THE recent news that an enterprising employer has been luring teenagers away from studies with the offer of £3 an hour earnings has relaunched the entire debate on pupils and part-time jobs.
Should parents refuse to allow or encourage their youngsters to take part-time jobs and will it impact adversely on their school work and performance?
I can only speak about my own experience in this regard. I did have a part-time job for a couple of years before leaving school at 16 and have my mum to thank for encouraging me to do it.
On the basis of whatever you do in life is valuable experience, I can only say that whatever the opinions of schools or teachers on this matter, I would definitely encourage middle teenagers to add a new dimension to their education by experiencing the world of work for a few hours each week.
In my case it gave me some early life experiences which, no matter how unpalatable at the time, certainly equipped me for later. It gave me an insight into human nature, allowed me to experience success, taught me how to handle value and money, showed the importance of reliability, gave me a working knowledge of dangerous dogs (I had the bites to prove it) taught me how to handle a newspaper in a high wind, and showed me both the generosity and meanness and unpredictably of the human spirit.
Yes, I was a paper boy. And these were things you couldn't learn at school. The job certainly started me down the road to independence at the tender age of 14 (something often sadly lacking today) for I feel to have been paying my own way in life ever since.
I was in the third year at Grammar school when, with mum's help, I got the newspaper delivery round. Coincidentally, my task was to deliver the very paper you are reading (although it was the Northern Daily Telegraph then).
I began on a cold, dark, stormy evening in March, 1949, and it was a night I never forgot. With no torch and a hopelessly outdated delivery book, I hunted for nearly 100 unfamiliar addresses in the dark, torrential rain soaking both me and the newspapers, the wind ripping them from my freezing hands. I arrived home three hours later, cold, hungry and heartbroken and wanted to give up.
But I was encouraged to keep going and experienced a taste of success as, over the coming weeks , I located missing addresses, added new ones, and the built the round from under 80 to over 120 as my tips rose accordingly. I don't remember it interfering with my homework.
As a result of having to collect money for my deliveries and keep accounts, I got to know all my customers personally - good and bad. I also got to know their dogs; which could be trusted and which would sneak up and bite you as you exited the back yard. I learned to sympathise with postmen.
I got to know the customers who'd claim you'd missed a delivery in order to reduce their bill, or who hid behind the curtains on pay night. These were more than made up for by the customers who cheerfully handed out double what they owed just for the pleasure of a friendly chat and a reliable service.
One lovely but lonely old couple even made my tea every night! They just wanted to talk to someone young with their life ahead of them and I now realise what it meant.
Eventually my tips outstripped the 11s 6d (57 and a half pence) I got for doing this six-day job (two deliveries on Saturday, there was a sports pink then) and I vividly remember the day I handed over £16 17s 6d for the new bike I bought with my earnings, so mobilising the deliveries. It was such a proud achievement. I still have the receipt to this day (but not the bike).
My most bizarre experience concerned a scatty-haired woman I dubbed the white witch. She used to open the door and cackle. There was always a drama at the house. Once I arrived she was screaming. Her ageing husband had just fallen downstairs and she insisted I has to help her lift him, blood streaming from his nose, into a chair before I ran to a phone box to call the ambulance.
A week later she was waiting for me. "Come in," she instructed. "I have a surprise for you." I was 15 and worried. Reluctantly, I entered. She made me wait at the door to the front lounge until she called "Come in!".
I walked through the door and my hair stood on end. There was the husband I had helped -- lying dead in his coffin! It was the first dead body I had ever seen. I fled and never went back. It was one customer I was glad to lose.
Yes, I had some incredible experiences in my part time job. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
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