Part II Groby Road Sanatorium
The Good Old Days:
Lest anyone be taken in by the phrase ‘the good old days’, then let me assure you that ‘good’ was the last word to describe them. 90% of those in the area where we existed must have been on the bread line, and even then our bread was decidedly stale.
Industrially, the picture was bleak, and we’d hear harrowing tales, perhaps a ‘hodge pot’ of different stories, of lines of unemployed men and women being subjected to an auction type bidding process for any vacancy. The Boss or Foreman would come out and address the poorly clad, often hungry applicants thus:
‘I need a packer! Who among you is a packer by trade?’
Hands would shoot up whilst eyes, dull with lost hope from years of the most appalling and grinding poverty after those terrible years spent in the trenches of France and Belgium, would light up with renewed hope.