Tuesday 10th - Arrived at the Britannia Pub in Hammersmith just after lunch. I have quite a nice room all to myself. Started work that evening, rather enjoyed it, but by the time we'd cleared up it was well after 11.0pm, I'm dead tired, and shocked to discover that I have to start at 8.0am!! The Lilybank it ain't! After cleaning the bar area, its time to open up and the morning is frantic. It's strikes me that I have to put in a heck of a lot of hours to earn my £10. The last six months at the Lilybank has softened me up, and I've decided that working in a London pub is not for me. I tell them that I did not expect to have to work such long hours. A few heated words are exchanged and we decide to part company.

I have very little money, no job and nowhere to rest my weary head. I ring Jenny for advice, she tells me to meet her from work. I stay the night at Jenny's home in Clapham Common; we spend the evening discussing the various options open to me. I like the idea of working a 'normal' 9-5, 5-day week, but this means finding a job and accommodation - the latter is the difficult bit. I start by going to a job-finding agency, but I'm horrified at the way my 'credentials' are exaggerated beyond recognition by the agency. There's no way I can live up to the picture they paint of me to prospective employers. I'm a telephonist, yet I hear her telling someone that I can type and do 'some' shorthand - I am capable of neither! I make my excuses and leave.

Wednesday 11th - I don't want to put on Jenny's family, so to stretch out my remaining few pounds, I decide to spend the night at St Pancras Station. This rather appeals to my sense of adventure, and I find it quite interesting discovering what goes on when the rest of us are normally asleep. But eventually, tiredness overcomes me and I fall asleep on the hard, and rather uncomfortable bench in the ladies waiting room. My companion is another girl to whom I was chatting, earlier in the evening.

Suddenly, I'm awakened by the station manager, he tells me that he caught my companion going through my bag, and he wants to know what on earth I think I'm doing 'dossing down' in a station waiting room, when I'm clearly not a vagrant, and that I have enough money in my purse to pay for a night's lodging. (He too, had been through my handbag!) Always ready with a good story, I tell him I'd been awaiting the arrival of my pen friend from Sweden, but she had obviously missed her train. (No mobile phones, don't forget!) I thought my story would be accepted without question, but it was a case of an ingenuous young lass and a hard bitten station manager, who'd heard it all before. He dismissed me with a "I don't want to see you here again". I know I have no right, but I feel angry and mortified - what right does he have to disbelieve me?!

Thursday 12th - I go to Jenny's office during her lunch break, and tell her all about the night before, she too, thought that on the face of it, it was a good giggle, but insists that either I go back with her tonight or I get myself a bed for the night, it seems that Earl's Court is the place for a cheap night's kip. We go through the 'Situations Vacant' in the Evening Standard, and look up cheap hotels in 'Aussie Land' as Earl's Court is commonly known.

On the job front, Grand Metropolitan are looking for hotel telephonists - it would be back to the 'unsociable hours' routine, but when I ring the head office, I'm told that accommodation goes with the job, also, they want me to start right away - like today! Now I know that soon I will have a wage packet to look forward to, I spend a couple of pounds on accommodation for the night. The place is busy with lots of young people of all nationalities, coming and going. And, despite a great need for sleep, spend the night tossing and turning due to the noise, it sounds as though the whole street is marching through my bedroom, doesn't anyone ever sleep around here? Breakfast is between 7.0 and 8.0am, and I'm starving, so I haul my recalcitrant body out of bed and fling open the curtains, to discover that my window has been wide open all night - and I'm on the ground floor - I could have been murdered in my bed!

Friday the 13th - is this significant or what? I do my best to make myself presentable - I don't have much with me, having left most of my stuff at Jenny's, but I have a job interview at The Stratford Court Hotel, in Oxford Street, which, incidentally, isn't too far away from Jenny's offices in Hanover Square, so I do what I can. The entrance to the hotel is hidden down a side street, behind Dolcis shoe shop, the double glass doors lead into a fairly small reception area, (not a patch on the Grand!) It is modern in a rather plain and boring way - nothing to commend it at all - yet! The porter's desk lies to the right and the reception to the left.

Not knowing which direction to go in, I approach the reception where I come face to face with a truly gorgeous young man! In an instant, I take in the light golden tan, the sun-kissed, well cut, fair hair, and the beautiful pale green eyes. I'm also struck by his sartorial presence; the regulation pinstriped trousers, black doubled breasted jacket and sparkling white shirt with silver grey tie is a sight to behold! I have never seen anyone more immaculately turned out. I tell him I've come for an interview, a slight flush creeps over his cheeks as he tells me in a husky, accented voice that I need to go to the room next to the reception. I tell myself that I will get this job if I have to pay to work here!

The 'room' turns out to be no more than a cubbyhole, just off from the front hall; a narrow passage separates it from the reception. This passageway leads to a backroom where luggage is stored, and which the porters use for their tea breaks. The double 1A Lamp Signalling switchboard takes up most of the space, the room is just wide enough to take it, and there is just enough room behind our chairs to stand up - it certainly is not for the claustrophobic! Mrs. Angus, the telephone supervisor, tells me that they are desperate for telephonists, they need three!

Two other girls also come for interviews, we are all taken on, so off we go to inspect the accommodation. This turns out to be in Queensgate, in the very salubrious area of South Kensington - so far, so good. We trek our way up 3 flights of stairs (the lift is yet to be discovered!) and then find yet another small staircase, which surely must lead up to the attic! We find a rather dismal, poky room, which, although we are assured is only temporary, the three of us must share!! There is one reasonably sized round window to one end of the room, which over looks the backs of The Royal College of Art, The Royal College of Music, The Royal Albert Hall and several roof tops - oh goody!

None of us are best pleased, but after a night at St Pancras station and another in 'the land that never sleeps' I'm not as fussy as I might otherwise have been. One of the girls, Kathy, is of the same opinion as myself, but the other one, who, strangely enough, used to work at Bailey's and suffered the same fate as myself, has seen enough - a claustrophobic switchroom and over crowded accommodation is more than she is prepared to accept. We never see her again. Kathy and I settle ourselves in as best we can, we will continue to share this garret-like room for a good while yet, despite out constant moans at it's dismal state. Still, there are compensations, on swinging open the window, the sounds from The Royal Albert Hall drift over the rooftops, and for as long as I am here; I shall continue to enjoy these 'free' concerts.

Ashley Court used to be part of the hotel group, but was then deemed to be too lowly an abode to be part of the newly formed Grand Metropolitan Group, so it was given over to the staff to be used for their accommodation - for which I shall continue to be very, very grateful!! It is a super place to live; Queensgate is an extremely long road, stretching from Kensington Gore at one end to Cromwell Road at the other, and Kensington Gardens is just a few steps away. It is also very wide - a double road really, divided by a strip down its centre which is used for parking, but as only a handful of us own a car, here in 1962, there are always plenty of spaces and it's free! Gloucester Road runs parallel to Queensgate, so I am within walking distance of Bailey's Hotel - not that I am planning on visiting...

Ashley Court would appear to have once been two rather grand houses, as there are two large sweeping staircases, plus a secret one - which one day I shall discover. And although there is only one entrance, via a large, black door, there is evidence of another door further along the street that appears to be blocked off.

Any one who works for Grand Metropolitan can live here - providing there's a room free. It is a very popular place to live, and space is at a premium - which is probably why we were all going to be lumped together in the attic! The double rooms cost £1.10s. 0d (£1.50) each per week, singles - some with balconies - cost £2.10s.0d (£2.50) and the truly enormous trebles, cost £1.5s.0d (£1.25). The cost of accommodation is deducted from our wages before tax.