October issue résumé: It was summer 1953 and Sam had picked up a lady from the old ‘rats hole’ rank at Waterloo. She had missed her train and wanted Sam to take her to Manchester. There was no M1 Motorway built yet. She had come from Canada to visit her family and had agreed to pay Sam 600 Canadian dollars for the fare. On arriving, she couldn’t find the dollars. Now read on for the final part of the story…
She knocked at the door, with me following behind carrying her luggage. Kisses and
cuddles followed (not for me I hasten to add) and in we trooped. They gave me a cracking
breakfast and then it was time to go. She went to pay me the dollars but couldn’t
find them. She even opened the cases to see if she had put them there during the night for
safe keeping, but no, they were gone. She didn't seem too bothered - at least not as much
as I was. Anyway, the nephew came up with the money so all was well.
Then I remembered that she had had those dollars in her hand when she went
inside the Cathedral and must have dropped them at the wall. I made a mental note to call
back at the Cathedral on the way back. After all, it would only be about 8.30 am and other
than those few hardy souls going to Holy Communion at that time, there wouldn’t be
many folk about.
SO I PICKED UP THIS BLOKE NEAR NEWCASTLE-UNDER-LYNE
As I left the house - fully nourished and sustained - for the journey back,
the family decided to come and wave me off - after all, they probably hadn’t seen a
London cab in those parts before. Meanwhile the niece was having a last look into the back
of the cab where her aunt had spent the past 8 hours and suddenly spotted the pile of
Canadian dollars on the floor. They
Sam Harris looks back at days gone by
must have slipped out of her hand whilst she slept and
neither of us had noticed them when she had left the cab.
Feeling a bit miffed about it, away I went. During the long journey
back to London, I wondered what would have happened if I had found them. Which
‘nick’ would I have taken them to? Imagine the conversation that would have
ensued had I taken then into Marylebone police station telling them I had just returned
from Manchester! They would have thought that I was taking the you-know-what! Perhaps it
was a good thing after all that they were found by the niece.
So I drove on, filling up at the Transport cafe and filling Station on the
A56. Continuing my journey, I was approaching Newcastle-under-Lyme when I saw a man of
about 35 standing on the grass verge trying for a lift. In those days, there was very
little risk in giving stranded person a lift so I asked him where he was going to and he
said Birmingham. I told him I was going reasonably close to there and that he could hop on
board. Being a nosy type of individual, I asked what he was doing there at that
time on a Sunday morning and I had a good chuckle to myself after he told me! The story
went somewhat like this:-
There had been racing at Haydock Park the day before. To those who are not
familiar with this track, it is near St
Helens
on the road to Liverpool. Anyway, his wife had expressly forbidden him to go but he had
been given a couple of ‘certs’. So he told his missus that he was going
out to get some ciggies and that he wouldn’t be long. He went straight to a point
where a local coach was running an excursion to the races after which they would be
they would go onto Blackpool for a few hours. So off he went… Unfortunately, so did
the ‘certs’ and with them his money!
Some kind soul lent him a few bob so he was able to enjoy himself with
the lads, a few jars, fish and chips, the pleasure beach etc.
ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE - AND THEY WERE GONE
The driver had said that he was leaving at 10.30 and that anyone not
back on board by then would be left behind… guess who wasn’t back on the in time
and what’s more, the coach driver turned out to be his wife’s brother who
didn’t like my hitch-hiker!
"I was only 15 minutes late" he told me, "and I‘ve been
trying to hitch-hike ever since then!"
I dropped him off at a place called Brownhills in Warwickshire. All thought
and regrets about :the 600 dollars faded from my mind as I wondered what sort of reception
he was going to get from his wife when he reached home!
I arrived back at Cooks Garage in Huntsworth Place at about 11.30a.m. There
was no one on duty as you could take the cab home on Sunday morning when you
finished work. I didn’t work in the evening but as far as they at the garage were
concerned, I had because I had juggled with the meter so that it looked as though I had
done 2 long nights with about 60 jobs. But even today I still wonder what happened to my
hitch-hiker…
