Henry Blessing left England in 1971. Little did he know at that time that he would never again return to his land of birth to live and work.
As he waited for a ride south at the M62 sliproad in Worsley, his thoughts took him back to that fateful day 6 months before, when he was called into the Manager’s Office at the Bakery where he worked in Bolton.
30 minutes later, as soon as his mother opened the door, Henry understood what Stan’s “summat” meant. His father was dead.
Cars whizzed by, no one wanting to pick up Henry so early in the morning despite the fact he had made one of the most attractive destination signs one was ever likely to see. Holding it up against his chest, it read in clear large bold letters “LONDON” and was decorated ar.ound the edges with many of the more famous tourist attractions that London had to offer. That was an extra that Henry had thought up night before. And even though Henry, himself, had to acknowledge it was a work of art, he soon realized that none of drivers rushing past on their way to work was likely to even see him, let alone his masterpiece.
But as luck would have it, on this very day that his Great Adventure was beginning, Henry received his first blessing. A car slowly pulled over and stopped beside him. But it wasn’t just any car, it was as far as Henry was concerned the Only car worth having (except for the Jaguar E-type, but that’s another story) … a Rolls Royce and if that was not enough to make Henry go all gooey-eyed, it was a classic which Henry immediately recognized as made somewhere in the 1930s.
The driver rolled down the window and smiled, “So you want to go to the big city?” Henry thought that having been born in Manchester he was already in the “big city” but replied enthusiastically “That’s right”. “Ok. Hop in then, that’s where I am heading as well”
Henry could not believe his luck. Just 15 minutes before, Tiggy, his old friend from the bakery, had dropped him off at the motorway entrance and with an awkward hug wished his friend goodbye and sped off..
And, now, here he was he was travelling in style in his dream car, heading towards “the Big City”.
As he waited for a ride south at the M62 sliproad in Worsley, his thoughts took him back to that fateful day 6 months before, when he was called into the Manager’s Office at the Bakery where he worked in Bolton.
Fat Stan, the manager, stood before him with an awkward even reluctant expression on his face which Henry quickly concluded meant he obviously did not intend to deliver good news. At first, Henry thought he was being fired and started to wonder which of his practical jokes with the women from Cakes & Pastries would finally be responsible for his early departure and the loss of his future career as Chief Crunchy Brown Breadmaker. However, Stan, after what seemed an age preparing his words, finally blurted out, “You gotta go home, lad. Summats matter with ye dad”.
30 minutes later, as soon as his mother opened the door, Henry understood what Stan’s “summat” meant. His father was dead.
Cars whizzed by, no one wanting to pick up Henry so early in the morning despite the fact he had made one of the most attractive destination signs one was ever likely to see. Holding it up against his chest, it read in clear large bold letters “LONDON” and was decorated ar.ound the edges with many of the more famous tourist attractions that London had to offer. That was an extra that Henry had thought up night before. And even though Henry, himself, had to acknowledge it was a work of art, he soon realized that none of drivers rushing past on their way to work was likely to even see him, let alone his masterpiece.
But as luck would have it, on this very day that his Great Adventure was beginning, Henry received his first blessing. A car slowly pulled over and stopped beside him. But it wasn’t just any car, it was as far as Henry was concerned the Only car worth having (except for the Jaguar E-type, but that’s another story) … a Rolls Royce and if that was not enough to make Henry go all gooey-eyed, it was a classic which Henry immediately recognized as made somewhere in the 1930s.
Henry could not believe his luck. Just 15 minutes before, Tiggy, his old friend from the bakery, had dropped him off at the motorway entrance and with an awkward hug wished his friend goodbye and sped off..
And, now, here he was he was travelling in style in his dream car, heading towards “the Big City”.
