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I wonder now! “Who would get excited about pineapples?”
The last thing I had on my mind was a pineapple. It was as much as I could do to keep my panier bike upright, loaded as it was, seven mornings of the week, with ten gallon churn of milk. This was my job, you see. A morning delivery of milk to four fire stations which were set up in vacated schools around Chelsea.

Delivering the milk was only part of the job. Before setting out, I’d fill the empty washed bottles with fresh milk, ready to be delivered later in the day by dairyman Mr Lloyd who owned the dairy.

Lloydy, as I always called him, was a great friend to me as well as being boss. As well as running his dairy, he was an Auxiliary fireman. If during the night there had been a heavy raid, I knew he would be out in it. I would make a special effort to get up earlier, to get to dairy and rush to finish the chores before he came in, black a coal and red eyed. The wages I received for this seven day week effort were meagre to say the least. Five shillings a week. Seeing the bottles all filled stopperred and crated his tired face would light up.2pete” he’d say “you’re a Christian”. he would disappear into the dairy and reappear with a hot cup of tea for us both and two priceless chocolate biscuits both of which were for me on the strength of my “Christianity”......I don’t know, even today, if a thirteen year old lad can be a Christian, but I do know that Lloydy made me feel six foot tail.

Being out on the streets early during the blackout in London was always an adventure to me and not without hazard. I’d ridden my bike into bomb craters. I’ve been separated from my bicycle by an articulated trailer combination, and seen my precious, rationed cargo gurgle down the gutter in the road. “Are you alright Pete”? I hear Lloydy’s anxious voice. “Never cry over spilled milk”. Hardly an admonishment!

The early people on the blacked-out streets were all rather special. Policemen, A.R.P wardens, ambulance men, all making there weary way home. Firemen were my special mates. the policemen were not so matey, particularly if little or no light filtered though the slits of your bike lamp, which was more often the case, despite cooking the battery in the hope of persuading it to last a little longer. The entrepreneurs were another early rising species, they were the “wide boys the spivs” of those day. The black marketeers. There was little these characters couldn’t lay their hands on. Silk stockings, whisky, cigarettes. All could be obtained, at a price, if you knew where to find them. I learned the secret. Look for the latter day “bookies runners” penetrate their circle and hey presto, Aladdin’s cave. “Steer clear of those parasites young Pete. Trouble will come to you soon enough without you going to look for it, sunshine”. Sound advice that. I ought to have listened to it.

Silk stocking, whisky, watches and cigarettes held little temptation for me, so I can’t, to this day, figure what caused me to stop. Perhaps it was the Tilley lamp swinging in the lorry and eager chatter of small group of char ladies around the tail of the lorry. Yes, I told myself, this was something special. I was right too. In the flickering light, in the depth of the lorry, pineapples. Hundreds of pineapples. Big pineapples, small pineapple, hard pineapples, soft pineapple. All pineapples to me. I’d almost forgotten what a pineapple looked like. The auction was well under way when I came on the scene. “Who’ll start me off with a pound for this beauty?”.... “I’ll give you a pound mister” shrieked a little old lady. Pound and ten shilling notes wafted through the air as if conjured up by magicians. “Give me ten” yelled another old lady, who looked if she hadn’t a shilling to bless herself with. The big pineapples were soon gone and smaller pineapples appeared and were disappearing at an ever faster rate. “Who’ll start me with ten bob for this little gem?” no hope for me in this chaos. Five shillings was all I could muster from my weekly toil. Not enough to buy a pip (I couldn’t remember if pineapples had pips, it was so long since I’d seen one). “How much have you got son, you’ve been gawping here long enough”. “Five bob, mister” cor blimey girls, we’ve got Rockefeller ere. Gi’s yer five bob, and have this little beauty”. He handed me my prize and I parted with my weekly wage. Beautiful it may have been, but it was certainly small and now it was mine. I slipped the pineapple into my pocket, leaped on my bike and pedalled like the devil to deliver the firemen breakfast milk. No time for my ritual dried egg sandwich. Got to get back to the dairy. I’ll cut my pineapple into a thousand pieces and take five minutes to eat each piece.

My sister had my sweet ration. It wasn’t that I was generous. It was because the meagre ration of sweets wasn’t enough to satisfy my gluttonous appetite with them, so I vowed not to bother with them at all, and give the coupons to my sister. When the time came, having finished my chores at the dairy, I fished my pineapple from my pocket and contemplated the delicate operation I was about to perform. The sweet ration syndrome came upon me. I decided that the pineapple was too small and I wouldn’t get a chance to taste it before it was all gone. I resolved to put temptation behind me and take the pineapple home intact and surprise my sister with it. I’d given my sister some surprises during this war, and not all of them were nice surprises. Twelve o’clock. All the chores done, time for me to go home. My pineapple and I.

“Anybody at home” I called out, vaguely hoping to make my grand entry on the scene waving my precious bounty fruit. To see my sister’s astonished look as I presented it to her. there was no one home.... that’s was disappointing.....never mind she’ll be home in a minute, I’ll wait and rehearse my scene....on the kitchen table stood the weekly shopping basket, rather fuller I thought then was usual. I peeped inside, hoping to find a little morsel to eat. To my horror I discovered the biggest pineapple I had ever seen, and worse, the ghastly bag was full of the disgusting things. I put my decrepit fruit into the bottom of the bag and covered it with the grotesque monsters....

When my sister came home we’d had our lunch, she began the task of cutting up the grotty pineapple for tea. When she came to mine, she looked at it and said “hardly worth cutting the peel of this”, and she dumped it in the rubbish pail along with the peel of monstrosities. I didn’t say anything. After all, how was she to know?

I learned later. Three ships had returned to London docks laden with pineapples for ballast. By ten o’clock in the morning of the arrival London was awash with pineapples. They couldn’t give them away and most finished up as football being kicked along the gutters of the street markets....
I havent eaten a pineapple for fifty years (not even the canned variety},but I learned a valuable lesson..The early bird ,it is ,that catches the worms.

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