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The Christmas turkey. A memory from 70s Hackney.



The Christmas Turkey



I was a 16 and a Saturday assistant for the Co-Op in Upper Clapton, Hackney when this happened:

It was Christmas Eve 1972 and the shop was just about closing, we couldn’t stop people coming in until it was past 4 o’clock. It was about two minutes to four when a very drunk man staggered into the shop.

“Got a turkey?” were the first slurred words out of his mouth.

“Got a turkey?” he said again. He wasn’t directing the question at anyone in particular he was standing just inside the door and swaying drunkenly.

“Got a turkey Mrs?” he slurred again at Flo who standing behind the counter and was closest to him.

“We don’t sell Turkeys…” Flo said.

The drunk swayed and tried to take in the answer. He put his hands out palms down and thought about the answer he just been given. He took a few staggering steps further into the shop.

“A turkey isss all I want Mrsss….” He slurred.

Flo just looked at him and said again,

“We don’t sell turkeys.”

“Oh” he said “Cos I left me turkey in the pub darling…it’s closed now;” he looked at his watch “you must have a turkey it’s Christmas…” he swayed and staggered forward further into the shop.

“We’re closing in a minute.” I said and started to walk down the shop aisle towards the drunk and the door. He blocked my way.

“A turkey mate, it’s all I want, a turkey, come on you must have a fucking turkey it’s Christmas…”

“Sorry mate we don’t sell ‘em and any we’ve sold all the chickens too…” I replied.

He looked crestfallen and staggered a bit and swayed unsteadily. His hands were still presented palms down in that drunken steadying manner that heavy drinkers have.

“A chicken?” he slurred “what use is a chicken to me family mate? Eh? A chicken? ‘Ere Mrs tell ‘im a chicken ain’t no use for a family is it?” he tried to engage Flo in the conversation then he staggered again and steadied himself on the shop counter.

“A chicken…” he said sarcastically to reinforce his question of Flo. His plastered brain was obviously searching the synapses and thinking about anything edible.

“What about sausages?”

“We had some but they’ve all gone.” I said.

He digested that answer and swayed again, the thoughts were crystallising in his fuddled brain.

“A sausage or some bacon?” He asked in desperation. He was thinking again, he furrowed his brow and swayed. He was trying to think of any meat based product that he could take home for his family's Christmas dinner.

“We’re sold out mate.” I said “Sorry.”

“Bit of ham?” he proffered the thought hoping that he had hit home on that one.

“We’re closing now mate.” I said “We’ve cleared everything away, sorry we’ve not got anything left.”

A tear trickled slowly down his face. We had cleared all the counters and cleaned the scales, the cooked meat and cheese staff had left and had their coats on out the back of the shop waiting to go home. I couldn’t help him.

“It’s Christmas mate and you’ve got no sausages or bacon…” he trailed off and added as an extra “Or ham…” the tear trickled down his face and dripped off his chin.

I opened the door and asked him to leave the shop. He started to walk towards the door. He was leaving! However he stopped.

“Any chickens left? You said you had a chicken”

Flo said to him,

“We’ve just told you, none left mate, we’re closing now….”

I opened the door for him and he slowly made his way down the aisle towards the door and a bleak hungry Christmas for him and his family. He got level with me and his sloshed brain must have had a final inspiration of a desperate attempt at a meat based comestible.

“Got any steak mate?” he asked as he staggered past me and out of the shop and onto the cold street.


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