayers when we sang All Things Bright and Beautiful and When the Dawn Breaketh through God Will Wake Them and You.

The Hilly Fields were not very extensive although they appeared so to me. Mother used to take my brother and me there for picnics and we had wonderful times climbing trees and playing cricket and football. There were other fields close by, now housing estates, which also gave a sense of adventure and added to the fun.

The pupils in the school at Brockley were quiet and attentive and with encouragement from Mr Wilcox, a teacher I particularly liked, I eventually won a scholarship to a grammar school. Although under ten years of age I was given homework which I took so seriously that I remember crying because I could not do the long division sums I had been set. But in so many ways Mr Wilcox aroused our interest, for example I still remember how him showing us how to silver-plate a penny with a battery and a sixpence.

I go to church My parents sent me to church on Sundays at quite a young age although I suspect it was as much to keep me occupied as it was for a strong belief in religion. I not only went to Sunday school but, when a little older, to the morning and evening services as well. I did not mind Sunday school, mainly because I thought the teacher, Mrs Ford, a wonderful woman and I remember quite distinctly her giving me a book called Andy Man for Christmas. It shows how small things can create an impression on a young mind. At the church services I enjoyed the singing but was utterly bored by the rest. However, it gave me a belief in God and in the moral standards of the Christian faith. Well into my teens I always said the Lords prayer at bedtime and I remember praying earnestly that I would pass my General School Certificate (G.C.E.) which I believe I succeeded in doing as much as a result of hard work as for the intervention of the Almighty.

I get a job. I had my first job when I was 10 years old. It was with a local green grocer. The task was to deliver greengroceries on Saturday mornings to neighbouring houses, mostly to elderly ladies. I had to provide my own wheelbarrow, which my father made out of a wooden Tate and Lyle sugar box and a pair of wheels off an old pram. For four hours of work I was paid one shilling (10 p). I got a few tips of a halfpenny or a penny from some customers, no more than four or five pence overall, which made the greengrocer think I was doing so well that he was overpaying me! Out of my weekly earnings, I spent my tips on a few sweets or an ice cream; I gave my mother sixpence towards my keep and with her encouragement, bought a six pennyworth of savings stamps with the balance. This was an introduction to the notion of saving up for a rainy day and the habit has stayed with me all my life

A big change. However, In spite of the hard times and rare upsets such as deciding to leave home, I was by no means unhappy at Tyrwhitt Rd. I enjoyed reading books especially Rider Haggard’s tales of adventures in Africa, and when I was in bed remember happily going to sleep while father played his piano accordion.

However, during the time we lived at Tyrwhitt Rd my brother Donald and my sister Jean were born and with five of us living in a two roomed flat there was clearly a need to move to something more spacious but, with his limited income, father could not afford it. He solved the problem in 1930 by taking a lease on a sweet shop at 169 St Georges Rd, Peckham which would not only supplement the pay from his normal job but also provide more accommodation.

Chapter 2 

1930–1939 Hard Times

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The sweet shop. Peckham was a working class area in south east London. Most of those living there were typical cockneys, hard working, good humoured but with few hopes or aspirations of bettering their lot. In spite of their relative poverty they were generally law abiding and serious crimes were rare. There was some hooliganism but it was mischievous rather than violent. Women as well as men could go out at night without any fear of being mugged or assaulted. So although it was not what one would call a salubrious area, there was a community spirit that rarely exists today.

We moved into the sweet and tobacconist shop in April 1930. Father paid £40 for a seven year lease which he to borrow from my uncle Bert and £40 for stock -at -valuation which, to his dismay, he found later was only worth £10. Not a good start.

The shop was in a converted semi-detached L shaped dwelling, typical of many houses around at that time, in which the front entrance and front living room became the shop. Apart from the shop itself the accommodation comprised, a small room with a door opening into the shop, a kitchen and scullery downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs. The lavatory was in the back yard and a galvanised iron bath, hung up in the yard was our only facility for having a bath. There was no such thing as a hot water tap and water for laundering and baths was provided by a copper, a big iron bowl set in brickwork with a fireplace underneath, situated in the corner of the scullery. The scullery was used as a bathroom for our weekly baths and it had a sink that, with a bowl and a kettle of hot water, was used for our daily ablutions as well as for washing dishes. The dining room at the back of the shop was about ten feet square and had little more than a table and a few chairs in it. However, we had our meals and spent most of our time squeezed together in the kitchen where there was a coal fired kitchen range with an oven which, apart from cooking, made the room warm and cosy in winter and far too warm in the summer. My parent’s bedroom, which stretched over the shop, was about sixteen feet wide and the largest room in the house. I slept in a double bed with my brother over the room at the back of the shop which, as I have said, was only about ten feet square and since it had a fireplace in it, did not leave much more space than for the bed. My sister had the luxury of having her own bedroom. I cannot recollect its size but as it was certainly no bigger than the one my brother and I shared. Coal was kept under the stairs and, as there was no cellar, the coal man had to come through the shop carrying a sack of coal on his shoulders to tip the coal. Coal came in hundredweight sacks (about 50 Kg) so a coalman had to be pretty strong to deliver coal all day.

The back yard went back about 30 feet and on the one side was a wall over which were big double gates with access to a small iron foundry owned by a Mr Poupard, backing on to the rear of our back yard. So apart from the ironworks we weren’t overlooked by our neighbours! Behind the ironworks was a section of the Surrey canal along which barges often with loads of timber went by. Although the accommodation was minimal by present day standards, it seemed luxurious compared to Tyrwhitt Road. As an aside, I remember one day when Mr Poupard was approaching his works the local kids called out Mr Poupard can you shit hard? I can still see an enraged Mr Poupard chasing the laughing kids down the road. There was also a Maltese tailor a few doors away who was teased by the local lads who opened his door and shouted If you want to make a Maltese cross just light a couple of matches and stuff them up his jumper. He came out waving his fists and chasing the boys away. Silly stuff but no real hooliganism, only a bit of harmless fun.

Long hours for little profit. The shop was open from 7am to 9pm, fourteen hours a day, seven days a week and with takings of not much more than £2.50 a week the profit was only about 75p-£1 a week, it was hardly a goldmine. However, in an age when a leg of lamb could be bought for 25p and a meal of fish and chips for 3p, it was a great help towards living expenses. Even this small profit was not easily achieved because there was competition from two other sweetshops in the same road, each trying to make a living and, with large scale unemployment at that time, they envied my father for having a job as well as a shop. To attract trade father introduced a lucky dip whereby for one penny kids took a chance on picking out an envelope which would give them anything between a half and eight ounces of sweets. As an ounce amounted to five toffees, half an ounce was equivalent to 2 1/2toffees. So for the unlucky kids we had to cut a toffee in half! Even so the prospect of 2, 4 or even 8 ounces of sweets for a penny attracted custom from the other shops to such an extent one of them eventually closed. The remaining one in desperation notified the police that my father was running a shop in which, because of the lucky dips, was an illegal gambling establishment! A policeman called but I do not recollect him taking any action. Similar action was taken when father allowed an agent to put a pin table in the shop which enabled the winners to win sweets or cigarettes. Father got a share of the money taken by the pin table.

Making ice cream. In the summer months we used to make about a gallon of ice cream for sale at the weekends. It was made in the back yard by churning a mix of milk and some special ice cream powder in a container surrounded by ice and freezing salt. Either my brother or I, with a homemade cart, used to collect a big block of ice from a nearby freezing works which we broke up into suitably lumps to go in the container. Churning was by a manually operated handle and it took the best part of an hour before the ice cream set. We sold ice cream cornets for ½ penny and wafers for 1 penny. It was good ice cream by the standards in those days and when the weather was warm it sold well but, not having a fridge, anything not sold on the day it was made just melted away and any profit was lost. There was not much profit anyway, but every little helped.

The ice cream venture ended when Messrs Lyons provided a refrigerator with their own ice cream for us to sell on their behalf. The fridge also provided a convenient seat for the children to sit on when hanging around the shop, which became something of a meeting place for them.

Hard work Father carried on with his job as a railway lengthman, a euphemism for a track labourer, and mother looked after the shop. Father was up at 5.30 each morning and left for work at 6.00.a.m. Before that mother prepared his breakfast and sandwiches to take for his lunch. She also mixed up some tea leaves with condensed milk which she rolled together into a ball to which he could add hot water when he wanted a drink. He did not get home again until about 5 o’clock. For this he earned £2.50 a week. Sometime he worked overtime or on a night shift when his earnings leapt to £3 and sometimes as much as £3.50 a week so although the profit from the shop was small it amounted to about a third of his take home pay.

Working on a track with normal train services running was not without its risks and father retailed many close shaves and gory accidents. I also remember being horrified when he was brought home from work one day with a bandage over his eyes and led by a fellow worker. We were told he had been blinded by the flash caused by dropping a crowbar on the live rail but the blindness was probably only temporary. To our relief, it was. He also lost the tip of one of his fingers when a rail was accidentally dropped on it. So far as I know the railway company didn’t know or care what had happened in either case, as for sick pay or compensation, it was never even mentioned.

Mother looked after the shop during the day. This involved leaving what-ever she was doing at the time (making the beds, washing, darning, cooking, cleaning, lighting the kitchen fire etc) to attend to customers when the shop bell rang. As there were no such household aids such as vacuum cleaners, washing machines, electric irons or refrigerators and you darned socks or mended clothes rather than replace them, her day never ended.

Generally the shop was relatively busy between 7.00 and 9.00a.m. It was quiet until lunch time while men were at work and the children were at school and again after lunch when the men were back at work again and the children at school It was busier in the evenings but as may be judged from the takings only spasmodically so. In those days only few had much to spare for sweets and tobacco.

Although only 11 years of age I learned how to serve in the shop and did so while mother prepared breakfast for Donald, Jean and me, and similarly when I came home from school for lunch. I served again when I came home from school at about 4.30 p.m. while mother prepared the evening meal and father came home from work had had a wash and eaten his meal. Father took over the shop from me at about 6.30 o’clock by which time I was both tired and hungry. After I had my meal I got down to school homework on the edge of the kitchen table.

I recollect that when we first started in the shop and I was asked by a young boy how old I was, I said ten and a half. From then on in typical cockney speech my nick name became Tenanarf. Later, when a bit older and I said, my name was Arthur they called me ’Arfer Teacake. Why a teacake I will never know.

School. The normal school leaving age was fourteen and most of