LONG AGO STORIES

Taranaki Daily News, 13 April 1935, Page 21 (Supplement)

LONG AGO STORIES

JAMBS THE POTWALLOPER. “It’s as hard for a poor potwalloper to keep money as it is for a stocking to hold water,” thought James sadly. James’ folk had always been pollwallopers, and he was proud of the fact, though it gave him no right to vote because the Reform Bill had put an end to all that. Potwallopers, or those who stirred their own pots in their own parish for sixmonths .had, in the past, claimed the right to vote, and, although James was only sixteen and not of voting age, he had boiled his own pot for five years. James had a clean, broken-down little shop in the East End of London where he sold shell fish and vinegar. He had prospered so well since his father’s death that he had saved fifteen pounds, and this wealth .weighed on his mind. He kept the money in a stocking hidden under the rotting floor, but when he went to the fish market at dawn to buy winkles, cockles, and oysters, he was afraid his fortune might be stolen by the time he returned. “Aye, it’s a terrible responsibility to have fifteen pound#,” he thought. “But what’ll I do when I have a hundred—a thousand?” You see James was a dreamer as well as doer. He wanted to belong to the great and wealthy city company of Fishmongers, who sported the merman and the mermaid on their banner and had for their motto: “All worship be to God only.” While he sold his winkles James thought of himself as Lord Mayor of London. He felt strong and rich with his fifteen pounds behind him, but he wished h® could put it in a safe place. One day George the scavenger told him an extraordinary piece of news. The The Post Office—the Post Office of all things!—had opened a savings bank and offered poor folk 2J per cent, interest on their money!

“A catch, James,” nodded George. “All those stamped letters aren’t paying and they want our money.” “Who’s responsible for our money if things go wrong?” asked James.

“The Government!” hooted George. “They want it to make war with. Ought to be called a swindle bank!” Poor James sat with his head in his

hands for hours that night. At last he came to the conclusion that he’d have to trust somebody with his fortune and the Government was as good as anybody. Next day he put his precious stocking in his pocket and went to the nearest Post Office savings bank to ask for details. There were two old women there with something clutched in their hands, and they all looked at one another suspiciously.- After a deal of talking, James deposited his money and felt that he had thrown it into the sea. But the savings bank was an enormous success. So was James! When he' sat on the Board of the great and wealthy Company of Fishmongers and had his finger 'in England’s pie, he loved to speak of James the potwalloper who had given his mighty little fortune to the safe keeping of the Post Office in the year of grace 1861.