Waiting tables and the Quiet American. . . . . . . . . .
She was busy taking orders, placing them with the kitchen, carrying trays piled with plates, and her feet hurt. Working two jobs was hard going but when you're eighteen you should be able to do it. Youth, good health, boundless energy, and of course your dreams, are all on your side. She had worked on Saturdays in a dairy shop on the main street while in secretarial college. She loved that job as many tourists popped in to order the real Devon Clotted Cream to mail back home to family and friends. She enjoyed hearing where they were from and why they had picked the west country for their holiday. She longed to see the world for herself. For a short time she served in a small tea room on Sunday afternoons. There she had to dress like a real waitress in a black dress, stockings with the required 'sensible shoes', and a white frilly apron, the clientele were often uppity and the tips not great. She even served 'American' hot dogs from a tiny 'hole in the wall' on the harbor for a few weekends, and hated riding home on the bus her clothes and hair smelling of grease. She needed the money to follow her dream.
Anstey's Cove, Torquay, Devon - Painted for me many years ago from a post card by a friend in Maine.
Her last job waiting tables was in a small restaurant near the top of the main street. Away from the busy seafront and beaches, but popular with holidaymakers staying in nearby large hotels. She recalls him well. Tall, slim, with an American accent. He ordered the big plate of spaghetti with meatballs. She told him waitressing was not her real job, she worked as a shorthand-typist in the office of an insurance company down by the harbor. She was making plans to go to Washington, D.C. to work for a year then come back with money and marry her boyfriend. He smiled, wished her luck, told her she'd enjoy working in America. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .and tucked a ten pound note into her hand as he left the restaurant. It was the biggest tip she ever received.
The beginning of a short story?
Perhaps an entire book?
Or one of many memoirs for family in the years ahead when
she is no longer here to share oral history. . . . . .
Now and then I hope to bring you more memoirs of growing up
in Devon, England during the 1940's, '50's and early 60's before I emigrated
to the USA
Now and then I hope to bring you more memoirs of growing up
in Devon, England during the 1940's, '50's and early 60's before I emigrated
to the USA
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