But having said that, Hammertoes Harry did exist. Harry was my mother’s uncle, born circa 1920. A true East Ender, Harry always had a joke and saw the funny side of life. On every single toe. We were talking about him some time ago and the name struck a chord and I couldn’t think of a better name for my business. It just seemed to fit. Hammertoes Harry spent the war making Spitfires in Swindon. Be
fore the war he worked down the old Spitalfields fruit and veg market. I must tell you a little story about something that happened in the early twenties. Hammertoes Harry was ten or thereabouts and he was already helping out down the market. He was helping load up a lorry with fruit and veg going up to Manchester. He finished in the early hours of the morning and when the driver went away for a cuppa Harry climbed in the back of the lorry and promptly fell asleep. He was such a deep sleeper that he didn’t hear the back doors slamming shut. In the twenties a lorry journey up to Manchester with a load was a long and tiring job when the top speed was regulated at 30mph (I think), if you could get up to that speed. Just put your foot to the floor and take a rest for ten minutes as the lorry slowly lost speed necessitating many downward changes of gear until you were in first and had nowhere lower to go, and then you just let the lorry take its own time. You sat on a hard upright seat with no soundproofing and oily smells penetrating the cab, a scarf wound round your neck and face because there was no heater, except what the engine threw at you, a hard suspension so that you felt every bump through your whatsit, steering that you needed the arms of a wrestler to turn, and when it rained you prayed the single window wiper was working. And if it was icy it was no time to complain to your boss about weather conditions. You just spat on a cloth and wiped the inside of the windscreen free of ice as you were driving. But it was a good life. Anyway, back to Harry asleep in the back of the lorry on his way up to Manchester. When they opened the doors on arrival they found little Harry rubbing his tired eyes – he had slept through he whole journey. After giving him a sandwich and a cuppa they phoned the local law. Meanwhile, his mother had been in near hysterics over the whereabouts of Harry. She had visited every greengrocer in Brick Lane and along Commercial Road asking about Harry but no one had seen him. Eventually a policeman arrived at Harry’s house and told his mother what had happened. No one really had a household phone in those days so the police in Manchester had phoned the local nick at Leman Street to tell them to send a policeman to his home and tell his mother he would be back home on the next available lorry. As it happened an empty lorry was going back down to Spitalfields that day so Harry hitched a lift. He was thrilled sitting in the cab next to the driver on the long haul back to the Smoke. When he got back to Spitalfields he helped load the lorry before returning home. When he got home and opened the front door and walked in his mother gave him a clip round the ear. But Harry thought it was all well worth it! Thanks, Harry.
