"Where the bloody Hell has grand-dad gone now?" by Bart Kent

Here's the next installment from Bart's letters.

“One of the National Fire service crew members when I was a part-time messenger at the station in the George Spicer School at Enfield was Val Watson. Often we would sit and talk during the lulls in the air-raids, and he would tell me about the window displays he had done before the war at Austin Reed in Regent Street.

Occasionally I would go up to town and help him to dress the windows, gaining knowledge and experience which would help me at a later date.

In those days, 1940-41 the majority of the stores in the West End were minus their huge windows and it was impossible to replace the plate-glass that had been broken by the bombs. The blast from these bombs wrecked the shopfronts up and down Regent Street. On one occasion a large delayed action bomb exploded when an attempt was being made to de-fuse it and virtually every window was shattered.

With the lack of stock and the small areas to dress Val allowed me to tackle these.

I enjoyed this work, and when I returned from the war in 1946 I was strolling from Oxford Circus down Regent Street one day when I suddenly thought I would like to work in what was at the time called the Hub of the Universe. I decided to go into the Dickins & Jones store and ask if they had any vacancies.

At that time, it was customary to wear a tie representing the service in which you had served and I was wearing my naval tie.

I was taken to the office of the Merchandising Manager, Mr Anthony, well-groomed, well-spoken, and also wearing a naval tie. A man of very few words, Mr Anthony looked at me. “Sit. Ship?”

“King George V,” I replied.

“Rank?”

“Lower deck, Supply Assistant Action Station P1 5.25 magazine, Sir.”

“Right,” and then a long pause. “Well, would you like to work for the store and in what department?” I explained I had some knowledge of display and he replied that the display department was situated in the basement, and if the manager gave his approval I could start the following week at a starting salary of £3 a week. And that is how I came to work in such a prestigious store as D & J.

They were an excellent team in the department and I became part of this very quickly. Within six months I was allowed, with the approval of Mr Makey, to create certain themes I had suggested.
The basic display aids were very limited. Firstly we had cubes of various sizes, and plaster Grecian columns of different heights. The windows were reduced in depth and consisted of board and plaster constructed on wooden frames to create the window back.

In some cases these were not fixtures and could be moved backwards or forwards. They could also be painted to complement the displays, though with the shortage of paint, colours were restricted. Eventually the colour for all the window backs was a delicate shade of pink, which ensured a degree of uniformity and was found to complement most of the displays.

I put forward an idea dealing with Spring. With the approval of management I went out and purchased old damaged brass instruments, tubas, trumpets, trombones, which I painted white, hung them from the window ceilings and then had artificial daffodils growing from the horns. The merchandise was tastefully displayed. Written in large letters stretched across the front of the window were the words, The Sounds of Spring.

Once a month we had to suffer what I called the Regent Street Parade. Mr Makey’s windows – which he referred to as his “Silent Salesman” – had to be correct in every way and approved by the groups Managing Director. The procedure, on one Saturday every month when the store closed at 1pm, was as follows.

At around 12-o-clock, eight or nine people would assemble outside the store for the window inspection. Managing Director, Merchandise Manager, two Buyers, Display Manager, First Man and the two lowly window dressers.

Walking down the front of the store the MD would examine each window in detail and pass his comments down the human chain until it reached the First Man. He, in turn would pas the appropriate message, adding your name if you were involved, for example: “Mr Kent, take your window out and re-do. The MD has noticed a pin and fluff on the window floor.” You could not argue. How could you speak to the Director? You were just a minnow in a very large pond.

To do a window on a Saturday afternoon was absolute hell. Passers-by would stand watching your every move. Kids banged on the windows or stuck their tongues out and pushed their little cherub faces against the windows to distort them. I would have to replace everything, probably not finishing until 4pm, exhausted.

It was exciting to be working in the West End, and I thoroughly enjoyed my stay at Dickins & Jones, even if I did sometimes have to endure the trials of “the Regent Street Parade.””

Reading Bart’s passion for shop display makes me feel like bringing him back and putting him in front of some of today's mediocre retailers, and saying - Go on show them how it should be done.

Some of you might know that I am looking at customer service as part of my next show.  Sometimes I wish the camera was with me all the time as most days I come across inadequates posing as sales assistants who don't give a monkey's.

Today I popped into my local Baker & Spice.  My cousins are over from Italy and are having dinner with me this evening.  I wanted some lovely sourdough and walnut & raisin bread.  Baker & Spice sell delicious but pricey bread and food in a very lovely bright shop, but since day one their service has been totally and utterly rubbish.  Last time the non-English-speaking staff sold me olive bread when I wanted raisin.  The time before that I left as the queues were moving at the pace of a snail.

So today I pop in at 11am determined to get my bread.  One other woman in the queue.  I check out the breads.  Make sure I can point to the right bread to assist the non-English-speaking staff.  And I wait.  And I wait.

Two people are behind the counter pouring coffees for 7 minutes without once acknowledging me or the woman next to me.  After ten minutes, I ask the woman if those coffees are hers.  No, she says she hasn't been served yet.  So I walked out without my favourite breads.  They just don't deserve my money.

I now need to drive to Gail's bakery to get them, but I would rather do that than put up with inadequate hopeless staff.

Baker & Spice: go and stand in Pret-a-Manger and see what busy brilliant service is.  Take a leaf out of their book.  Oh and look at the staff.  They smile.....

To get involved with Mary's new series on customer service, please visit:

www.maryportas-customerservice.com

Bart starts at Burtons aged 15. A fascinating insight, as well as being funny and really entertaining. The more I read, the more I love this man.

“My fourteenth birthday was in the August of 1939 and although World War Two was imminent I had no idea of the seriousness of this. My school closed in the September for a short period and I did not understand what was happening. I was too old to be evacuated to the country and too old to go back to school. At least that is what I was told.

With no parental guidance, my father having died in 1930 and my dear mother unfortunately of very little help, somehow with advice from various friends of the family I was herded into the local solicitor’s office, signed a document and was indentured to Montague Burton for a period of 10 years.

One Monday morning in the October of ’39 I duly arrived at the branch. I was in awe of the interior, high ceilings, all the woodwork being light oak, two long tables with chairs in the centre of the shop. And even with the various fittings there was a feeling of spaciousness.

Within a period of 14 months the manager would be in the army, the First Man had volunteered for the RAF and the Second Man had also become a member of the army. Ultimately, and at a fairly early age I volunteered for the Royal Navy. But that’s another story.
Well, the next step was to look a Burton Man, black jacket and waist-coat with striped trousers. I had to be measured for this suit and also to receive a fitting to ensure it was well tailored.

Shoes had to be highly polished, fingernails clean, hair not too long and generally one had to conform to the Burton image, well-dressed, well-groomed and with the help of the manager well versed in the knowledge of the company and its merchandise.

Another important area was the way the staff addressed each other. Surnames were very rarely used. Everything was Mr. “Take the post Mr…”, “Check the stock Mr…”, “Wrap this suit Mr…”, “Forward Mr…” and so it went on, Mr this and Mr that. For the first few months it was very irritating but it soon became a way of life. Though I was not expected to retaliate because of my junior position I began the Mr game with great gusto and put extreme emphasis on the Mr. I was politely told there was no need to extend the length of the Mr. “Do not overdo this, just speak normal” said the manager.

During my first six months I did manage to burn a jacket with what I would term a very professional burn, an excellent outline of the iron in a very pleasant shade of brown!

Within a period of 14 months life began to change dramatically. The manager received his call-up papers, the First Man joined the RAF and the Second Man took the king’s shilling and joined he army.
A new manager arrived who because of a bad foot condition in no way would be called up for service.
Suddenly, at the ripe old age of 15/16 with only the new manager and myself in the branch, I was carrying out the First Man’s duties, not only measuring the suits, but also the uniforms. I was so proud. The ultimate for me was when the officers returned for their uniforms, and they fitted. To think that I may have supplied a Battle of Britain fighter pilot or a destroyer captain?

We now arrive at a very important area. Window displays. With 600 branches Montague Burton required everything to be identical through-out the country. There was a standard window display book and this was fully illustrated, showing photographs of the layout, type of display and the merchandise to be used. Windows were changed each month and there was never a deviation. I was informed there never had been a deviation since the books were issued by head office. That is, except one! A few weeks passed and I was detailed to visit the Luton branch to dress the windows, and as I may have mentioned previously, being young, enthusiastic and full of my own importance and, as I thought, having creative ability I revamped the whole concept of window display without any reference to “the book.”

I stapled and nailed cloth lengths from one corner of the window back to the centre of the window, draped a jacket over an old car wheel, and used a broom, shovel and an old rusty cycle in the display. It was magnificent.

A week later the area manager visited the Luton branch and all hell was let loose. He duly arrived at my branch, has a few brief words with the manager, came over to me and said “Get in the car Mr.” We drove to Luton and I remember it was via St Albans and not one word was spoken throughout the journey. For a youngster this was nerve-racking. I had no idea we were going to Luton and why he would not speak to me.
Arriving outside the branch, words came from the area manager, not quietly or constructive but with a feeling of madness and frustration. “What the hell do you think you are doing Mr? Until you take over the display responsibilities of the 600 branches, you go according to the book. Now get those bloody windows out.

I did as I was told and it took ages. I had stapled and nailed the lengths of cloth too severely to the window floor. Also I had been told to dispose of my own display aids well away from the branch, and these I had to dump in the back streets of Luton town. With the windows completed as per the display bible it was back to my own branch, again not a word spoken throughout the journey, and then on arrival, just dumped on the pavement. I think he was annoyed with me! That night I knelt by the side of my bed and prayed I would not lose my job. Incidentally, years later in 1947 I did get my own ideas accepted both at Dickens and Jones and Swan and Edgar.”

Today I received this delightful, moving, witty and wonderful letter from Mr Bart Kent. Bart was a window dresser during the 1940's for Austin Reed, Dickens & Jones, Burtons and Swan & Edgar.

Bart's vision is still spot on and ahead of most retailers today even at  the age of 85.

" Stores became a beacon of light, giving enjoyment to thousands of shoppers".

Bart, you and I share the same vision, which is why  i guess you gave me the honour of sending me such rich material and  sharing your work.

I am grateful X

Throughout this week I shall be sharing fragments of Bart's life story in Retail.

Click on letter image to read