☕❄️Off The Plot: Eleven Cups of Tea 1963

The story of eleven cups of tea 1963 on Knoll Rise.

Winter 1963, Knoll Rise, Orpington — Dad front row centre without his cap (he'd given it to me), me as a 12-year-old in the duffle coat, and the other ten blokes with shovels and eleven steaming mugs of tea. No machinery, just snow shovels

People talk about the winter of 1963, but I remember it for a different reason.

My dad was on the dole at the time. Then the snow came.

Not just a bit of snow either. The sort that stopped everything. The council took on Dad and about ten other blokes to clear paths and shovel snow, and somehow I ended up tagging along. I was about 12 years old and thought it was great.

The only equipment I remember seeing was shovels. No fancy machinery. Just a gang of men battling their way through the drifts one shovel-full at a time.

As well as council work, they picked up a few extra quid clearing paths for private houses up Knoll Rise in Orpington. They were proper posh houses to my young eyes. The sort where you wondered what people did to afford them.

After a few hours in the freezing cold, someone would fancy a cuppa.

Rather than knock on a stranger's door themselves, they'd send me.

I was the kid, after all.

I'd trudge up the path, knock on the door and ask if I could have a drink of water.

The lady of the house would look at this frozen 12-year-old standing on her doorstep and say, "A drink of water? Why are you out in this weather? Wouldn't you rather have a nice hot drink?"

"Yes please."

Then she'd ask the question.

"Would the others like a cup of tea as well?"

"Yes please."

"How many are there?"

Her face was always worth watching.

"Eleven."

You could almost see her doing the maths in her head.

I often wonder what she thought as she stood there making enough tea for what must have looked like half the male population of Orpington.

Looking back, it's one of those memories that says more about the time than the snow itself. People helped each other. Nobody thought twice about a kid knocking on their door, and nobody thought twice about putting the kettle on for a bunch of cold workers.

The snow eventually disappeared, but sixty-odd years later I can still remember those faces when I said, "Eleven."

And I can still taste the tea.