Now I’m a Salesman

“There you are Mr Morgan, three pounds four shillings and a penny,” Mrs Stagg, was our matronly cashier and wages clerk.   She was a round faced woman in her forties with bubbly peroxide blond hair that matched her personality.   She pushed the brown manila window envelope across the counter towards me.  “Check it before opening it,” she warned, “once opened, discrepancies cannot be rectified.”

I counted the protruding corners of three green pound notes peeking out of the envelope and jiggled the coins so they could be seen in the semi transparent paper window.   I could see two two-shilling pieces, and a large copper penny inside.  “It’s correct,” I said.

“Then sign here please.”

“Thank you Mrs Stagg,” I signed where she was indicated, returning her encouraging smile.

 It was my first weeks pay packet since leaving school at the end of the summer holidays in 1960.   I put the unopened envelope in the breast pocket of my suit jacket, and went out to join my fellow salesman Brian Turner, who had been the junior prior to my arrival.   Now he’d been promoted to second salesman, and would get commission on every sale he made.  Mr Posner was the manager; he spent a lot of his time in the office on book work but was always out on the floor transacting sales when the shop was busy. Sidney Weavers was first salesman and assistant manager, he was the star salesman.   If a prospective customer entered the shop and Sidney was free, he would make a sale.

 “Good afternoon sir, it’s a fine day to be buying a new suit.   What do you have in mind?”

“Actually I came in to ask for directions to the town hall…”

“Yes of course sir we can do that, but we have so much to offer you sir, I would be negligent If I failed to point out the offers of the week…”

Needless to say Sidney made a sale.   Montague Burton’s were bespoke tailors, none of that off the peg rubbish.   All our customers were personally measured by either the manager or assistant manager and either Brian or myself would take down the measurements on a bespoke order form bearing the branch number 383.

His voice had a West Country burr, he came from Swindon, and, his pleasant accent fascinated Londoners. His voice was not so pleasant if you’d let somebody out of the store without making a sale.

 “That’s 30 waist, 34 outside leg, 32 inside, left dress, are you getting this Mr?”  

“Loud and clear Mr Weavers, sir,” I answered.

“Would you like cuffs on the trousers sir?  18” bottoms?   Jacket, pad well front bust…”

It took three to six weeks to make a suit depending on the time of year.  

The clients chose their material from books containing swatches of  material Mohair, Worsted, Tweed, Wool and cottons.   There were five or six books of each in specific colours – lovats, blues, tans, greys, blacks and browns.   The idea was to choose the material you wanted first then to choose the colour.   By, this time there was no way the customer would be allowed to back out of a sale.

One morning a middle aged man came into the shop to enquire about the frequency of the 274 bus to East Ham.

“Every thirty minutes,” I said with a pleasant smile.

“Thank you so much" he said, and hurried off to the bus stop.

Mr Weavers came dashing across the width of the shop.

“Christ sake Jim!   What do you think your doing?   That customer came into the shop and left without making a purchase!”

“But, he only wanted to know the times of the busses,” I said defensively.

“He entered the shop and you should have made a sale!   I get commission on everything sold in this shop, your stealing food out of my babies mouths.  Christ sake!   Call yourself a salesman?”  He dashed outside into the high street and returned three minutes later with the one that got away.  

 “I’m afraid the boy is new here, he should have informed you of our too good to miss special offers.  The next bus will be in twenty minutes, it's so much warmer in here and you can have a seat and a light libation while you choose from our incredible range.   What would you like to drink sir?”

“Thank you so much; I’d love a coffee white with three sugars.”

Weavers sidle up to me and hiss from the corner of his mouth “What are you waiting for Jim?  Get the man a coffee!”

I returned three minutes later and Weavers was already wrapping two shirts in brown paper and tying the parcel with string.  

“Two suits at (£14.14/-) fourteen guineas each, plus two shirts at (30/-) Thirty shillings each that’s (£32. 8/-) Thirty two pounds eight shillings.   Will you pay cash or would you prefer to pay over six months for a minimal additional charge?

“I’ll pay cash, don’t believe in hire purchase.”

“Mrs Stagg, Mr Johnson is paying cash,” said Weavers dropping the paperwork on the counter.

He came over to me with a smug look of triumph on his face.  

“That Jim!   Is a lesson in selling.”

“But, he had no intention of buying anything, now you’ve persuaded him to spend ten times my week’s wages on clothing he never intended to buy anyhow?”

"Work with that attitude and you won’t be working here long.  You took an age making the coffee;” he said taking the cup from me.” sipping delicately, he rolled his eyes, “not enough sugar Jim,” he said, “I had to write down the measurements myself.   Can’t believe how inefficient that makes us look.   What have you got to say for yourself Jim?”

“My name is not bloody Jim, its Len!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me Jim, Christ sake, there’s a lady present.   He nodded toward Mrs Stagg, busy counting Mr Johnson’s money.

Six weeks later I sold a Harris Tweed jacket and a pair of beige cavalry-twill trousers to a man who wanted something smart to wear at a funeral.  They were the only things we had in his size in our limited ready-to-wear range.

“Christ sake Jim, why didn’t you sell him a suit as well?   Did he have a black tie?”

In all I lasted eight months as a sales assistant, before moving on to pastures new.

  I didn’t get rid of Sidney Weavers that easily though, several years later he took a part time job as a barman in my local ‘the Fanshaw Tavern’.   I saw him every weekend, and by then I'd realised that he called everyone Jim.