Dad:
Jules White

So I'm going to start by describing my Dad's sweet shop - let's call it 'setting the scene'. The shop was on our local shopping precinct where, in the days when I was a child, everyone went for their shopping. The butcher, the baker, the greengrocer, and the chemist. All these shops in one friendly community hot spot waiting to serve you, and right by the bus stops was Martin the Newsagent.

The picture below is me riding my famous red tricycle around that very precinct!

Interestingly the shop was a chain of newsagents and my Dad was the Manager. To me it will always be a sweet shop 😊 but he actually sold newspapers, magazines, cigarettes, some toys, and a big selection of cards. With the Manager job he got the flat above the shop, where we lived, and if you didn't know it, you may have been forgiven for thinking it was his own business. That's exactly how he ran it.

He was just the master of retail and always added that John magic! From how he knew every customer, how the shop was laid out and the biggest excitement always increased when we were changing the shop window. Mum and Dad were just genius at dressing the windows. I think Valentine's Day and Christmas were my favourites! They even won prizes!

Actually this story isn't about the windows and how marvellous they were, or the magic that my Dad spread in everything he did...I just wanted to start by helping you imagine what that wonderful shop felt like. The place where as a little girl I fell in love with sales.

This story is going to show you a slightly different side to my Dad.

Not a bad one - but a very important one.

I mentioned that my Mum worked with Dad in the shop. As a mum she would spend the day working with Dad whilst we were at school, and after school she would be home with us. When we lived at the maisonette above the shop we were just a few steps away for Mum to easily get home, but over time we moved to a bigger house a bit further down the road.

Now some of you will be old enough to remember the days when we didn’t have such a thing as mobile phones. Our method of communication was the ‘landline’. I have to admit it is hard to imagine what that was like but we didn’t know anything else.

We were a little different in our house as we had two landlines. People didn’t really have a reason to need two but ours was due to one of those phones being connected straight to the shop. It served a purpose when Mum and Dad needed to chat. A kind of direct line. Very handy to have as you will see.

Back in the shop, the picture below is out ‘the back’ as we called it. The ‘staff only’ room where we had a small kitchen, a desk area for invoices and a stock room too. I loved it in the back - apart from the fact I felt important because I could go in there, Dad also let me stack the shelves with new stock when it came in.

A little sub story is that when I was a baby my Dad had a general store in Bournemouth. Apparently the story goes that I would help my dad by pricing the stock, and when sticking the price stickers on the tins, every price would be dead central. I obviously took lots of pride in my work!

And I didn’t change - in the sweet shop I would stack the shelves beautifully, and spent many hours out the back helping Mum & Dad and playing shops.

It was out the back that the next part of this story would begin to unfold…

My Dad was not only in the army when he was a young man, but after he left the shop he went to work at British Aerospace in Stevenage, as a Security Policeman. I tell you this because yet again it is relevant to where this story is going! He was a naturally curious man, probably where I get it from, and he had ‘eyes in the back of his head’ as we say! Nothing got past Dad, especially if someone was…shoplifting.

Another thing to note is when I said Dad knew everyone, he did, including the young lads who were often up to mischief, and of course their parents.

This particular day a group of lads, four of them, had been in the shop. Twice in the morning, and again three times in the afternoon. Let’s just say they were not exactly forgetting something from the shopping list. In fact each time they came in, strangely, they didn’t buy anything.

Of course Dad knew exactly how many times they had been in and exactly what they were doing, but he had a process. He watched, and he let them commit the crime and was ready to then escort them into ‘the back’.

On this particular day I was happily ‘working’ in the back. Stacking stock neatly onto the shelves and writing my name and address again and again on Dad’s notebooks - that drove him mad! I loved writing and still do! 😊

To set the scene further, ‘the back’ was in two parts. As you walked in you saw Dad’s desk, the door to the kitchen and then around the corner were the shelves full of stock - and best of all you could hide in there.

Yes, you guessed it - that day I was hiding in the back round the corner with the stock!

I heard voices and the calm tone of Dad speaking to someone, and when I peeked around the corner I saw the back of four boys, all lined up in a row, heads down and hands behind their backs. To me they were older boys, but probably only about 12 years old.

Once they had been marched into ‘the back’ there was no longer a stage for their outcries of,

'What? What have we done?'

'We ain’t done nothing?'

'I’m gonna get my Dad down here…'

It was silent, and then Dad said the famous words out loud…

'Empty your pockets…'

Mars bars, sherbet dips, curly wurlys, a handful of fruit salads, a hubby bubba, and packs of palma violets…

Four piles of sweets sat in a row on top of the large chest freezer in their full glory. Evidence, before our very eyes, of the planned removal of sweets from Martin the Newsagent. Not quite the great train robbery, but having cased the joint throughout the day something had gone quite wrong with their master plan.

How could they have been caught. They thought it was a well executed plan. Wear the trousers with the biggest pockets - usually tracksuit bottoms in those days. Check that no-one is looking, cause a distraction, chatting, laughing - the louder they were laughing and joking the less likely anyone would suspect and see them slip their feast of sweets into those great big pockets. Oh, and keep your hands in your pockets when the job is done so you can’t see the sweets spilling out of the top.

Oh we do love a great plan!

The problem is Dad had seen this same plan many, many times. He knew the signs and he knew when to make his move.

And so four boys with pale faces, caught red handed, awaited their fate in 'the back'.

I remember my Dad was always very fair and would always start with asking them why they had done it, and did they realise that they were actually stealing from someone else’s livelihood. Always hopeful that shoplifters would show some remorse and maybe learn a lesson, especially when they were so young.

Often there would be tears, but these four lads decided they would go on the offensive. No remorse. Back chatting Dad, blaming each other - amazing how loyalty goes out of the window! - and sadly they didn’t quite realise what they were dealing with. I salute their bravery…but the fight was in vain.

After about 15 mins of heavy debate as to who’s fault this whole situation was, because it certainly wasn’t theirs, I knew what was going to happen next. I’d seen it before and it’s ugly, it’s scary, and you could say - unnecessary.

But Dad was left no alternative. It was time to bring in…

…the POLICE!

The Sweet Shop Four had gone into panic mode. Bickering amongst themselves and realising that not only had they lost their stash of sweets, they were now in trouble. Deeper trouble than they had bargained for.

The noise level had been slowly rising as the boys were blaming, defending, and panicking and suddenly Dad said - ‘Enough!’, in a loud but controlled voice.

‘No more of this nonsense - I’m calling the Police’

Dad then asked them all for their names and on his notepad - one I hadn’t been writing on 😬 - he wrote each one down. When things were put in writing out ‘the back’ it was serious…

He walked to the cream phone, which was one of those old rotary dial phones mounted on the wall, and proceeded to dial the three numbers.

It must have felt like an eternity for those poor boys as the dial purred back after each number. The air was tense and silent for the first time since the stash was uncovered.

And then my Dad greeted the person answering the phone with the following dialogue…

‘Hello it’s John Holdom from Martins at the Hyde’

A pause as they responded.

‘Yes, unfortunately I have four boys who have been shoplifting.’

Dad proceeded to read out their names. Slowly!

And then another pause…

‘OK, no problem. Thanks very much.’

And with that Dad hung up the phone.

As he turned round he noticed two of the boys were now crying. The reality had kicked in that they had been reported to the police and more to the point, the police had their names!

What would their Dad’s say and why had they been so stupid…

Dad looked up and down the row. He told them that the police had their names and if he ever saw them in the shop again he would call the police again immediately and they would inform their parents.

He then calmly escorted them off the premises.

The Sweet Shop Four left, empty handed, with a sting in their tail and hopefully a lesson learnt.

They never returned to Martins whilst my Dad was still there!

You may be wondering what it was the Police had actually said.

Well It went something like this:

‘Hello darling’

‘Oh no - silly boys - I hope they’ve learnt a lesson.’

‘Sausages for tea - see you at 6.30pm’

Yes, you guessed it - remember the direct line I told you about from the shop to home 😊