Yesterday

Yesterday I went in to work to say goodbye to my colleagues and to remind the government, (my employer), of how much they owe me in unpaid wages and expenses. It was a lovely sunny day and when I arrived in the glazed hallway that is the office, my former “line manager” who had left the civil service over a year ago, was unexpectedly there waiting to greet me. And when I got upstairs to my desk, it looked as though I would never be able to claim these expenses, because my computer and keyboard were lost in a sea of colour: balloons, streamers and banners wishing me a “Happy Retirement”.

Well claiming my expenses was difficult, and in part my own fault, because I wandered away from my desk to speak to colleagues, and colleagues came across to speak to me. But I had not long started tapping in the numbers, when I looked up and saw that there was a steady stream of traffic coming through the door and gathering at a respectful distance from my desk. Now I know that I shouldn’t have been surprised or perplexed by this sea of faces, but I was, until someone said: “it looks as though you have some fans.” Then a senior manager appeared with a large envelope in her hand, order was called for and she said a few words.

Now this manager as a representative of yet higher authority, has taken a few "brick bats" in her time, and yesterday she reminded her audience of one particular brick-bat that she had taken from me, when we met for the first time some years ago. At that I interrupted, and much to the enjoyment of everyone else, said: “you do realise that I am going to want to say a few words?”

Now my colleagues and myself, (past tense in my case), worked for a government department that is not much loved by the public. And I have been insensed in recent days, by the behaviour of opportunist politicians, and in particular, by an opportunist senior government minister, who aping the then "leader of the official opposition", (the Conservative Party), loudly proclaimed his willingness to seize this initiative, and make 100,000 civil servants redundant. Why?

Insenced because he and they knew, that the particular Agency that we worked for was on its knees, and that all of us, Civil Servants, were exhausted, from having had to work, (for these past three years), with a computer system, the failings of which are legendary, and that at a cost to the taxpayer of over 400 million pounds, still requires an estimated "500 fixes" before it will do the job as intended.

To date, no one has publicly been held to account for this situation, or as we would say, "no heads have rolled", despite this cost to the taxpayer, and a Parliamentary Select Committee report that was scathing both about the history of this IT project, and the situation that we now find ourselves in.

Instead, within days of this senior cabinet minister's boast that he would make 100,000 Civil Servants redundant, memos were drifting down from on high, asking for the names of those who would be interested in taking voluntary severance. In our particular circumstances, the callousness and the mindlessness in this subservience - was, truly staggering.

So it gave me a special pleasure yesterday, in saying goodbye to my colleagues, to thank them for their kindness, help and support over these recent difficult years, and to remind them of what a fantastic group of people they are.

I am now retired, though not officially, until “the close of business” tomorrow. And all of this is light years away from where I began.

My first job was with PYE Radio at their factory in Larne, just about the time that the transistor radio had been invented. I worked in the machine shop, at a bench hand-press, pressing out chases and other components for radios, that in those days, still required cumbersome valves. And I think I am right in saying that these glowed when the wireless was on. As we worked, we learned to ignore the steady thump, thump, thump, and hiss, of the power presses; and we strained to hear the daily broadcast of “Workers Playtime”; a half hour of light music, broadcast on “the light programme”, from a works canteen. And this was at a time when the only broadcaster was the BBC.

Now this drab world of oily rags, grease and slithers of cold steel, was made rich by the characters who worked there. If you like, they were an unofficial compensation for the dreariness of the place. And in the context of my own retirement, I have a particular memory that I would like to share with you.

Bob was the odd-job man, who, in his quiet way and at his own pace, would make his way around the machine shop tidying up as he went. He was stooped and frail, and I was curious about him. In particular, I wanted to know why he had not retired at sixty-five, but instead, had chosen to work on to the age of seventy in such a dreary place.

In those days, there were no creature comforts. So in the circumstances, the toilet with its raw concrete floor and bricks painted yellow, was the best place in which to have a conversation. As compared to the machine shop, it was the one place where you could be heard, and it was there as Bob feebly washed down the sinks, that I learned something of his past. Not only had he fought in two World Wars, but he had served in a tank regiment in North Africa in WWII. And when asked, Bob gave this as the reason why he was continuing to work until he was seventy. If he retired at seventy, he told me, he would get an increased state pension.

Three weeks after he retired, Bob came back to the machine shop dressed in his Sunday best. He had come to thank us for his leaving present. Three weeks after that, he was dead, and at that point, I knew that I had been deceived. Having fought in both world wars, what Bob needed and had been holding on to, was companionship and a sense of purpose, and when these were taken away, he had nothing left to live for.

Well, in the context of my own retirement and this particular memory, I wish to share a poem with you. It is called: “From The Threshold”. The threshold is the place where I was standing, all those years ago, at the start of my working life, and observing Bob, at the end of his. And of course, the deceit was not wilful.

                       From the Threshold

From the threshold, I had a clear view of the end

of your existence. And can see you now

pumpkin-faced, smiling, patient and uncomplaining

but bowed, waiting in ease for the sun to set

on that bleak industrial landscape, and rise, flushed in blessing,

when you in the abundance of your store would be king.

I had a clear view of your triumph, and can see you now

cloth cap and blazer, passing contented through the ranks.

Pleased I was, and proud, that I had signed the parchment.

But when I signed the parchment to your widow, three weeks later,

and remembered you visiting in your Sunday best,

I knew, that I had been deceived, and that both our stores were empty.

__________

© Cormac McCloskey

Note: This blog, "Yesterday", was first published on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 6th April 2006