Working at the Co-op

Everyone cherishes memories of their first job, whether it involved a paper route, babysitting, or working behind the counter at a shop. The initial day in the realm of employment is often eye-opening and filled with excitement, at least until the enthusiasm fades and reality sets in. Geoff Crambie, our resident historian, shares his first job experience as a grocer’s boy at the tender age of 15.

In July 1958, Geoff made his way down Harrison Drive in the heart of Colne, Lancashire, to embark on his first day at work at the Co-op. Perhaps Geoff envisioned himself donning a gleaming white Co-op apron, serving customers with a smile. However, the manager handed him a brown apron instead. Perplexed, Geoff inquired, “I thought everyone wore white?” To which the manager responded, “Not on Mondays, Sonny. Mondays are the toughest days you’ll ever experience at work.”

Geoff’s entry into the workforce began with a weighing-up day, dreaded by workers. Deliveries arrived, and instead of small boxes of pre-packaged items that could easily be shelved, Geoff found himself carting sacks and barrels through the store, potatoes, flour, semolina, and other 1950s essentials. “Every item was weighed and placed into paper bags, which were then folded and tucked, ready to be purchased by customers. In those days, nothing was prepacked; everything arrived in large quantities and was sold by weight.”

“Potatoes came in large, thick, heavy brown bags. Plastic didn’t exist back then. I had to fill 100 two-and-a-half-pound bags and 200 five-pound bags, which took considerable time. Getting them into the potato scoop wasn’t easy, and by the end of it, my arms were aching. However, by the end of the week, every single bag of potatoes was sold. Sometimes we had to weigh a few more.”

Nothing was wrapped in plastic; everything was wrapped in greaseproof paper. While eco-friendly, Geoff found it physically demanding to heave the sacks, bottles, and barrels for weighing. “Cheeses used to come in 56-pound blocks! I had to lift them, and then I had to cut them into 112 pieces using a wire. The first time I attempted it, I ended up with 160 pieces.”

“Precision was crucial because customers would end up with more than they’d paid for if the cheese was cut too heavy, eating into the store’s profit. However, after two months, I managed to cut the cheese into exactly 112 pieces.”

Geoff’s first manager was Peter Birtwistle, a relative of the philanthropist of the same name who left his fortune to the town of Colne. “He was a strict manager!” Geoff recalls. “But we got along well because we both loved cricket and attended the Horsfield Cricket Club.”

“Mondays were long days, from 7 am to 7 pm. I earned about £2.40 a week for a 48-hour workweek. I had half-days off on Tuesdays and Saturdays, but if I wanted to attend a football or cricket match, I had to leg it as soon as my shift ended.”

“I had half-days off on Tuesdays and Saturdays, but if I wanted to attend a football or cricket match, I had to leg it as soon as my shift ended”

Despite the hard work and long hours, the Co-op provided benefits other stores did not. Employees enjoyed six weeks of paid holiday each year, and the Co-op offered job security for life. Long before the Co-op membership app came into existence, there was the divvy. Dividend tokens were introduced by the Rochdale Pioneers, a group of 28 working-class men who started the co-op to ensure their communities had access to quality food at reasonable prices. Co-op members received a portion of the profits depending on the amount spent at the store.

“Everybody had a dividend number. I can still remember mine, 6226!” Geoff even encountered member number one during one shift at the Oak Street Co-op. “A very old man came in. I asked for his Co-op number, and he replied, ‘One.’ At first, I didn’t get it. His number was one. I was blown away. It was his mother’s number; she obtained it in 1880 when the Rochdale Pioneers first began numbering members.”

“For every pound spent, customers received a shilling back when I started,” Geoff explains. “It may not sound like much, but it added up. It’s important to remember that things were much cheaper then – a loaf of bread cost 6 pence, and a tub of butter cost 7 pence.”

Unlike modern supermarkets, customers visited the Co-op daily, seeking fresh ingredients for their evening meals. “By the end of the first year, I knew everyone’s name. I think I developed the gift of gab from working there,” Geoff grins. “It was such an enjoyable experience because of the people. You got to know them, and they became your friends. You would do anything for them.”

“In those days, people cooked at home and bought plenty of staples such as rice, tapioca, and semolina. Nowadays, people buy these items less. Flour was the trickiest to weigh – 25 one-pound bags and 25 three-pound bags. Everyone cooked and baked with flour. Pies were made every day. Some ladies would get two three-pound bags of flour each day. They cooked for large families, and many had multiple children. By the end of the day, we looked like abominable snowmen. In the 1950s, people weren’t affluent; we had just come out of a major war, and people cared for themselves by cooking at home.”

“When I started, there were no freezers at all. When we began stocking frozen food, it was all Bird’s Eye. The first frozen item we sold was Bird’s Eye fish fingers, which we started offering in 1960. People loved them! They had to be used on the same day. Nobody even had refrigerators back then, let alone freezers. My father owned two pet shops, so we were reasonably well-off but didn’t get a fridge until 1968.”

Due to the fresh, unpackaged ingredients, mice were a common nuisance, so each Coop had a cat to tackle infestations. “At Harrison Drive, the cat was called Tiger. One morning, the manager Peter asked, ‘Where’s Tiger?’ We couldn’t hear him. Eventually, I went to top up the butter and opened the enormous walk-in fridge because there was so much stock. As I walked in, I found Tiger frozen stiff in the corner. Somebody had accidentally locked him in. It brought a tear to my eye.”

It wasn’t just cats and mice; Geoff encountered more unusual creatures during his time on the job. “In another store, we had a wasp infestation. There must have been 800 to 1000 wasps there. We couldn’t enter the shop for two days. On another occasion at Oak Street Co-op, I was asked to go to the cellar. I didn’t like going there because the building was very old. When I went down, I heard a strange noise – ribbit! Sixty or seventy frogs were jumping about! We had to collect them in two buckets and release them in the fields.”

“There were 60 or 70 frogs jumping about! We had to collect them in two buckets and release them in the fields.”

The store managers were all unique characters too. “One manager died while on duty; he simply fell off his stool. Another manager would dry his handkerchiefs on the big old-fashioned radiators daily because he always had a cold!”

The highlight of Geoff’s time at the Co-op was when the Camay Soap girl visited the store. Miss Camay travelled the country promoting the soap in her stunning pink Sunbeam-Talbot. On that summer day, a crowd of at least 30 customers gathered outside the store, eagerly awaiting her arrival. As she entered, everyone applauded and went wild. She gave Geoff the most seductive wink he had ever experienced. He was blown away. “That morning, I sold 200 bars of soap,” Geoff grinned. Before leaving, Miss Camay purchased some luxury chocolates from Geoff for half a crown. Naturally, Geoff swapped the half-crown with one of his own to keep as a memento of Miss Camay’s visit.

Geoff thought he would work at the Co-op for life and had aspirations of becoming a window dresser, so he attended college and earned a certification from the Institute of Certificated Dressers. He even ranked third in his class. However, this ultimately led to his dismissal. As a window dresser, he had to wear a tie at all times, but Geoff would take off his tie during the hot summers of the 1950s and 1960s. Despite multiple warnings, he was caught without his tie for the third time while dressing a window in Laneshaw Bridge. “They had to let me go.” Geoff was devastated. It was the end of his first job and the end of Geoff’s time with the Co-op.

NorthernLife July/Aug 23