London Calling: The Turning Point

“Behind every successful man, there’s a woman”, goes the outdated, and somewhat sexist saying. Or, as some wag once put it – “behind every successful man, there’s a very surprised woman”!

 

In my case there are three. 

 

First: my Mum Barbara: 

 

Mum was originally from Harrow, just outside London. During the war a V2 bomb, nicknamed the Doodlebug, scored a direct hit on the family home. Both her parents and her younger brother were killed instantly. John, her older brother, survived because he was blown clean out of his bedroom window and into the garden. Mum remembers the walls and ceiling falling in, but luckily some beams around the loft hatch created an air pocket, which allowed her to breathe, and twelve hours later they dug her out. 

She was nine years old. 

The rest of her childhood was spent, at first in Yorkshire with relatives, then later she finally settled back in Harrow, with her aunt and her husband. My Nan and Grandad. In her early twenties, she met and married my Dad, Brian. Mum had inherited money from her parents, so they decided to buy a house in Chesham, the last stop on the Metropolitan line. This finally gave Mum what she craved - stability and security. 

In 1961 my brother Guy was born, and in ‘63 she gave birth to me. Dad was a talented architect, although technically I think he was a draughtsman, as he didn’t gain the necessary qualifications that would have pushed his earnings into real wealth. Dad would take the train into London every day, while Mum was at home raising two tearaway boys. Guy was only 17 months older than me, so there was a lot of sibling rivalry going on and we used to run wild in the fields surrounding our home.

My school life was not a happy one. I was always a difficult child; my reports would usually have comments along the lines of “bright but lazy”. In later years Mum worked as a school secretary, and as soon as ADHD was discovered, long after I’d left school, she said to me “you’ve got that”. I’ve never been diagnosed, but I suspect she was right and I’m probably on the spectrum somewhere. 

My unhappy schooldays saw me being expelled from school, and leaving at sixteen with only three O levels, English, Geography and History – and no plan. 

My wonderful Mum has always believed in me though, no matter what. 

 

Second: my sister Kerry:

 

Kerry came along nine years after me, and was everything I was not at school, a hard-working happy child, with a particular talent for art. Unlike me, both Guy and Kerry had inherited my father’s artistic gene, and both went on to successful careers in interior, and graphic design.

When I came up with the idea of doing my own brand of crisps, it was Kerry who dreamed up the name Salty Dog, and who, along with the team at Haines McGregor, a design agency on the Kings Road – created the design that people still recognise today. Now that’s what I call a valuable sister!

These days she owns her own successful company, Magpie Makes, running after-school art clubs for kids. It makes me very proud to think of all the young people she has helped to realise their talent and nudged towards the creative arts.

 

Third, and most important: Judy (aka Ju, Jude, Jubby or Judith)

 

As our tale unfolds, you will see just a small part of the value that Judy has brought, both to our business and to my life.

 

Six months in, I had something resembling a business.

 

I had called it Chiltern Snacks, after the beautiful Chiltern hills where we lived, and I had a growing list of regular customers, mostly pubs and sandwich bars in and around Chesham, Berkhamsted, High Wycombe and the surrounding countryside. I was working hard, clocking up the miles. And slowly, it was growing.

But it wasn’t making enough money. 

A certain brand called Walkers, that started as a local crisp maker in Leicester and had grown massively during the eighties, was purchased in July 1989 for £1.35 billion, by the global behemoth PepsiCo. In the nineties they were at the height of their success, and they were everywhere. It felt like Gary Lineker’s toothy grin was on every advert. This was not good news for me. I was winning customers, for sure, but most of them would be buying two or three of my products, while keeping their core crisp range as Walkers. After all that effort, all the miles, all the diesel and hustle – I wasn’t even earning as much as I had in my old sales job. 

Don’t get me wrong, I was proud. I’d gone from nothing to something. But pride doesn’t pay the bills. And then, just when I needed things to go right…

 

Judy lost her job.

 

We were living on a tightrope, and that nearly knocked us off it. But anybody who knows my Judy, will know that she doesn’t let a little thing like that deter her! Brought up in a council house in Chalfont St Peter, by a single Mum struggling to raise five kids, Judy is tough. She had street smarts and, above all else, she had a burning desire to make something more of her life.

When we met, Judy had worked in London, then after we moved to the flat on the farm, she got a job at a new recruitment company in Chesham. Then one day, out of the blue, her pay cheque bounced! I remember when Judy asked what was going on, and when she’d get paid, her boss told her - “Nothing in life is guaranteed Judy”!

 

How did Judy react? 

 

She dusted herself off and called in to the only other recruitment company in Chesham, Driving Forces, a small company, specialising in temp jobs for drivers. Judy introduced herself to the owners, Penny and Ollie, and told them that she could create a department for them, placing candidates into long-term, full-time positions with client organisations. 

She said she only required a small salary, plus a 20% commission on results. Needless to say, she made a huge success of it, and within a few months was earning north of forty grand! Judy saved us.

That moment changed me.

Something in me hardened. I realised that if I didn’t go bigger – if I didn’t take a proper swing at this thing – I’d be stuck in second gear forever.

So, I made a decision...

 

I was going to London

 

I’d known that I should for a while. I’d heard whispers about these new gastro pubs popping up in West London – places where the food was decent, the beer came in goblets, and they played jazz instead of the football. These weren’t your old-style spit-and-sawdust boozers. They were trendsetters, and they didn’t want bog-standard snacks. They wanted something different.

 I could supply that.

So, I loaded up the van, printed a few more price lists, and headed off to the capital. I didn’t know exactly where to start, so I turned off the A40 and just started.

The first place that bit, the first proper London customer who gave me a chance – was the Chelsea Ram, a lovely pub tucked away off the Kings Road. Polished brass, Farrow & Ball paint, the lot. I walked in, nervous as hell, and asked to speak to the manager. He tried the crisps, asked a few questions, and then, almost casually, placed an order so big I thought he’d made a mistake.

But I wasn’t going to argue! I took the goods in, collected the cheque, walked out the door, and sat in my van staring at the steering wheel for a full five minutes.

That order changed everything.

Not just financially – though it certainly helped – but mentally. It was proof. Proof that the business had legs beyond Buckinghamshire. That I wasn’t just peddling pork scratchings to village pubs – I was building something bigger.

The Chelsea Ram turned out to be the first pub of a chain called Geronimo Inns, which went on to be a fantastic customer for years. 

 

Word spreads fast

 

Within weeks I had a growing list of London customers. Places in Chiswick, Putney, Notting Hill. Anywhere that had a bit of flair and wanted to stand out. I also had a call from a young couple, Niall and Faith MacArthur. They had opened a sandwich bar in Villiers Street, central London, and called it… EAT.

They didn’t want the big brands. I was the alternative.

My van was full every day, the phone was ringing off the hook. And I couldn’t keep up. I needed help. I wasn’t chasing survival anymore – I was chasing growth.

 And it felt bloody brilliant!

 

The Terriertorial Army – passing the torch

 

Looking back, I realise something important.

I didn’t get where I did because I was some business genius. I got there because I started. Because I showed up. Because I listened. Because I said “yes” to opportunity and worked my arse off to make it stick.

Now I want to help others to do the same. That’s why we’re launching something called the Terriertorial Army.

It’s not a franchise. It’s not a get-rich-quick scheme. It’s a chance for people – people like I was back then – to start their own snack-selling business using the same approach I did.

We’ll provide the stock, the know-how, and the encouragement. You bring the energy, the ambition, and the hunger to make something of your own.

Low cost. Low risk. High hustle.

Just like how I started – with a van (or car), a price list, and a bit of belief. If that sounds like something you’d be into, drop us an email to info@saltydog-grrr.com.

 

Coming soon… Salty Dog is born

 

And if you’re wondering when Salty Dog comes into all this – that part is just around the corner.

Eventually I realised: if I could build a strong business selling other people’s products… why not build my own brand? That idea would change everything.

But that, my friend, is a story for the next post.

Thanks for reading.