Saturday, April 23, 2011

World of work

My very first job was in the town where I was born, Haddington, a short bus ride (or, given bus infrequency, a daunting cycle) from my village. I had a Saturday job in an art gallery and coffee shop called “Peter Potter's”, a job my sister had had before me, working alongside a selection of Haddington teenagers, one of whom, a Glaswegian, became my boyfriend for a while. I never met Mr Potter, and know nothing about him, but he did exist, a fact perhaps known to the local kids who used to delight in shouting into the letter box at the front door: “Peter Potter picked a snotter!”

Peter Potter's was a genteel, rather pretentious little place run by elderly ladies who seemed to enjoy playing power games. I was 14 when I started there, and was paid GBP2 an hour (even at the time, circa 1983, this was insultingly low pay, barely enough to get the bus to Edinburgh afterwards) to work in the coffee shop, serving ploughman’s lunches, baked potatoes, toasted sandwiches, coffees, teas and cakes to the good folk of Haddington  (as well as tourists getting out of the rain, and once, excitingly, Ronnie Corbett, who enjoyed a bowl of our cauliflower soup). As ambivalent as I was about working there, I’m sure I sometimes behaved ungraciously in my role as waitress, but there were only two complaints about me from four years of Saturdays: I was taken aside by one insufferable woman and told that I was “scruffy”; and I refused to serve tea to the daughter of some local knight of the realm, because she arrived, demanding to be served, when the place had closed, and I was packing up for the day and no longer on the clock. This was an early experience of imperiousness that I’ve never forgotten.

I remember wearing a particular pair of tight black cords with a broken zip which I tried to fix, ineptly, with lashings of sellotape, only to have some grinning men point out to me that my zip was down. I remember making the best toasties ever for my own lunch, stuffed with grated cheese, ham, raw onion and Branston Pickle. I remember the smell of fresh paint and wholemeal flapjacks. I remember looking out at the rain and longing for my shift to end.

I'm sure lots of things about this job have stood me in good stead: the ability to be incredibly polite (almost to the point of sarcasm, where they're not quite sure you're not being rude, but don't dare suggest it) to people who clearly think you (as a waitress, or a teenager, or a woman, or all three) are beneath them, and, as a corollary, a lifelong appreciation for waitresses; naturally, a distrust of the sort of people who run small-town art galleries; and the ability to make a damn good toasted sandwich.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Peter Potter died (I think) in the late 70's, and his partner Tom at some point after that let the business be taken over by a charitable trust. I had a really important (for me) exhibition there in about 1977, and their encouragement helped me to decide to give up teaching (art) and concentrate on pottery. (I was making an extensive range of small-scale ceramic furniture, with little pots as appropriate)

Peter Potter's had, as you say, an extensive time being run with various degrees of efficiency by genteel ladies; then recently they appointed a paid manager and it was very well run. However the most recent change has been fundamental: the most recent manager(ess) has completely changed the focus and appearance of the gallery (very few exhibits, lots of empty space, and lots of community events). They also stopped stocking my pots after about 30 years of having them on sale. Ah well. P.P's has affected my life yet again in that not having that outlet is contributing to the approach of stopping potting altogether.
Marg x

LottieP said...

Thanks for filling in the gaps, Marg. I remember the little welsh dressers very well, but I didn't realise PP's kickstarted your career - and interesting that you're feeling PPs is bookending it now. Has the new approach they're taking worked? I think Gillian has exhibited there quite recently.

Anonymous said...

It appears to be working if getting lots of funding for various projects is concerned - Arabella (!) is obviously good at that. There are ongoing projects involving local schools and artists, that sort of thing.But nobody I speak to has a good word to say about the changes - it really is empty in the main downsatairs room, and the bit down the side (which used to be the undercroft)is crammed with a jumble of crafts and cards and paintings, and to my eye not at all inviting.
And the coffee shop is selling off the pots I made for them -"buy a piece of Peter Potter's history"- really!-and re-stocking with plain white Ikea-type cups, plates etc.

I wish I'd known that Gillian was exhibiting - I would have gone!

Marg x

Claire said...

Maybe Arabella is related to the knight of a realm whose daughter you refused to serve 30 years ago and this is her revenge. It's sad when places feel they have to conform in order to succeed. But that location has so much going for it that I'm sure it'll continue to thrive.

LP, you didn't mention the "We won't be back" incident!

Claire said...

I was wondering about the Alisons recently. Was it White and Arnold? I also worked with an Alison Senior there for a while. I wonder what happened to them all.

LottieP said...

Not sure, Claire. I remember meeting Alison White on a bus in Edinburgh in the early 1990s, but nothing since then. Alison Senior's boyfriend had a little silver sportscar (I wish I could remember the name of it - even then it was regarded as a bit crap, and the Not the 9 O'Clock News annual that we had spoofed it as being a car everyone in the Falklands would drive), and somehow that really impressed me. She left PPs to work in a nursing home.

The knight of the realm was a D-H, and his daughter was June.

LottieP said...

We won't be back! I think that was from the Iona coffee house, but there was plenty of mileage to be had from a vintage catchphrase like that.