Footprint Publishing

A Decorators Tale

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Marriage is a great institution, but I'm not ready for an institution yet.
 
 Mae West.
 
  A Decorators Tale
Copyright © Fred Watson2006

 

I measured the walls with folding wood rule, called out the sizes, and Charlie jotted them down in his battered notebook. A few minutes calculation and Charlie smiled at the lady in the wheelchair, ‘It’ll be twenty-eight pounds to repaper the walls,’ he said.

 

‘Vat! You vant to buy, the house? I sell you the house for twenty-eight pounds,’ the lady cried.

 

Charlie was shocked, I could see by his face, ‘I, er, is that too much, Mrs Braun?’ he queried

 

‘Too much, you, tink I am made off money? And me in a vheelchair.’

 

Charlie was a nice man, and the thought of ripping off an old lady in a wheelchair was abhorrent to him, ‘I could possibly do the work for twenty-six pounds, Mrs Braun.’

 

‘Twenty vould be better.’

 

‘I, I,’ spluttered Charlie, ‘I couldn’t come as low as that.’

 

‘Twenty vone,’ said Mrs Braun

 

They finally settled on a price of twenty-four pounds which I knew would not make Charlie much profit. We were leaving the room when Mrs Braun had the last word, ‘Mr Richards,’ she called. ‘And 5% discount for cash.’

 

Charley groaned and kept on walking.

 

It was1958 and I had been working as an apprentice painter and decorator for Charlie for three months. Charles Richards Decorators – no job too small or too large – Charlie boasted in his small add in the local paper. A vain boast, since the firm consisted of Charlie and his two mates, Robbie and John and of course me, the apprentice.

 

We did the job for Mrs Braun and she must have liked or thought it good value, for she had us back again and again over the years and always on a tight budget. She bartered over every penny, yet she was not a poor old lady at all. Her house was a three-storied corner house in Jesmond and she had other property all over the city.

 

The second time, we were there to redecorate the front bedroom on the second floor and were ready to begin papering the walls. Mrs Braun always supplied the wallpaper – she got it half price, from someone she knew and had it delivered - Anyway, Charlie opened the parcel and moaned, ‘Oh, no there’s only six rolls, I better go down and see her.’

 

Off he went downstairs, with me trailing behind, I caught up as he began to explain, ‘They, haven’t sent enough paper, Mrs Braun.’

 

‘They have, Mr Richards  I count it myself.’

 

‘No, Mrs Braun we need eight rolls and there’s only six.’

 

‘Six is all vat you need.’

 

‘I’ve measured the room it takes eight.’

 

‘Ah, you vant to vaste my money again, listen, the bed vith the headboard, you paper around it, the vardrobe, and the dressing table too. Now ve have six.’

 

Charlie gave up at that and we went back to the room. We’d hardly started when Elli arrived and announced, ‘Mrs Braun wants to see the boy.’

 

Elli was Mrs Braun companion, or rather her slave. She was a funny looking, timid little creature, with a slight hump on her back, who in exchange for board and lodgings did absolutely everything in the house.

 

‘Go on, boy see what she wants,’ said Charlie.

 

I followed Elli back down. Mrs Braun sat in her wheelchair, by the window and she beckoned me over, ‘Boy, I vant that you should do me a favour.’

 

‘Yes, Mrs Braun.’

 

‘Vhen you match up the vallpaper you have a piece left over from top and bottom, yes.’

 

‘Yes, Mrs Braun.’

 

‘Vell, vot I vant you should do, is to use those pieces to vallpaper inside the cupboard.’

 

I hesitated, unsure what to say.

 

‘Vell.’

 

‘Yes, Mrs Braun.’

 

‘Good Boy, Vell vhy are standing here, vasting my money, get back to vork.’

 

Mrs Braun always manage to get us to do more than we were paid for, if we painted the stairs we would have to fit new stair clips, if we painted a door, cupboard or drawer we would fix new handles. Still we were not there all the time, unlike poor Elli.

 

Like the time we were doing the staircase and Elli was scrubbing the boards of the third floor landing. Mrs Braun manoeuvred her chair to the foot of the stairs and shouted, ‘Elli.’

 

Yes, Mrs Braun,’ a faint voice called from above.

 

‘Scrub harder,’

 

‘I am, Mrs Braun.’

 

‘No, you are not, I can hear you from here, scrub harder, Elli, scrub harder.’

 

‘Yes, Mrs Braun.’

 

Mrs Braun liked her pound of flesh, and she always made sure she got it.
 
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This serial has been reformatted into shorter sections and parts 1 through to 32 can now be read on the stories for dads page.
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