I said in my last one of these ("Making A Quid") that I still have the cheque for the first money I earnt - at 14 - for writing. Second thoughts, dug up the cheque, worked out that this is not quite true.
I went to Nailsworth Boys Tech in the mid '50s, an old-style brick, two-storey, substantial, overcrowded, working class secondary school designed to churn out chippies and gasfitters and toolmakers. Plenty of accent on crafts and maths and geometry and science and sport but not a lot of sweating over Creative Writing.
(But because our 1970s politicians worked out that everyone in the future would be employed as doctors and investment bankers, they closed all Tech Schools - actually took Nailsworth clean off at the ground! - but a few weeks back they finally realised that Aus didn't have enough engineers and electricians and plumbers for some odd reason.)
But, for all that, my class teacher was the school's English "specialist", and encouraged some creative thought, didn't look down on we more delicate souls who actually liked to write. So there was an annual set of awards for The Best bits of prose and poetry, and a collection of them went into the School Year Magazine. So, in First Year I put up two pieces.
The poem was excruciatingly twee but made it into print, but the prose piece blitzed the field and won me the top prize of half a guinea - a whole ten shillings and sixpence. Which I did NOT keep. Too hard up back then to not cash it as fast as I could get it to a bank. And that's where it may have ended if it wasn't for my Auntie Vera.
Auntie Vera was Mum's older sister, big and imposing and just a bit bossy, and had ten kids but only a labourer-husband's income. But she had a plan for each of those ten kids. Which was relentless. And quite successful. So Mum just had to brag. About my literary career. Just couldn't help herself. Showed Auntie Vera my winning prose in print and Auntie Vera immediately announced -
"Trevor, YOU should become an Author."
It was like a Papal Edict. Not to be discounted or mucked around with. Not that that was likely, as I was completely sold on the idea - what, sit around and write and count my dosh and buy as many MG TC's as I wanted? - geez, THAT'S for me!
So that's my sad story. I've been plugging away ever since. Auntie Vera - you have a lot to answer for!
And the uncashed cheque?
I became distracted with radio and model planes and wheels for the next 4 years, so the next time I wrote anything at all I was a mature 18 and the bug had returned to bite me all over again.
I was working on an isolated dairy farm down south and had time to kill every night after the work day was done. So I sent a piece in to a Country Magazine and it earnt me - yep, another 10/6. And I was so convinced it was only a matter of time - move over Miles Franklin - that endless money would be rolling in, I kept the cheque for posterity, just knew that it would one day be a priceless artifact of my Brilliant Literary Career.
It was another 54 years before the next cheque arrived. Auntie Vera must be restless in her grave.
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