The Talbot cat has switched on my memory and much more than that deceased puss has came flooding back, here are few more morsels. Commis-Chef Dave and I decided to explore the Talbot attic and found evidence that part of this vast area, had at some time been a living space, complete with old decorated walls and enough light to see without artificial lighting. Perhaps old servants quarters? It was a real puzzle as there were no stairs, only a large attic door in the ceiling of one of the fire escapes! More exploration revealed that the Talbot attic connected to the attics over the shops either side and further, and in some cases they were being used for the storage of old racking and advertising material, from the shops beneath. The cellars were also on our itinerary, as local gossip said that they linked up to a local church, although no one knew for sure which church and was said to have been used as an escape route to the priest holes at the Talbot. We assumed that if the tales were true, and there were too many of them to be ignored, that they had been walled up for reasons of security, as we never found them, although there had been evidence of later brickwork. In a more serious vein my memory recalled one Saturday night: I was about to reach the first floor landing, which was in total darkness and was stopped in my tracks by the sounds of something that could have been a wild animal or worse (too many damn horror films, I’m afraid) and had gone back to the reception where I knew Manager Mr Boothroyd to be. He and head chef Dave accompanied me back upstairs and Mr Boothroyd had managed to get some lights on. We found Peter, one the two KPs lying on the floor in an alcohol fuelled stupor. We carried him back to his room and laid him on his bed to sleep it off and I went home to Wolverhampton to visit my parents. When I returned on Sunday evening I was given the news that Peter had been found dead the following morning. It turned out poor Peter had suffered from epileptic fits as a youngster and that the noise I’d heard had been Peter having a fit. He’d died by choking on his own vomit. Flora, the waitress with the wondering hands, kept on about how the Boothroyds should have known about Peter’s condition, until I’d asked her if she had been aware, she hadn’t and she’d known Peter for most of his life. To end on lighter note how could I have forgotten watching the Moon Landing on the TV in residents lounge and resisting the call from my comfty bed upstairs, until I’d witnessed the first steps by man on this desolate pock marked rock. I had at least 50 minutes of sleep before I had to be downstairs preparing the residents breakfasts, but it had been worth it! And hands up if you remember Goodwins Flour…(remember the baby playing with a lighter than air loaf, made using Goodwins Extra Self Raising flour?), The husband of waitress Betty’s was a rep. for them.
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