FIFTY GREEN YEARS…
Continued from December
So… how to price up an ODRTS two handed, pre-booked, radio cash ride airport job? My mentor for this lesson in 1956 was not only an ex-policeman, but also an ex-PCO Knowledge Examiner. Not only was he all these wonderful things, he was also the same God-like man who had given me my req and the accompanying lecture on honesty and good behaviour, blah, blah, blah!
His name was Mr MacKay, a tall, lean, quietly spoken Scotsman straight off the pages of Sir Walter Scott. He and I were allocated the airport job, picking up Mr Austin and his soon-to-be famous in-her-own-right wife, the one and only Jackie Collins - sister of the even more famous Joan.
Mr Austin and Jackie lived in a fabulous penthouse flat in one of the modern blocks in Oakhill Park, Hampstead. Mr Austin was renowned for encouraging cab drivers to ignore road signs, traffic and traffic lights in his constant desire to impress on us how important he was. As for you, the cabdriver, if you got nicked he went all goody two shoes, denying he had encouraged his cabdriver to do any unlawful acts. But he was a very generous tipper, so you can’t have everything.
Mr MacKay and I parked our taxis outside Queens Buildings, as you could in those days and went inside to meet and greet Mr Austin and his entourage as they came through to the reception area. A few minutes later and up came two young constables of Her Majesty's police force.
"Whose do those two filthy, dirty cabs belong to then? Is it you two," they asked? As I stifled my rising temper and forced myself into grovel mode, up spoke my senior partner in crime, Mr Mackay.
"Those two cabs are clean enough, laddie, to be
passed by any inspector of the PCO, so on your way before I put in a
complaint and ask my old chum, your inspector, to have you in for a
lecture on how easy it is to get a note on your service record!
MacKay's voice had risen from its usual gentle
"The ODRTS Chariman was a young man called
Bonnie Martyn"
Highland drawl to one of authority. One wooden top, as
he later described them, had the audacity to ask him for proof of
identity and out came his letter of praise from the Commissioner of
the Metropolitan Police. I found out it was thanking him for his
many years of service to the Met and Public Carriage Office. Exit
two humble, unhappy young coppers.
He then got down to the more important business of pricing the job
as it would entail waiting, loading and unloading our precious cargo
of passengers and their luggage. "Leave the pricing to me, laddie,"
said Mr MacKay. It didn't sound like a request, more an order!
We got the Austins to Hampstead; the meters read £2.5
shillings (£2.25p in decimal gelt). "That will be a tenner sir,"
MacKay beamed to Austin, "I didn't want to take chance and let the
young rascal rip you off, so I've priced the fare to include both
taxis." Many a true word said in jest.
Mr Austin gratefully paid off the 6' 2" tall MacKay and gave him
another £2 tip in gratitude for being saved from my rapacious
desires. I got my fiver and was very happy indeed, as a fiver was
half a long day man’s expected takings. My Master collared his seven
quid and as we drove away, he said to me: "Don't I
know you from somewhere, laddie?" I replied no, as I was worried he
would want a tip from my fiver. What I also learnt from him that day
was to be smartly dressed, smile, speak nicely, keep your cab clean
and don't take any stick from junior policeman if you have an
ex-inspector on your side.
Be lucky…
Sunset Strip
