West End Final

A friend sent me this London newspaper poster recently.  It reminds me of the hawker who sold newspapers in the Baker Street Underground station in the late 1960s. He was always trying to lure customers over by barking “Final! West End final!” 

There was something wrong with his voice. It was a strangled croak. Sometimes I’d croak back at him when I walked past. It made him angry. Unkind of me, I’m afraid, but I was a schoolboy and hadn't yet learned that life can be cruel and unfair. One day a very distinguished English gentleman (suit, umbrella and all) witnessed this and told me “You mustn’t do that. This man fought in the war.”  

I didn’t mock him again. Eventually, I bought one of his papers.  That was as near as I could get to an apology. After that The West End Final Man nodded and waved at me every time I walked past. 

In memory of The West End Final Man