The taxi business that Jack built in a car park hut

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Many readers will have taken an Abbey taxi at some point in their lives. It is currently one of the biggest taxi and car-hire companies in Derby with a 91-strong fleet. But when Jack Jones, an ex-RAF motor engineer returned from the war, launched the business back in 1947, it had just two cars operating from a wooden hut in a Derby car park. Now 85 and living in Shelton Lock, Jack talked to Pat Parkin about the part he played in its success.

JACK JONES, better known to many people as Mr Abbey Taxis, is delighted to see that the owners of his old firm have ambitions to turn it into Derby’s premier car hire company.

For he ran Abbey Taxis, Derby’s oldest taxi business, for more than 35 years, during which time it grew from a two-car company based in a public car park into a huge operation with more than 60 vehicles transporting Derby people all over the country.

Today, following mergers and takeovers, some 91 taxis are run under the Abbey name and Jack is proud of the part he played in the company’s past.

He launched the business back in 1947 after being demobbed from the RAF the previous year with £70 in his pocket, a new wife, no home and no job.

He had served as an aero and motor engineer in the Second World War, so he knew something about cars and decided to take over Abbey Taxis.

“In those days, there were six taxi spots at Derby Railway Station and three in the Market Place, so there wasn’t a huge amount of business,” said Jack, now 85 and living in Shelton Lock.

In the beginning, his office was a wooden hut on the old Traffic Street car park, where he serviced the cars. There was no garage and, at the time, there were no new cars available to buy.

“It was pretty hard going to start with. I had to go up to the car wrecker’s yard to find parts when they were needed and, as well as running the business, I had to drive part of the time as well.”

Those were the days before, satellite navigational units, two-way radios and mobile phones. So basic were the communication facilities that, after dropping off a fare (passenger), a driver would have to find a telephone box, put in twopence and call into the office to see if there was anyone else in the area in need of a cab.

Customers were also in short supply as jobs and money were still scarce but, as the rigours of the post-war years began to fade, more people started using taxis and the business began to grow.

In the first two or three years, Jack owned all the taxis but, after studying what happened in bigger cities like London and Leicester, he decided the best system was for the drivers to own their own cars and pay him for a rank.

“It’s the way most taxi companies run these days,” he said.

The breathalyser brought a huge boost to business and weddings kept the drivers busy on Saturday afternoons as they dashed between churches, hotels and restaurants.

“Twenty-odd years later, I found myself transporting people, whose weddings we had done, to the marriages of their children. That really does make you feel old,” he laughed.

When the Traffic Street car park closed to make way for new development, the business moved to Midland Road where it is still housed.

As well as being known for his taxi business, Jack was also a well-known face on the Derby social scene playing his “squeeze box” – piano accordion – with various local groups, including the Garibaldis, the Accordion Serenaders and Rayjackaroy.

That was in the late 1930s when there were several boy bands entertaining in local clubs and pubs. The highlight of those early years was when Rayjackaroy – Jack, his pal Ray West and Roy (Doug) Goodridge – won a competition.

The prize was a gig, playing for two weeks, in the interval, between films, at the Gaumont Cinema on London Road.

Soon afterwards, Jack met his future wife, Marjorie Clarke, when they were playing at a dance she attended at Derby Cables’ works.

In 1940, when they were 18, Jack and Ray joined the RAF “because everyone was saying the war would be over by Christmas and we didn’t want to miss it.”

Six years later, Jack was still serving his king and country and all that time his squeeze box had been with him and helped him entertain his RAF pals.

He even played it to entertain crew who took part in the Dambuster raids. For, after training as a flight mechanic, he was posted to Scampton, near Lincoln where the RAF’s famous 617 squadron was based.

He was part of the ground crew team who kept the engines ticking over, while low-flying techniques were being practised over Ladybower Reservoir in North Derbyshire.

“It was all top secret and no-one ever discussed what they were doing or where they had been, but we knew the distances they had travelled by their fuel consumption, so we had a pretty good idea that they were practising for something very special.

“For two months, in 1943, we had to keep them flying, day and night. We thought they were probably after the German battleships. It was so secret, even our letters were read and censored in case anyone, inadvertently, passed on information they shouldn’t.

“The Dambuster’s Squadron Leader, Guy Gibson, was a great guy, a stiff disciplinarian but very fair. Sadly, half the squadron was lost on the actual raid on the German dams. Eight aircraft, with seven men in each, never came back.

“It was very sad and everyone was pretty down but things just had to carry on.”

A few months later, Jack returned to his own 49 squadron until the war was over in 1945.

The same year, he married Marjorie at St Osmund’s Church, Alvaston.

They had a few day’s honeymoon in Blackpool before they were parted when Jack had to go to the Persian Gulf with the RAF to do advance work on a planned radar chain.

“It seemed silly. I worked all the war years in this country and, when the war was over, got myself posted abroad, just as I was married.”

Marjorie returned to live with her mother and her only communication with Jack was by letter until he returned in 1946.

One of her favourite memories is of when Jack was due to head for the Middle East and he asked her to catch a train to the north west coast, where he had been training, to see him.

“He told me: ‘And don’t forget my squeeze box,’” laughed Marjorie.

When she arrived, she was so embarrassed carrying it, she dumped it in the left luggage office at the railway station and gave Jack the ticket to collect it himself.

The couple have two daughters, Janet Jones and Marilyn Calvey, and three grandchildren. Their only son, Chris, died when he was 38 of Hodgkins Disease, a form of cancer.

Jack retired in 1983 when he sold the business. And though he no longer has his beloved squeeze box, he has an organ at ou remember Jack Jones from the early days of Abbey Taxis? Do you remember Jack Jones? Do you have any amusing tales to tell about taking one of his taxis? Or perhaps you recall him playing his squeeze box? Write to us with your memories.