WWII: The ups and downs of a wartime messenger boy

Jump to: navigation, search

Delivering one of the dreaded ‘Absolute Priority’ telegrams, having the contents of a potty thrown at him and tucking into an American GI’s wedding feast are just some of Ray Dennis’s memories of being a telegram boy during the Second World War – as Ray, of Oakwood, recounts here.

I STARTED work as a telegram boy in April 1943. There were 28 of us, all lads riding heavy Post Office-red bikes with no gears.

We had no motorbikes then and, for the first six months, because of wartime shortages, no uniforms or proper protective clothing against the inclement weather.

One night I went to the cinema at the Hippodrome in Green Lane, stood up at the end for the National Anthem and collapsed. I woke up in hospital suffering from rheumatism. I had got wet through once too often.

But I was soon back at work.

I was 15 when I was given my first Government Absolute Priority telegram. This meant it had to be delivered as quickly as possible, so off I went to a house in Manor Road.

The lady who came to the door looked at me somewhat fearfully and asked me to open and read the message.

It said: “I regret to inform you that your son, Able Seaman ... is missing presumed killed in action.”

I can still hear the cry from that poor lady.

Somehow, I found her a chair and raced next door and, fortunately, the neighbour was in. She rushed round to comfort her and I left. It was not a pleasant experience.

As the other ex-messengers have said, tips were a source of supplementary income for us. I started on the princely sum of 15s (75p) a week.

One tip, however, I was very pleased to receive. I took a greetings telegram to a house in Hartington Street and was invited in to what was a wedding of an American soldier and a Derby girl.

The buffet table was absolutely groaning with food that, in those days, I could only dream about. Being invited to tuck in, I needed no second invitation.

On another occasion, I took a telegram to a house in William Street in the old West End of Derby.

When I knocked on the door, there was no reply. Suddenly a bedroom window in the next house opened and I looked up to see a small boy. He threw the contents of a pot at me and I just managed to jump out of the way. It’s a good job as what he threw had not come out of the tap!

In our uniforms, we were always expected to look smart – where possible wearing a white shirt and black tie.

A shop called Big Six in Tenant Street had a sale and a number of us purchased celluloid collars. We wore shirts with detachable collars in those days.

One lad had to be different and he bought a wide Eton collar. He paraded up and down St James’ Street on his bike, wearing his collar. At least it kept the long queue of housewives outside Bird’s cake shop amused.

On VE Day, May 8, 1945, one of the lads brought some tins of blue and white paint and, taking several of our red bikes down to the Rose & Crown yard, next to the St James’ Street entrance to the Post Office, he proceeded to turn them into patriotic red, white and blue bikes.

The inspector in charge of messengers was not amused, particularly as he tried in vain to rub off the blue and white paint.

A little later in the year, we were asked to march alongside members of the Armed Forces and representatives of the many civilian services in a Victory Parade around Derby, which was followed by a service in Derby Cathedral

I finished my messenger service in June 1947, going off to do two years’ National Service.

Despite the sad telegram, the war restrictions, the blackout etc, I enjoyed my fours years.

On the plus side, there were many joyful telegrams and many tips when the troops began to come home.

My career in the Post Office ended in 1988 after 45 years’ service.

Pages linking here

what Links Here

This article is from the Derby Evening Telegraph and is reproduced online here.