Dunhill: Difference between revisions

In 1912, the famous white spot was introduced for very practical concerns (see more about it [https://pipedia.org/wiki/Dunhill#About_the_Spot '''here''']). With straight pipes, customers had trouble knowing which way to insert the handmade vulcanite mouthpieces. So Alfred Dunhill ordered white spots to be placed on the upper side of the stem. This very practical solution would become a definitive trademark of Dunhill pipes. The “white spot” soon became known as a symbol of quality.</q> Smokingpipes<ref name=sp>Smokingpipes (November 2006). A History of the Dunhill Brand. Retrieved 07:52, 27 February 2020 (CST) from [https://www.smokingpipes.com/pipes/new/dunhill/history.cfm smokingpipes.com]</ref>.

Before the war, Alfred faced many difficulties, in this period a member of his team stands out, as Mary related:  

<blockquote>"During the years we lived in Harrow before the First World War, I was too young to take in much about the new business. Nor did Father later say very much about his hard times; I think he preferred to forget them. So I have gathered many of my impressions about his activities at that time from a jovial man called Bill Carter who, having been taken on with the other two members of the staff as a boy of fourteen, looked back on those days with the pride of a pioneer. As a senior member of the Duke Street sales staff in later years, Bill Carter had formed lasting relationships with almost everyone he had ever served, from Indian princes and royalty to the customers who bought cigars one at a time. He even became persona grata at 10, Downing Street during the last war because it was his business to ensure that Winston Churchill was well supplied with his favorite cigars, often a conspicuous part of his V for a Victory salute. Even so, I’m certain that this kindly, cheerful man, even in his sixties, still thought the most exciting moment in his life was the day he persuaded Father to take him on at a wage of nine shillings a week.  

And how Bill Carter had to work for those twenty-three pounds a year. All-day he was occupied in tidying, polishing, everlastingly putting pipes back in their mahogany cabinets, answering the telephone, sweeping up every shred of tobacco that fell onto the green carpet, dressing the window after closing time, presenting himself punctually every morning with polished shoes and a clean collar. If he was shouted for, he dropped whatever he was doing and ran. Yes, ran, for Bill Carter spent half his life on the run. Something of an athlete in his youth, he would leave his home in Wandsworth in the early hours of the morning and jog-trot the three and a half miles to Duke Street, returning by the same means at night. If there were parcels of cigarettes and cigars for delivery, as there usually were, he would put the penny he was given for the horse-bus into his pocket and start running towards Regent’s Park or Kensington or wherever he had to go. Nor did Father ever ask him for his penny back. He must have thought his delivery service cheap at the price.