One magical evening in London
In the glorious 60s I worked as a heavy goods ‘tramper’.
This was in the days before tacographs and there was also only one motorway in the country. Quite often I would be away from home for 3-4 weeks picking up loads from all round the country and only getting home when the load was for my own home town in Manchester.
London always reared its ugly head, and dock lands was a main pick up and drop off area for me; I used to stay at the Savoy hotel (car park that is) just off the Strand. I say ‘car park’ as it was more an off street plot of land, as the main car park is under the hotel. However it was a safe place to park.
I had managed to make friends with the concierge at the Savoy. I had upset him one day by blocking his delivery entrance; when he came to reprimand me, he saw that I was part loaded with Hoover Keymatic washing machines and 8 tons of Lancashire cloth, which I was in the middle of unloading. His eyes lit up on seeing the washing machines. It transpired that he had taken delivery of 4 of the same machines, and that a member of staff had unwittingly thrown out the little multi function control plastic keys the week before, and the machines were sitting there useless without them. Funnily enough I happened to have a few of these keys with me in the cab. A deal was duly made, and I was allowed to stay in the off street car park each time I came to that part of London, and I could use the members bar as long as I wore a suit and tie. That is how I came to meet Sammy Davis Junior.
I managed to buy a bolt of white table linen cloth for a knock down price from a supplier in Manchester, and having done the ‘business transaction’ with the concierge I was quite flush that evening.
I sat in a corner of the members bar, with my quite expensive pint of beer, making the most of my exclusive surroundings. A group of people walked in and shortly afterwards they had a bit of a disagreement. The group dispersed leaving just one chap who, with a shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head, almost danced across the room and sat next to me and said “don’t you just hate agents?” I looked at him smiled and said “I hate a manager that tells me that a pint will fit into a half pint pot”. We laughed, and this was my chance to buy Sammy Davis Jr a drink! I asked him what his poison was, to which he replied that it was bourbon. Whilst we had our drinks he told me he had always wanted to tap dance down the Strand in London. When I told him the Strand was just outside his eyes lit up. He asked me to show him where, and that was how I tapped danced down the Strand with Sammy Davis Jr late one autumn evening … I have held that fond memory for more than 40 years.
Written by: Opelaccent
opelaccent
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