Good evening and a very warm welcome. 

When I left school at 15, my priority in life, as told by my parents, was to find a job ASAP.

That was not a problem in the 1950’s as every employer in Glasgow seemed to be crying out for young school leavers. On a Friday night you could pick up the local paper and finds numerous jobs that might take your fancy.  It was a hard choice to make.  “Let’s see….cinema usherette, laboratory assistant (mmmmm…that sounds impressive), cashier, typist, photographer’s model!”  The caption read, “please ensure you bring a swimsuit with you when attending interview.  No, I think I’ll forget about that one.”

I chose to work in a office since I had been taught typing and shorthand at school so it seemed the logical thing to do.  In hindsight the Firm should have advertised for a dog’s body as most of my days were spent running errands for every Tom, Dick and Harry.

I guess that is where you have to start though, right at the bottom of the ladder.  Maybe in 20 years time of working my way up the ladder, I might get to become a Tom, Dick or Harry myself.

There were mumblings at home that I was not bringing home a decent wage.  I suppose my parents looked on my leaving school as pay back time and wanted me to contribute a good proportion of what I earned to them.  My father was especially disgruntled and arranged an interview for me at a bookbinding factory.  Ofcourse they welcomed me with open arms - more cheap labour for a job no young girl would really want for herself.

I hated every moment in that factory.  The constant rattling and roaring of machines, the foul smell emitted from bubbling cauldrons of glue - even the women who tended them looked like witches.  I fiercely avoided operating the machine that punched string through brown paper bags to make handles.  Every girl that operated that machine ended up sometime or other with a string bag hanging from a pierced finger.

It was at that time, without telling my parents, that I secretly applied to the General Post Office for a job as a telephonist.  Never in a million years did I ever expect that they would even acknowledge my application since so many girls hankered after such a job.  Believe me, to tell anyone you were a GPO telephonist in those days was something to be really proud of. 

I was accepted for training and eventually after a very strict and rigorous course, I became what we girls liked to joke about……..One of Glasgow’s call girls!  I’m sorry if you were expecting something more juicier from this story but you see, I’m not that type of girl.

Thank you for listening.        Goodnight.