Dossers and slappers

After reading my last post I realised that that was the second time in my life that I'd left a job without having another one to go to. It got me thinking about my time at Olympia.
I started working in around November 1970 in an upstairs office overlooking the service yard. At that time Olympia hosted all the major trade exhibitions including the Ideal Home Exhibition. In all I spent about eighteen months there. Most shows took a week or so to set up, then the show itself for four or five days followed by another week pulling the stands down. There was a small core of staff augmented by casual staff when the shows were running.

There were still doss houses (a place where homeless people can sleep for the night. Provided either by the local council, or by a charity organisation)in London in the late sixties/early seventies. There was one just down the road in Hammersmith and the "residents" would queue up for work when we had a show. The firm would pay wages each day in cash, as it was by no means certain that the worker would turn up two days running. The men would be employed as porters and would be paid a pittance and get a meal in the staff canteen. It was just possible to earn enough to stay in the doss house by alternating between Olympia and Earls Court.
They'd stand in line each morning, nursing hangovers and giving false names to the personnel department. If they were lucky to be employed that day they'd dissappear into the labyrinth of tunnels under the halls and do just enough work to keep out of trouble.
I recall one regular. He'd alternate between pulling a rag and bone cart around the streets in the summer and pushing a barrow delivering goods to the dry goods store in the winter. He was loud and uncomplicated. He claimed he couldn't read or write, yet understood enough to be able to do the horses every day (reading the horse's names and the odds) and play darts very skilfully (subtracting his score and working out his next dart in his head).
I remember another kitchen porter who worked full time. He must have been approaching retirement age and may have been gay. (This was only a few years after homosexuality had been legalised). He kept himself to himself. I only spoke to him once and he told me how much he loved his job, because this was one of the last places in London where he could wash up by hand, with his hands in soapy water, rather than using the now universal dishwashers.
Ah well, it takes all sorts and I've met most of them.

I did a spell as a kitchen porter a dozen or so years ago when there was nothing else going, and I was glad to have had a dishwasher for the plates, cups and cutlery. The pots and pans were buggers to keep clean (and to get clean in the first place). Months of sloppy cleaning had left them encrusted with grease and dirt, and don't ask about the deep fat fryer!
(I sound like Kim Woodburn don't I)

As well as the itinerant tramps and dossers we had a fair sprinkling of foreign students, mostly commonwealth but a few from France. At one point we had two Canadians, one in the payroll department and the other in the winestore. Both were travelling around Europe and had arrived at Olympia at different times and from different European destinations. It turned out that they were from the same town, same university and had never met until I introduced them. Earls Court was like a magnet for Aussies and South Africans so we had a few of those working there as well.
On the female side, we had a lot of university students, girls coming from Europe to learn English and old gals waitressing for pin money. It was quite a mix.
I got to know one or two of the younger ones very intimately.

After a few months of almost terminal boredom trying to sort out the dockets for the accounts department, the storeman walked out just before the start of a show. I thought I'd give it a go and for the next few months was responsible for ordering all the bread, milk, cheese, coffee and all the dry and tinned goods.
I also learned how to cut cheese from a wheel of cheddar and make butter pats and curls using a grooved wooden bat and a marble slab. It's harder than it sounds.

The problem with the job was its start stop nature. Any fresh ground coffee left in stock at the end of a show would be out of date before the next show started. I lacked the experience to judge how much or little of a product to order and there were no records to look at. Once again I had no training and was left to muddle on. I stayed for one year and after the Ideal Homes Exhibition handed my notice in.

Working underground made one appreciate the sunshine. I remember leaving for work in the morning when it was still dark, working underground all day and then coming home at night in darkness. It was a strange experience for a country boy.
I'm glad I did it. It kept me busy during the days and paid enough for my rent and beer money in the evenings when I was out playing with the folk group. And I met some nice people. I also got to look around all the trade shows, car shows and Ideal Home Exhibition for free.
The doss house was closed in the early 70s and a swanky new hotel built on the site.
I have no idea whether the business continued to lose money. I was out of there.

The next day I signed up with an employment agency and looked forward to a few days off. Fat chance.