"BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-IIIIIIIII-IIIIIIII-NNN-NG"
My alarm clock wakes me and I throw back the candlewick bedspread, put my feet on the cold lino, run downstairs and light the fire. The kettle on the gas ring soon boils and after "wet shaving" over a sink of cold water I make a pot of tea. Pour it through the strainer, see if the milkman has been - yes - and add some silver top to the brew.
Listening to the Light Programme on the wireless I wolf down my porridge - with sugar now the rationing has ended - and strut out to the motorcycle and sidecar to put my ladders on it (best oak stiles with yew rungs, understrung with galvanised wire).
Yesterdays "West Country Clarion" has been cut into squares for buffing the glass and my scrim is beaten with a stick, boiled, dried on the washing line, pressed with a flat iron and neatly folded.
I put on my flat cap, draw heavily on my "Capstan Full Strength" and kick-start the mighty 600cc Panther single into life. With a thud from the piston as I pass every lamp-post I'm off to my first call.
Tugging on the bell-pull I doff my cap with a cheery "G'd morning ma'am" and set to work. Whistling the latest skiffle tune from that young wag George Formby I'm just finishing when the master of the house steps out - briefcase in one hand and starting handle in the other.
"I say my man - I don't think that is a very appropriate tune to be whistling in this kind of neighbourhood do you?" He asked me rhetorically. He hands me half-a-crown and says "Compliments of the season - there's an extra shilling included for you - buy each of your children an orange." Then he proceeds to the garage to start up his Austin Ruby.
"Cor thanks Guv'nor!" I say, tugging my forelock and marvelling at his generosity. "I'll come back on the weekend and send me six year old up yer chimney and get the soot out for you!"
I jauntily trot down the path and espie a young buck with a squeegee and a mop getting out of his ex-Post Office Vauxhall Viva (Bedford) HA van. Cupping one hand to my mouth I shout "Oi, you! - Yes you - you mincing pooftah!"
The young window cleaner turns to me warily "Who me?"
Me: "Wot yew playin' at with this new-fangled equipment? You'll give us proper shiners a bad name with all that water drippin' off the cills! G'wan - clear orff before I clip your ear!"
I walk tall, kick-start my Panther into life and ride off into the sunset firmly beleiving I am keeping the tradition alive!
