Business as Usual Page 10
‘What’s that?’ I said (terrified).
‘What’s what?’
‘That letter.’
‘What letter?’
‘In the waste-paper basket.’
‘Of no importance, naturally. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be there. Go back to your work.’
‘I’m going to find that letter. I shall look in that basket.’ (Very firm, but quaking).
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort ‘
We’d both raised our voices by then: she was raging like a cornered tabby. Mercifully it was lunch hour and there was nobody in the Library. I could just hear the lunch time music coming across the Lift Hall from the Restaurant. I was angry enough to tear the basket away from her by force, and I must have looked it. She’s a wispy person. So she gave in. ‘Very well. There’s nothing of any consequence that I know of in that basket.’ But she was blotchy with fright.
It was there, of course. I’d known, as if I’d seen her do it, that she’d found it just before I came in and been in too great a hurry to get rid of the piece of evidence that she knew I was looking for. Poor devil. She admitted to an ‘Oversight.’ But looked daggers.
And now I shall have to make a report, heaven help me. Oh, Basil, isn’t losing your temper awful? Don’t let’s ever quarrel. I’m exhausted.
Hilary
EVERYMAN’S STORES
For use in inter-departmental correspondence only
From Fane
To Mr Grant
October 29th, 1931
SubjectRational Reading Service
Sub. L. Prov. 5196 (letter attached)
I This complaint is the result of a general lack of method rather than of individual carelessness.
It is almost impossible to apportion the blame because no one will accept responsibility for a ‘slight slip’ – much less for a ‘gross error’.
So far, it has been impossible to prove that the original instructions were received, and if they were not, the whole affair degenerates into an ‘unfortunate mishap’ for which no one can be blamed.
IIAttempts to trace the letter.
(a) It is not in the Library.
Miss Sparling says she can never have had it, as she never forgets a distinctive hand, especially on blue paper.
(b) There is no sign of it in the Files.
Miss Lamb says she rather thinks she may have seen a letter something like it, but if she had she wouldn’t dream of sending it to file, and it an incomplete order. She hopes she is giving satisfaction, and she is sure she is very careful over her work. If anyone makes a slight slip and sends an unanswered letter to file, she always points it out to them.
(c) It is not in the Mail Order Despatch.
Mr Simpson, who handles these orders, thinks he saw it, but if so, he must have passed it on to Mr Millet. Otherwise, the books the gentleman ordered would have gone. He is a very conscientious man with a life-long experience of mail orders.
(d) It is not in the Book Store.
Mr Millet says he is sure he saw it. He remembers the notepaper, and the name of one of the books: it was out of stock, so he passed the order to Miss Watts for a letter.
(e) It is not in the Clerical Department.
Miss Watts remembers nothing about it. If an order was given to her to acknowledge, she would have acknowledged it, that is, if it were part of her work. But library queries are not part of her work. If she had such a thing, she would have got rid of it at once, by querying it with Miss Hopper.
(f) It is not with Miss Hopper.
Miss Hopper says there is something familiar about the letter, but she can’t be sure. But if a slip has been made it is not her fault. She might have passed a letter rather like this one to Miss Sparling, because she cannot enter anything on her index without Miss Sparling has had it first and initialled it in red. It’s against the regulations.
(g) Further search only produced more disclaimers, a great deal of dust, several packets of bull’s eyes, some chocolate that had been overlooked, a Home Chat, and a Daily Mail for 1929 and 1930 respectively. These have now been destroyed.
IIIConclusion.
It is difficult to estimate the reliability of these rumours about a blue letter passed through the department and left no trace. Probably several people thought they had seen it just to be on the safe side. I believe that proper records could easily be organised to prevent future mistakes, but my experience of the Library and the Rational Reading Services is too short for me to make recommendations of much value. I should say, however, that the whole system suffers from lack of method, and possibly also from lack of imagination on the part of those who chose the books for the de luxe services.
H Fane
2.30 pm
In continuation of the above memo. The letter of September 30th has now been found in the Library waste-paper basket. I have repaired it and attached it herewith. It had apparently been overlooked – in spite of the distinctive hand-writing.
H F
EVERYMAN’S STORES
For use in inter-departmental correspondence only
From G Grant
To Miss Fane
October 30th, 1931
SubjectYour memo of yesterday’s date
Good. I should like you to remain on the Book Floor for the present, to investigate the system on which the Library and the Rational Reading Services are run, and if necessary, to supervise the introduction of improvements such as you indicate.
Please see me about this at 12.15 to-day.
M G G
SN/MGG
23 Burford Street
October 30th, 1931
Darling,
Life is too much for me. I’ve brought off the sleuthing triumphantly and been thanked by the Minor Prophet, and told that I may consider my appointment to the Library confirmed – with a hint of promotion to follow.
But I don’t think that I can bear it. Miss Sparling now loathes me so that it obviously hurts her to pass me on the stairs and her underlings loathe me in proportion. The whole place is vile with intrigue and corner-conversations that stop when I come past. I thought this sort of atmosphere was only found in girls’ boarding schools. It seems to belong to business as well. I’d no idea what devils women could be to other women in an entirely passive way, and I’ve never wanted to talk to you so much in my life. Just to hear you say, ‘My dear child, what does it all matter?’ (in the way that I don’t always like) would make all the difference now. I’ve been saying it to myself all the way home in the bus, but the charm won’t work for me.
I got home late to-night and it was raining, and I’ve got a cold and my basement looked just too cheerless. Mrs Hemming had left the wastepaper basket uncleared and I hadn’t enough pennies for the gas. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried, because I had a cold and made the cold worse by crying. Then I looked round the basement and thought of the house in University Close and the way it would welcome me. Why should I try to be grand and earn my living among Sparlings, and live in a basement just to carve out a career?
What’s the use of being noble and obstinate and uncom-fortable? I shall tell Mr Grant tomorrow that I’m not the creature he thought I was, and that I can’t bear it any longer and will he let me go away with my tail between my legs.
You were right. Everybody was right. And I was wrong. You said that I couldn’t stand the hours and that I’d give it up in a month. I’m a weakling and a worm, and I wonder if I can get off in time to catch the train from St Pancras to-morrow night. Just think of being in Scotland in time for breakfast! Will you be good enough not to say ‘I told you so?’ Not that that’ll matter, since you’ll obviously be thinking it for days. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m dreadfully ashamed of myself, but I’m so miserable that it doesn’t seem to make any difference. The sawdust’s out of me.
Hilary
31st October
Hilary to Basil
Telegram
Basil Rainford Ch
ristophers Hospital Edinburgh
Cancel letter posted last night deil take the hindmost56 staying on.
Hilary
Part II – Winter

EVERYMAN’S STORES
For use in inter-departmental correspondence only
From G Grant
To Miss Fane
November 3rd, 1931
Subject
Personal
It occurred to me after our recent discussion that you were not altogether happy at the thought of further work in the Library.
I should like to take the opportunity of assuring you that I would not make the arrangement which I have in mind without being quite sure that you can, if you will, do work there which will be of real service to the firm.
M G GRANT
SN/MGG
November 3rd
My Dear,
Why shouldn’t I change my mind? That isn’t a truculent question: I’m quite good-tempered, but really anxious to know. Friday’s stupid letter was written in one of those impulses – you know what an outcry I always make in the fell clutch of circumstance. It oughtn’t to have been taken any more seriously than the ravings of any other temporarily irresponsible creature. Especially when I went to the trouble of recanting next morning at the cost of one and fivepence.
I thought that wire might amuse you. But you were furious. Why? Because, as you said, it was all a childish business to begin with and especially when I had those outbreaks and sent contradictory messages by following posts? Or was it because you wanted me to fail all the time that my telegram ruffled you? Or because you wanted to see me and were disappointed that I wasn’t coming home after all? I hope it was the last reason, but I can’t help feeling that if it had been you’d have found an excuse that’d have held enough water to bring you to London at least once during the last two months. So it looks rather as if it weren’t that.
But whatever the reason was, don’t you really think it’d have been ignoble to come crawling home? It wouldn’t have meant that I’d ‘seen reason at last’, but only that I’d been whipped. And I’d never have been able to forget that:
This little pig went squealing
All the way home …
Besides, if one’s been told by anybody who knows that one’s going to do ‘work of real importance to the firm’, it ought to be exciting to stay and see if that’s true. Don’t you agree?
Of course it’s nothing to do with us. And of course it doesn’t mean that I’ve ‘lost my sense of proportion so completely as to be blind to real obligations’. Why should it mean anything so grand-sounding and silly? You knew when I came up that I meant to work for a year. And I still mean to (with lapses). It’s quite evident that, as you say, you’ve been saving up for an opportunity to put your views before me. And now that you’ve spread out all the evidence against me I don’t know that I like the look of it much. Do you really think things out as thoroughly as that always? Do you let grievances pile themselves up, I mean, like cards in a card-index till the moment arrives to catalogue them? I’d feel so much safer if you merely clouted me occasionally.
However, if you like things to be set out neatly you might as well have my tabulated replies.
Kindly note that:
(1) I am in receipt of your instructions.
(2) I don’t like them.
(3) I’m not coming home just yet.
(4) I repudiate the expression ‘tomfoolery’ as applied to my present work.
(5) I consider that you have been:
(a) Churlish.
(b) Rude.
(c) Entirely obtuse.
Yours faithfully,
Hilary Fane
Librarian
23 Burford Street
November 4th
My Poor Dears,
After twenty-eight years of me you ought really to recognise my ‘Wolf, wolf!’ bleat when you hear it, but I’m sorry to have given you such an anxious day.
What happened was this: they promoted me, rather without warning, and I thought it was going to be quite unbearable. Nothing but hurt feelings, black looks and savage little rows – all the time. The atmosphere was electric: I felt like a galvanised frog. Afterwards I wrote to Basil in a panic. I’m very ashamed, as I thought I’d changed my mind in time to prevent the clamour from reaching you.
It was all a very stupid fuss, and I feel better now. I had a long talk with Mr Grant. He’s the firm’s Organising Director, and rather over my (clerk’s) horizon, so you haven’t heard of him before. But he’s an enthusiast, with broods and broods of reforms, and I’m to foster one of them. It’s to be quite a position – not just a job. (I can hardly wait till Friday to see if there’s any recognition of the change in my pay envelope.)
We had an odd interview. Miss Ward (Staff Supervisor, and one of those large, Gorgon women) had unfortunately found a drawing of mine in my Sales Book and taken it to Mr Grant in the best tradition. He pulled it out of a drawer just as I was going away and handed it to me with: ‘Dangerous likeness. Draw the customers at home.’ (Do you remember the week-end when you came to fetch me home from school and were greeted by the news that I’d caricatured the Head and was in the Sick Room till Monday? How people’s methods vary.)
Honestly, though, you needn’t worry. The Library’s a revelation after the tomes and people of the municipal establishment. It’s a marvellous place, rather like the Zoo in a nightmare, because one’s so apt to feed the lions with literary sprats and the pelicans with horse flesh. So far, subscribers seem to divide up into those who insist on choosing their own books in order to curse the authors, and the others who prefer to leave the choice to us so that they can curse the Librarians. Other people, stranded in the grimmer suburbs, keep sending us lists of dead and moribund authors and demanding their latest books. So you see I’m all right, swelling with forbidden laughter, but exuding the requisite tact.
Much love,
Hilary
23 Burford Street
November 6th
My Dearest Family,
I like being an official investigator, on second thoughts. I’ve received instructions to look into the Library system, trace up the complaints, and evolve any necessary modifications likely to check them. So I’ve been quite definitely a person to placate. And numbers of innocent but apprehensive people keep coming up to me and saying how lucky I am to have a natural wave, and can they lend me things. My arch-enemy, however, who reigns there, has remained aloof without offering me the merest hairpin. I accept all attentions calmly, but they’re very good for the inferiority complex.
In my new capacity I’ve just spent the morning in our Filing Vault, checking up outcries from subscribers. Everyman’s filing system is stupendous, of course. An immense room is full of filing cabinets and sorting tables and short step-ladders and clothes-baskets spilling with letters and people in pinafores are busy among the electric light fans and telephones and dangling, humanely green-shaded lights.
Because, you see, every communication, every letter, telegram or picture post card that anybody ever sends us is stamped with the customer’s number and index letters as soon as it comes into the building: it finds its way to the Vault, with a copy of our reply as soon as it’s been answered. Then it’s filed for reference, with carbons of all invoices made out against that customer, for two years (and probably a day). After which it’s torn up.
So when I’d collected a bunch of typical grumbles the first thing to do was to look up the history of the grumblers in the Vault. (Occasional complainers, of course, receive preferential treatment to the habitual ones.) But the first thing I did in the Vault was to take out the correspondence of all the people I knew who dealt with Everyman’s – just out of sheer, furious female curiosity. It was rather a shattering experience. There they all were; nice, harmless, amusing people, giving presents with one hand and writing long, passionate letters about postal overcharges with the other.
Aren’t people odd? What happen
s to them the instant money leaves their hands? Sell your best friend a packet of biscuits or a toothbrush or a silk handkerchief or a library subscription, and the most angelic personality is immediately submerged by the obsession of Getting one’s Money’s Worth. I didn’t read through many files: it was too indecent. I went quickly on to my pile of letters from fulminating Colonels in Bedford and Bath and Harrogate who complain that they got nothing but ‘pert novels by pups’, and the women who are ‘quite at a loss to understand …’
I’ve made a rough record, and to-morrow I shall have to present it, suitably modified, to Authority as represented by Mr Grant, who also expects me to suggest remedies. But this afternoon I shall just meekly supervise Fiction C and plan campaign.
With my love,
Hilary
From Hilary Fane’s notebook
COMPLAINTS
These seem to resolve themselves into three groups:
(1)Personal vociferation in the Library, with which this investigation is happily not at present concerned.
(2)By telephone. Have encountered various.
(a) (Piteous.)‘Is there no one in this building who understands …’
(b) (Truculent.) You are the seventh young woman to whom I have explained my requirements …’
(c) (Involved.)‘One of your assistants – the name escapes me – sold me a book on bees to be sent to a friend in Spain, and charged to my brother in Scotland. I went straight home and sent you the corrected address – on a post card, I fancy – but the book has not yet arrived. Can you explain?’
(3)By letter. May be subdivided as follows:
(i)From suburban subscribers, usually written in pencil on the back of one of firm’s worse-typed letters, and frequently illegible.
(ii)From subscribers with measles or something equally microbial, who do not see why they should be prevented from returning library books in the usual way.