Despite a few doubts swirling around, not to mention tears shed at the thought of leaving my beloved family… I did a re-think and agreed with my husband that a ‘trial-run’ to Canada might be a good thing, and so we, sort of, ’emigrated’ in the June of 1957. Travelling on the famous SS Île de France was an exciting prospect, until the voyage was cancelled, and we were booked to travel on a much smaller ship, The Italia. Nevertheless, although hugely disappointed, it appealed and it certainly was a first when we crossed that great stretch of water, and awoke on that last morning of the voyage to watch in awe as the huge figure of the Statue of Liberty emerged from an early heat haze and introduced us to The Big Apple! New York, New York! Wow!
After a joyful greeting from distant relatives who kindly put us up for a few days at their apartment in Brooklyn, they took us to see the many sights of New York. We were like two kids in a sweet-shop… There were no supermarkets in the UK then; no ‘spit-roast’ chickens to tempt you, Shops shut at 5.30/6.00pm. In NY some were open all night! And what about the size of their cars?! But what a disappointment Coney Island was!
The almost luxurious train journey to Canada was memorable…although we arrived in an unexpected, gusty storm, with young trees bent double, and worse still, no-one to greet us! Two friends, already in Canada, hadn’t received our telegram, it seems. Luckily, my husband had the phone number of an old pal of his and after a quick call, he kindly met us and put us up for the night. ‘Rooms’ and apartments were ten a penny in Toronto, it seemed, and the very next day, we found what seemed to be a clean and pleasant, temporary abode.
Within a few days we were job-hunting. My first job interview was confusing, and it had to be a no-no as it involved accountancy: the second, would-be boss was way too familiar…but the third one was spot on. It was as an under-secretary for one of the directors of Canadian Reinsurance, downtown Toronto and I had to take my first Street-car to work. But, how about this….my boss was a Count de Salis, a Swiss Canadian and a most pleasant man. I was hardly over-worked as his idea of busy was dictating half a dozen letters a day… A piece of cake; and we moved into plush new offices the frst month I arrived. The only fly in the ointment was the young French Canadian woman who worked the switchboard. She did not like me, apparently, soley becaue I was British! When she realized I didn’t bite, she later warmed to me. I also helped the big boss’s secretary – a most attractive, likable woman, much older than I, and mistress of a wealthy guy who owned an airplane, if you please!
As my husband had made me a toboggan, and we teamed up with another couple, we had fun that first Christmas whizzing down nearby slopes. Our director, a Mr. Clark, invited the whole office to a lovely, festive party held at his attractive house, where we sang carols around a piano and were fed and watered in a most generous manner. The next summer, we were also treated to a fun, summer party on a yachting island, so they really looked after their staff!
Although I’m poaching one of my husband’s memories, I must mention it as it was such a shock. He had an interview booked and was ushered into an office in down-town Toronto. As he approached a sturdy desk, his gaze fully met the man seated behind it..The man looked up and uttered ‘Eric? ‘flabbergasted that his former employee was also in Canada. Soon, they were shaking hands and patting backs..
”So, this is where YOU got to, Gerry…Everyone was surprised when you up and left the company without a word…’ The interview went well and my husband came home for dinner with a tale to tell…However the job itself was unsuitable and my husband only stayed there for a short time before training as a driving instructor. He had always loved driving and it suited him well.
“Weekends, we didn’t waste a minute. If we were not exploring some of the lakes, or more prominent towns, we went snorkeling and diving (Eric) and I loved bowling, the cinema, and we managed a few concerts. We also picnicked and camped at a place called Penetanguishene. The time just flew… BUT, as much as we enjoyed ourselves, there was an undercurrent of homesickness; we missed our families and friends in the ‘old country.’ So, after 18 months of adventures, we booked to return to the UK in the November, sailing from Montreal. We had to shovel the snow off the deck before we took off, and had a whale of a pre-Christmas party on board! Naturally, sadness and regret at saying goodbye to our new Canadian friends was present in the emotions, and we vowed to return to Canada some time in the future, as it is a beautiful country.
Our pleasure at seeing the family and our friends again was immense, and we had a joyous Christmas and New Year. As we had a temporary address and were undecided where to live, I signed on with a secretarial agency and found a position in the city, which one could say was going up in the world… It was for Otis Lifts (elevators) ha ha. I didn’t have one boss, I had around four, as there was a pool of agents working all over the country. They were a pleasant enough group of guys who usually dictated their needs onto a disc for me to type.
Then, one joyous day, life had another plan, and I discovered I was pregnant; (my desire to have four children was beginning to take shape!!) and, in the August of 1960, I gave birth to the first of our three sons, who we named Jason. I was over the moon to put it mildly. It was an emotion like no others… So au revoir ‘bosses’ and hello feeding schedules, old-fashioned nappies…cuddles and lots of love. Our little son was perfect!
© Joy Lennick 2024
Mum and I danced with joy as I learned I had been accepted al a ‘Junior shorthand-typist’ to work for a shipping company in the City of London for the princely sum of THREE POUNDS AND FIFTY SHILLINGS. If only I’d known…My boss was the most nervous man I had come across. He had a few facial tics and cleared his throat a lot; also moved in and on his chair several times an hour… (nearly ending up on my lap). He dictated several letters in the morning and seemed to deliberately hold one back until quite late in the afternoon, and wanted it typed THEN (at 5.30 – when we usually left.) I complied for several weeks, even though it meant getting a later train. He wasn’t a man one could talk to, although I asked if I could type it the next morning instead. He just said ‘No’ and that was that. I left the next afternoon at 5.30, with the letter untyped and was sacked the next day! There’s a pleasing PS: After treating two more typists the same way, the directors sacked HIM!
Working in Soho came next – the company Philip Morris Cigarettes – My boss was the director; a charming, polite, American man; a pleasure to work for. I also took dictation from another pleasant British man. I loved working in that area as it was so alive and bustling. At that time, prostitution was openly rife. And as I was returning home, there were many lurking in doorways, openly offering themselves “Fancy a good time, sir?” The up-market ‘ladies of the night’ had their own apartments in posher parts of town…I was never once accosted and felt quite safe. This situation changed after a few years and they all seemed to go ‘underground.’
By 1953, I had met the love of my life and we found a suitable flat to start off with, so I left the Philip Morris company to work nearer to my new home. I was to be secretary to Mr. Alexander of Alexander Waste Paper company. An extraordinarily shy man – very much like Charlie Chaplin in stature – he dictated in a whisper, nearly under his desk (no exaggeration), and whenever he had to leave his office, it was with head down and a quick dash to wherever he was heading…He was, apparently, a very intelligent man, but his cousin (?) a fellow director, had all the necessary attributes bosses needed and it somehow worked…I always felt very sorry for Mr. A and did everything I could think of to help him, but he really needed professional care. His appearances lessened after a while and I like to think he was receiving help. I was like a spare part, so looked around for another post. Before I left, there was a terrible incident in the ‘crushing room’ as one of the workers didn’t take heed of the necessary precautions and was crushed flat. Obviously, it deeply affected his workmates and family, and the whole company was stunned.
Every now and again, most writers come across – or have a fascination for – . a word which either has contrary meanings or some peculiar draw, don’t they? My word of the moment (and for a while now), is labyrinth. I’ve used it several times and thought I knew what it meant. Wrong! Well, it wasn’t completely incorrect, as many other writers have used it in the same way…I’ll explain… (Have your cocoa and slippers ready…)
After the unmitigated triumph of my novel STRANGLERS IN THE NIGHT some twenty plus years ago, I strode purposefully forward in my Bali Manic shoes and Chanel suit, inhaling the sweet smell (No.5) of success, sipping champagne en route to a glittering literary future. And then the cookie crumbled, as they say…
Concentrating on keeping a foothold on the dangerous glacier, high up in the Ötztal Alps on the Italian/Austrian border, German tourists Helmut and Erika Simon may have thought, fleetingly, about coming across The Abominable Snowman. But they must have been even more astonished – or perhaps incredulous would be a better word – to discover the mummified, clothed body of a man, who was later estimated to have been there for an astonishing 3,500 years! The year was 1991; without doubt a red-letter day in their lives.
Nick-named Ötzi, the discovery must have excited a whole raft of people, keen to learn more about their frozen find. It was believed he lived from 3,350 to 3,105 BC. He was around 45 years old when he died (probably violently, from an arrow wound). He was 5′ 2” tall, wiry and took a shoe-size of size 8. He was also left-handed. He wore a woven grass cloak, fur hat, a hide coat, skin leggings and had quite elaborate deer skin shoes that were lined with grass. 
His body was heavily tattooed, with 61 distinctive markings. It has been suggested these may have been therapeutic in nature, an early form of acupuncture.
He would, of course, also have had to make his whole outfit, starting with his ‘tit-for-tat’ (Cockney slang for hat) by killing a furry animal, and then a larger animal to make his own coat and leggings. (No Izzi Solomon, the tailor around the corner for him… He would have been disgusted with the stitching!?) 
Oh, how far humanity has come over the years! The ingeniousness of human beings is mind-blowing. Take one of the most basic human needs. Before paper had been invented, leaves or moss was used for personal hygiene purposes. For the Romans a sponge on a stick did the trick, but elsewhere broken pottery and corncobs(!) were made use of. The mind boggles… 
Early in the 1800s, two important discoveries were made: in 1804 morphine was extracted from the poppy plant by German pharmacist Friedrich Serturner, and the first modern general anaesthetic was created by the Japanese physician Hanaora Seishu, which he named Tsūsensan.
In the early 1900s, the first vacuum cleaners were huge steam or horse-drawn machines that worked from the street, with long hoses that went into your home through the windows. 
1928 saw a truly momentous medical breakthrough, when Penicillin was discovered by the Scottish physician and microbiologist Alexander Fleming. For this ground-breaking work, he shared the 1945 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine with Howard Florey and Ernst Boris Chain. 
Joy Lennick 