This month's Derby Telegraph article in which I put the 'oik' into work!
This is the unedited version of the article:
I mentioned, in a previous
article, that I now had a companion in my office in Harold Wesley's in the
1970s. Actually, that makes it sound
like I had an office to myself, which was never really the case. I had been parked in the Work's Manager's
office but that clearly wasn't a viable solution as I had to be turfed out
every time he had a confidential meeting, which could be several times a
day. It did give me the opportunity to
explore the building at length, which was fascinating but not really
productive.
In a relatively short time, a
couple of new offices were constructed next door to the Work's Manager's office
(Work's Managers can get this sort of thing done). I was to share the first one with A.N. Other
and the second was for person or persons unknown.
The A.N. Other turned out to be
Gwen, who was something else. Tall,
beautiful and stylishly dressed she made me, in my 'nearly suit' and with my
more or less permanent hangover , feel
like something of an 'oik', which probably wasn't a million miles away from the
truth. Fortunately she wasn't just a
pretty face, she also had a wicked sense of humour, a quick wit and, wonder of
wonders, she found me funny! Beautiful
women finding me funny was not a regular occurrence, so this was definitely a
turn up for the books.
Gwen had clearly noted my 'oik'
potential. As she says in her memoir
(Wednesday's Child) "The Transport
Club in Guild Street…was where he mostly spent his evenings and often spent
most of the night/morning sobering up". To which I can only say, guilty as charged,
although I had hoped it wasn't quite that obvious. She goes on to say that the Work's
Manager "came into our office on occasions I guess to keep us on our toes
particularly if he thought there was too much frivolity as he could hear us as
our offices were only partitioned with glass". Obviously, enjoying yourself at work is
not something to be encouraged and it certainly wasn't in the dark ages of the
1970s.
Before long, we had another
addition to our small office, Paul, an earnest young chap who was just starting
on his career ladder as the Manager of the Wrapping Paper Dept. For a time, this rather put a crimp on any
frivolity but he did gradually thaw although I think he very definitely
recognised my inherent 'oik'ness. He was
much closer to Gwen in age and was markedly more mature than me, although that
wouldn't have been difficult. He had a
career and was just about to get married, I wouldn't have known a career if it
had bitten me and I had only recently had my first girlfriend, a relationship
so successful that, as Gwen recorded "I
remember he came in one morning and said he woke up in a puddle".
It speaks volumes that Paul was
responsible for a whole department whereas I had been given responsibility for
the work's radio. This was a minor nod
toward staff welfare. It was basically a
car radio which had been wired into the firm's P.A. system and mounted on the
wall of our office. Management had
decreed that the workforce were not to have too much of a good thing and that
the radio was only to be on for one hour, twice a day. This afforded them an hour of Johnny Walker
in the morning and another of Noel Edmonds in the afternoon. I always hated turning the radio off at the
end of the hour because you could hear a factory-wide "Awww" go up
every time. It also seemed obvious to me
that people trapped in a monotonous job, in fairly basic working conditions,
were likely to be happier and work better if they had something to take their
mind off it all. Then again, what did I
know? So, I sometimes 'forgot' to turn
off the radio until one or other of the managers rang up, or stormed in, to
complain.
It wasn't much of a rebellion,
but it was popular on the shop-floor.
Philip's latest collection of stories "The Things You See…"
will be published on 31st October and is available to pre-order now for just
£1.49 at http://mybook.to/ThingsYouSee
