Tong Street? Land Of Curries...

My Gig In Bradford

Having become a “stand-in” Manager for the Newsagency concern, I had been allocated a gig at a Bradford (UK) shop that was closing down…” just for a week”.

If you missed the last thrilling episode click this:

I arrived at Bradford Interchange, the train station and then grabbed a taxi to the shop located on Tong Street. I had never been to Bradford nor did I really know how far from the train station it was (pre-google maps peeps lol).

A ride of about 15 or 20 minutes found me alighting outside what looked like an already vacant newspaper shop.

On entering the shop I was greeted by a young woman, a sales assistant who had been given the run of the place in the absence of a manager. To clear, the inside of the shop was perfect, well presented and clean…yes, I was surprised given the exterior “look”.

We introduced each other and she smiled “So you’re the guy minding the place until it sells eh?”.

Hmmmm…there was something wrong with that sentence… don’t you think?

I didn’t question her on this thinking perhaps she wouldn’t know she only had about a week before she was out of a job.

“OK, I will show you the accommodation,” she said as she headed to a small door to the left of the cigarette gantry.

I remembered the Ozzy, saying it had its own flat above, so I was looking forward to that at least.

On climbing the narrow staircase we arrived in what turned out to be a 2 bedroom flat, all facilities…but none worked apart from running water in the bathroom.

The place was totally devoid of furniture and looked like a) it had been empty a loooong time and b) the occupants had left in a hurry (a good deal of domestic bits n bobs still loitering in every room).

“There you go” she said gesturing around the place half glancing at my jaw drop.

“Ah…ok…well I guess it’s not for too long” I responded and at which she frowned.

And so my “adventure” in West Yorkshire commenced.

Running a newsagent, in many respects, becomes like riding a bike, names of suppliers and their allotted drop-off times and days change but ultimately the “system” remains the same.

The sales assistant that had been running the shop was clearly more than capable, so I wondered what I was there for, “just for a week” (yes, I know I keep putting that and you obviously already guessed why lol).

I had acquired a sleeping bag for my jaunts around the different shops by now, so set myself up in one of the rooms in the flat. Clearly having a military family environment as a base, taught me at a very young age to always be “battle ready” lol.

It was grim…yup…the days were from 0400hrs when the paper delivery (mostly swathes of Telegraph and Argus which came out in several issues a day) came until 2100hrs in the evening. I had to be in attendance the minute the papers and magazines arrived outside the door as a number of “regulars” would help themselves and some would take their papers and leave the money on the doorstep!?

Access to food was an issue for me as the flat had no means of preparing or cooking meals.

My entertainment was ye olde television radio, you know the ones, back in the day, they had a 2-inch black and white television screen on them. Having rigged some wire coat hangers as an aerial I at least had that.

A few days passed and Linda (this is a fake name as being honest I cannot remember her real one), now on split shifts, as we weren’t allowed a budget for 2 full-time people, arrived at work mid-morning.

“How’s it going in the flat?” she asked.

“Hmmm…could be better, but hey, not for long eh?”

She laughed, “You keep saying not for long...the Area Manager told me it could be 4 to 6 weeks before the sale goes through”.

You can imagine how that hit me, the Ozzy had done a job on me.

Linda could see how shocked I was, I am the kind of person that wears my heart on my sleeve haha.

“You didn’t know that did you?”

“Errmm no, but I guess there isn’t much I can do about it now”

So, a few more days passed and as usual, Linda arrived around mid-morning.

“Look, I have had a word with my dad. We have a spare room and he says you are welcome to stay until the place closes”.

Gobsmacked, I was and really, I still am, that these people were willing to take a total stranger into their home.

“Come tonight after work, I’ll draw you a map, not far from here and meet Dad”

And yes, I took up on the offer, wouldn’t you?

That evening, I meandered through a couple of streets and located their home.

Lindas Dad, what a geezer. He was an out-of-work taxi driver, I have no idea to this day how he was surviving without a job, but suffice to say they ran a lovely home.

We got on really well together, even given the 20-year age gap.

He had asked if I had eaten, the first evening I arrived at his house. I answered in the negative.

“Fancy a curry?”

Well, the reputation of Bradford and it’s curry culture, preceded it, even back then.

He threw me a couple of menus, “Have a look see what you want and I will get the lads to drop it off”.

Wondering who “the lads” were I picked some items at which point he went to the telephone (again well before mobile phones) and placed the order.

About 30 minutes later a taxi pulled up outside the house…delivering our order.

“Dad” had a string of taxi drivers at his beck and call, as I say, I have no idea how his life worked out of direct employment, he seemed to be doing ok!

From then on, around another 5 weeks, we sat and chewed the fat, ordered takeaways when his wife didn’t fancy cooking and started venturing into the pub world of Tong Street.

One evening, his “lads” picked us up to go to “the longest bar in Yorkshire”, the name escapes me but the memory lingers very clearly.

An old traditional pub and yes, a massive long bar with about 15 beer pump handles bristling along its top.

I had been advised, by “dad”, not to react to any “goings on” in this bar…I had no idea what he was getting at.

We grabbed a couple of pints and took up a post against the bar.

In the background, I could hear some raised voices, possibly one female and a male...the pitch and what sounded like a scuffle then broke out.

The next thing I knew, a heavy glass ashtray swept past my brow, crashing to the floor at my feet.

I have to point out, that the man and woman arguing were not the ashtray launchers…that was the landlady aiming to smack the man in the melee with it!

“Sorry, love, nearly got you lol” the landlady, laughed as she leaned in across the bar towards me.

So, hey, the night was peppered with such incidents, but also with lots of decent ale, however…

We decided that chasers would be a good idea…so a pint and a chaser.

At the time I had this “thing” for Pernod and Blackcurrant…yes, I know.

And, as you may imagine, the evening, got a wee bit messy…one of those “I don’t even remember how or when we got home” kind of nights.

The punchline on this particular outing, albeit one of many we had together, was me in the spare room, a room that started to spin, unsurprisingly, and that moment when you get that horrible sweat, nausea and yup…Pernod and Blackcurrant…straight on the light-coloured rug next to the bed…urgh!

I do not think I have ever had Pernod and Blackcurrant again since that day and not just because of how the combo worked with lots of beer, but more so the total embarrassment of the devastation in my host’s home.

Anyway, enough of that and needless to say my time in Bradford came to an end. The shop actually changed hands, rather than closed (I had to stay yet another week to do the handover to the new owners), and thankfully, Linda kept her job there.

On my train journey home, to Hull, I was still reminiscing about the nights out, the wonderful friendship we had all struck up and my newly educated culinary awareness of what “real” curries were like.

Unaware at that point as to where next I would be placed.

Two days off looked good to me, then a meeting with Ozzy for the next gig…

Shopping Centre (Mall) anyone?

Until Next Time

Dominus Owen Markham

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