Life before teaching – Mr Watson-Davis
Having graduated with a History and English degree in 1985 the last job I considered doing would be that of a teacher. Which is ironic, as it is the last job I will be doing as I hurtle towards retirement. So freshly graduated I headed back to Tesco, where I had worked part time as a callow teenager. This time I was afforded the title assistant Stock Controller and given the princely salary of £7,300 per year. It soon transpired that I was mostly the actual Stock Controller, as the ‘real’ one had a penchant for casinos and nightclubs, often turning up for work two hours later having slept in a bus shelter and reeking of Scotch. So ‘covering up for my boss’ was added to my job description. It was a great job-at 6 a.m. I would scan the shop floor shelving bar codes to register gaps for an hour or two. Then wander up to the warehouse and count boxes, write down the totals, then wand them into my stock control gizmo. This also took an hour or two. In between I would visit the onsite staff restaurant and have a huge fry up. Some days I would go crazy and do the warehouse first. It was all rather great-absolutely no brain work whatsoever and home by about 2pm. I happily did this for a couple of years and then something disastrous happened. I fell in love. Then got engaged. And then looked for a mortgage. More money was needed.
So I got a grandly titled job as ‘Area Manager’ for a small charity to help run their retail side (it was called S.A.N.E. and is still going, doing great work for supporting Schizophrenia). It was so small I was also Stock Controller, Buyer, and Warehouse Manager. It was quite fun. I had three shops in Romford, Wood Green and Ilford, with around 25 full and part time staff to oversee. Less conveniently two other retail outlets in Doncaster and Scunthorpe. However my salary had ballooned to a massive £10k a year plus a car. I soon added a wife to that list. And managed to remove one shop manager, who had been royally ripping her shop off financially. All was going well for a year until I received a letter from the Charity Trustees. It mentioned ‘strategic shift’ ‘other approaches’ and a grandly titled ‘Big gift’ focus (i.e. ask rich people for money). It ended outlining full closure of the retail side by the end of the month. I was being made redundant. Now with Wife, Mortgage, and wild doses of uncontrollable panic.
So went to job centre (ask your grandparents). Pulled first job off the wall that started the next month. Filled in the application form (and down the side and on the back as there wasn’t room for my qualifications as it wasn’t a job a graduate-or indeed anyone with ‘A’ levels- would go for). Aced the interview-which I think involved ‘do you have a driving license’ and ‘can you lift a crate.’ Brave new career. Milkman. 3.30 a.m starts, 6 days a week. Three council estates, some private roads. Oh and a twelve story block of flats that had a busted lift and involved me lugging two crates of milk up the fire escape. I did have some fun though. I corrected the spelling of a stroppy customer note and added a quote from Chaucer on the back. The next day when I arrived at the door at 5 a.m. the customer was there to greet me, all smiles and staggered that her milkman actually knew some Chaucer. Here ‘staggered’ turned to ‘amazed’ when I told her I had a degree. Watching the police arrest a 20 stone customer for cat burglary was also a highlight. Likewise meeting the son of one of the Great Train Robbers wandering around with a golf club in the early hours on one estate. I did query what he would tell the police, he produced a golf ball from one pocket and said he would tell them he was practicing. Running my round on Christmas Eve at 2 a.m. was less fun. Time for a change.
So having applied for, and failed the isometric/personality element of the interview, for the role of Insurance Salesman I was given the job because the manager thought I was ‘personable’. The first and only time in my life I have been described thus. Two years of door knocking and customer servicing followed. Two events really did shape my life view. In my first month I was sent to pay out a death claim. It was to the parents of a 18 year old who had been killed in an accident. Furthermore my predecessor had screwed up the paperwork and the pay out was about a year overdue. In an act of moral cowardice that I have never forgotten, my manager elected not to accompany me as per the induction rules. So I went alone. Sitting in their living room with them , in the middle of their grief, surrounded by pictures of their son, they made me tea and cake. Went out of their way to be nice to me, and continually said the delay was not my fault. It taught me in virtually all circumstances, just try to be nice to people. Second event involved a simply lovely bloke. I’ll call him Mr W. He was in his thirties, married and doted on his young daughter. I helped sort his pension and also helped him invest a substantial sum of money for his future. In return-and I always visited him last-he gave me a can of beer topped up by whisky. Two weeks after helping him sort his investment I turned up at his door to be met by his wife. Mr W had dropped dead the day before. This has never left me.
After two years of Insurance selling I found myself without wife and mortgage. What to do? Train to teach, obviously. So in 1991/2 I trained for the profession. And am still right in it.
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