This review has been "re-cycled" following a most extraordinary experience this evening. Poking around on the internet, looking for something else entirely, I came across a very good website for Great Uncle Bill's old Club. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to name it here - but with apologies to the current members I have "lifted" a couple of interior photos from their site and I'll explain to you why!

Towards the bottom of this review, there is a verbatim newspaper article about Bill's undoing. In it, a few drinks at the "Club" are referred to. Indeed, before his fateful visit to the police station, he was playing pool on the very table shown in the photograph!

It is well over a quarter of a century since I last set foot in the place shown in those pictures at the foot of the page. The memories have come flooding back, memories of the many characters propping up that bar - prime amongst them Bill and Gwen.

The club itself looks (on the inside) EXACTLY as I remember it, even Bill's favourite fruit machine is still in the same place.

More than memories even, the pictures brought Bill right back to life here with me, I could hear, smell and almost touch him in that place - his natural habitat I guess for the majority of his retirement years.

Here follows the 'review' in its original format.

As you know only too well by now, RICHADA's Great Uncle Bill was an alcoholic. He could, without the aid of his very old friends Johnny Walker, Signor Domeq, Jim Beam, old man Gordon himself and indeed anyone who looked good through the bottom of a glass really, have been a genuinely great man.

On top of the Midas touch, previously alluded to, Bill was genuinely the most charismatic man any of us had ever had the privilege of knowing. His skills ranged from being a raconteur of wit to an accomplished ball room dancer. He had travelled the world on business and continued to do so in retirement. He was extremely broad minded, probably the countries first equal opportunity employer - at all levels, male / female, black / white - they were all paid and shared exactly the same working conditions. That was unusual in the industrial Britain of the 1950's and 60's. Yet having said that, paradoxically he was totally non-politically correct. Quite how these aspects of character managed to cohabit the same person I cannot to this day comprehend.

Bill had some very farsighted ideas in business. He was an unusual man and employer in not only recognising but, more importantly, telling everyone who was prepared to listen, and many who were not, that in many cases female workers were far more capable at many jobs than their then customarily better paid male contemporaries. His family were all treated equally in business, he was generous in sharing the spoils of largely his, sole, endeavours; his sister, (second) wife, daughters and son - all were treated equally.

Many had offered theories as to why such a farsighted man should turn to the bottle the way he did. I can only tell you that it originated in a completely different era. An era when business, all areas of business relationships, had far more to do with socialising than shafting one another in an attempt to get one jump ahead of the next guy. Another great paradox was that Bill was a true gentleman, he would have hated business dealings in the third millennium. Bill was master of the art of making friends and influencing people, he had a truly magnetic personality.

Unfortunately as the socialising and drink took over his life he became increasingly more autocratic. He continued to treat everyone in the same way, the trouble was that he became ever more unpredictable. He had a business partner of sorts, whose main role in life had been to clear up Bill's mess within the confines of the company itself. After 3.30p.m, when he returned from a three hour liquid lunch each day he was known on off days to walk onto the machine shop floor and fire people at random. Wearing the wrong coloured footwear, or having a dirty overall, you name it, if the whim took him those employees heads were on the block.

His junior partner, Graham, was a quietly shrewd man. He followed Bill, saying nothing to him but gesturing to the newly unemployed worker, "my office 4.00p.m.".

Once into his office Graham would say "well mate (everyone was "mate", male or female - even Mrs Graham!), see you in the morning, don't be late."

When questioning this puzzling turn of events, the sacked worker would be told:

"Don't worry mate, he'll never remember firing you in the morning - just don't be late or I WILL fire you!"

Bill did not work much after 4.00p.m or before 11.30 come to think of it. Lunch lasted from 12.30 for as long as the bar was open, until he became personal friends with the publican, at which point it ended, just before he was incapable of piloting the Rolls back to the factory at 3.30p.m. Then at 4.00p.m, it was back into the car and off home, time to crack open the sherry.

My first memories of Bill are really from the era soon after he retired at the age of 60. He believed, that having worked from the age of (then) 14 or 15, everyone deserved the chance to retire at 60, his employees had a company pension scheme many years before it became the norm for companies to offer such an incentive. He believed in a full and active old age for all, even drinking heavily, he led a very active retirement initially.

Auntie Gwen, his wife, on the other hand must have dreaded the day coming when the Rolls was sold and the brass plaque came off the office door. Her "station in life" was considerably enhanced by the Rolls and "royal" visits to the factory where the staff had all been instructed to address her as Mrs Bill. Gwen was quite a character in her own rite, she needed to be in order to live with and look after Uncle Bill. Having Bill around day in day out most certainly cramped her social style.

Once retired there were few distractions important enough to keep him from his passion in life, drinking. The type of alcohol he drank actually depended on the time of day, whilst still in his 60's the drinking pattern seemed to be dictated by some kind of strange etiquette. The first drink of the day was always Scotch, a glass or two before getting out of bed. A light breakfast followed, two slices of toast, a kipper and wonder of wonders a cup of tea!

We had no idea what his character would have been like without the drink, nobody ever saw him before he had consumed the first couple of the day and it was this that got him into trouble on the occasion that I am going to recall here.

Bill was a strange man of many different facets. Drunk he was naturally totally uninhibited, the main problem being that he was equally unpredictable. Charming and funny one moment then the next showing his temper, swearing and on occasion lashing out physically. I learned my first really bad language visiting Bill, my mother refused to leave me there on my own, terrified that as a child I would imitate his outrageous behaviour or worse, use THAT language. One of the oddest things I found about his character, even when I was a child, was that uninhibited as he was, he could also be extremely vain.

Recently "men's grooming" has become a major growth industry. Most of us use products of some kind to enhance ourselves, nobody regards this as at all effeminate nowadays. In the era during which Bill lived, men may have slapped on a little Brylcreem and, thanks to boxer Henry Cooper, "splashed Brut 45 on all over" - but that was as far as it went. Unless you were Uncle Bill!

Apart from possessing a bathroom full of hair and skin tonics, as they were called then, Bill used to visit the barber in town once a week and the manicurist every fortnight! He had very distinctive fine white hair and really quite ordinary fingernails. Again looking back I now have to assume that these visits were more social than a necessary requirement, it was just something to fill the time in retirement and gave him a welcome, if short break from the bottle on the way to a pub or "The Club" at lunchtime.

I am not going to identify "The Club" save to say here that, wherever he lived there had always been at least one club.

On this particular day he was heading for the barber's shop in the centre of town. All is well for the first half mile or so, until he encounters the council digging up the road. Bill manages to stop his car as another car comes towards him. Due to the alcohol consumption his reactions were, well tardy to say the least. The chances are that he slammed on the brakes at the last moment - the poor driver behind him did not brake quite so sharply and ran very gently into the back of his car.

Bill was highly indignant. He opened the driver's door, and was at the window of the errant driver's car in a flash. The other driver gets out to inspect the damage - there is not a mark to be seen on either car. Bill is demanding the man's insurance details, ranting and raving about maniacal drivers and driving licenses obtained from Christmas crackers.

Let's face it, must of us would leave him to it at the side of the road and that is exactly what the other driver did on this occasion. Bill was left with just the registration number, which he had actually memorised. Still highly indignant he resolved to report the matter to his favourite police station. Firstly though he had the appointment to keep with the barber.

His routine took him from the barbers to "The Club", where he met a drinking friend, played a game of pool, whilst doing so consuming in his own words "one and a half pints of lager and a sherry to steady my nerves". He recalled the story of the other drivers "outrageous behaviour" to his friend who positively urged him to report the incident to the police.

He got into the car and drove directly from the Club, the time was just before 1.00p.m.

As with the last visit to the police station his luck was in, he found a space right outside. Unlike the previous visit (see "Are there any casualties P.C. Smith?") this time he remembered to put both the hand brake on properly and the gear lever into the "Park" position.

As he entered the police station he saw a familiar face behind the desk! Yes the very same desk sergeant as had sorted out the catastrophic outcome of his last visit to this place. As I have mentioned before, Bill was not easily forgotten.

This time the sergeant showed no mercy. Bill was quite obviously the worse for wear, his speech was slurred and he was somewhat less than steady on his feet. On top of that he clearly smelt of alcohol.

"Good afternoon. Did you drive here sir?"

"Of course I drove here, I have come to report an accident, I want you to trace the driver of this car (slapping down a piece of paper with the other cars registration number written on it) and prosecute him!"

The sergeant was having none of it, he bent under the counter and pulled out an opaque plastic bag with a tube and some coloured lights on it.

"Would you mind breathing into this bag for me please?"

Like most other people at the time, Bill had never seen one of these new fangled Breathalysers before. Being the good citizen he was he willingly obliged of course.

The lights turned from green naturally to red in double quick time. On what he claimed were one and a half pints of lager and a sherry, he was at lunchtime more than two and a half times over the legal drink driving limit.

"Do you have your driving license with you sir? And your car keys please."

"P.C. Smith! Cell number three is free, will you escort Mr Richada there please."

Poor Bill. So indignant was he, that rather than keeping quiet in the Magistrates court when the case came up he made a big show by involving the press in his "unjust case"!

The cub reporter on the local paper reported the case well:

"THE MAN WHO DRANK AFTER AN ACCIDENT.

Good manners got a man banned from driving for a year. Mr Richada of Richada Towers, Sobertown was plagued with a series of incidents one day last January which finally ended at Sobertown Magistrates Court on Tuesday with Mr Richada pleading guilty to driving with excess alcohol in the blood.
The nightmare began when he stopped behind some roadworks in Coronation Road to let an oncoming car pass.
Another car ran into the back of his car and then refused to give his name and address. Shocked after the accident Mr Richada went on to The Club for a drink to calm his nerves before going to the police station to report the accident.
Four halfs of beer (Bill disputed this saying that it was three) and one sherry later Mr Richada went to the police station only to be charged with drunken driving after the policeman smelt alcohol on his breath.
Mr Richada was fined £20 by the Magistrates with costs of £10.70 and disqualified for a year."