“Nouvelle cuisine.”
“And people pay good money for it?”
Mark laughed and the following day prepared his father’s favorite, Lancashire hot-pot.
“Now that’s a real meal,” said Arthur after his third helping. “And I’ll tell you something for nothing, lad. You cook it almost as well as your mother.”
A year later Michelin announced the restaurants through-out the world had been awarded their coveted third star. The Times let its readers know on its front page that Chez Jacques was the first English restaurant ever to be so honored.
To celebrate the award Mark’s parents finally agreed to make the journey down to London, though not until Mark had sent a telegram saying he was reconsidering the job at British Leyland. He sent a car to fetch his parents and had them installed in a suite at the Savoy. That evening he reserved the most popular table at Chez Jacques in their name.
Vegetable soup followed by steak and kidney pie with a plate of bread and butter pudding to end on were not the table d’hôte that night, but they were served for the special guests on Table 17.
Under the influence of the finest wine, Arthur was soon chatting happily to anyone who would listen and couldn’t resist reminding the head waiter that it was his son who owned the restaurant.
“Don’t be silly, Arthur,” said his wife. “He already knows that.”
“Nice couple, your parents,” the head waiter confided to his boss after he had served
them with their coffee and supplied Arthur with a cigar. “What did your old man do before he retired? Banker, lawyer, schoolmaster?”
“Oh no, nothing so grand,” said Mark quietly. “He spent the whole of his working life putting wheels on cars.”
“But why would he waste his time doing that?” asked the waiter incredulously.
“Because he wasn’t lucky enough to have a father like mine,” Mark replied.
NOT THE REAL THING
GERALD HASKINS AND Walter Ramsbottom had been eating cornflakes for over a year.
“I’ll swap you my MC and DSO for your VC,” said Walter, on the way to school one morning.
“Never,” said Gerald. “In any case, it takes ten packet tops to get a VC and you only need two for an MC or a DSO.”
Gerald went on collecting packet tops until he had every medal displayed on the back of the packet.
Walter never got the VC.
Angela Bradbury thought they were both silly.
“They’re only replicas,” she continually reminded them, “not the real thing, and I am only interested in the real thing,” she told them rather haughtily.
Neither Gerald nor Walter cared for Angela’s opinion at the time, both boys still being more interested in medals than the views of the opposite sex.
Kellogg’s offer of free medals ended on January 1, 1950, just at the time when Gerald had managed to complete the set.
Walter gave up eating cornflakes.
Children of the Fifties were then given the opportunity to discover the world of Meccano. Meccano demanded eating even more cornflakes, and within a year Gerald had collected a large enough set to build bridges, pontoons, cranes and even an office block.
Gerald’s family nobly went on munching cornflakes, but when he told them he wanted to build a whole town—Kellogg’s positively final offer—it took nearly all his friends in the fifth form at Hull Grammar School to assist him in consuming enough breakfast cereal to complete his ambition.
Walter Ramsbottom refused to be of assistance.
Angela Bradbury’s help was never sought.
All three continued on their separate ways.