Business as Usual Read online

  September 1st

  Fane university close Edinburgh

  Safely established at Minerva lots of letters follow

  love,

  Hilary

  Minerva Hotel

  Beddington Square

  W2

  September 1st

  Basil Dear,

  I’ve arrived, and the country post goes in five minutes. I don’t like this hotel much. My bedroom is hung round with miniatory17 notices:

  No Washing or Drying of Garments May Be Done in the Bedrooms

  Guests are Requested to Observe Economy in the Use of Electric light.

  One Day’s Notice Must Be Given Before Leaving: Otherwise Rooms Will Be Charged For.

  Their cumulative effect is shattering. Write me a long letter, not too obstetric.

  Good-night: bless you,

  Hilary

  Minerva Hotel

  Beddington Square

  W2

  September 2nd

  To: –

  The Advertiser

  Box 3141

  Daily Post

  Sir,

  In reply to your advertisement of to-day’s date offering a ‘Lucrative Position to a Woman of Personality’, I beg to apply for the post in question.

  I am twenty-seven years of age, educated at Homedean School and Lady Hilda’s College, Oxford, where I obtained an Honours Degree (Class II) in History.

  For three years I was Assistant History Mistress at Glengyle High School for Girls, near Glasgow, and since then I have had considerable and varied secretarial experience. I have also acted as one of the Librarians at the Municipal Library, Corstorphine, Edinburgh. This post I held for two years, and left it solely because recent conditions necessitated a reduction in staff.

  You do not state what qualifications are required, but I am confident that my general training would enable me to acquire any special knowledge easily and quickly. I am capable of taking responsibility and anxious for it.

  I shall appreciate the favour of a personal interview at your convenience. Further particulars as to salary, hours, and nature of the employment offered would be welcome.

  Yours faithfully,

  Hilary Fane

  The Minerva

  September 5th

  My Dearest Family,

  I’ve been too busy for a mid-week letter, but I hope you liked the Houses of Parliament. The Minerva doesn’t print postcards of itself, or I’d have put the proverbial cross below my window. Not that I’ve been there much: I’ve been chasing jobs, and heard of several, though I haven’t actually got one yet.

  Two interviews with possible employers are pending, though, and I do think that’s encouraging, don’t you? It’s not as if I were hard to please. Almost any interesting job would do for a year. At about four pounds a week, I thought. After all, I’m not proposing to make a life-work of it.

  I promise, though, that I won’t hunt indefinitely. If nothing materialises you’ll have me back in six weeks. (Don’t count on that, of course, with two interviews to-morrow.)

  Which shall I be, Confidential Secretary to a Psycho-therapeutist, or a Woman of Personality in a Business Concern? Both seem to think that I may be just the woman for them, and both use extremely impressive notepaper. And both promise Substantial Remuneration to the Right Personality.

  On the whole, I think that the Business Concern would be best. The Psycho-therapeutist might clamour for shorthand, which would be so difficult. One may bluff about most qualifications, but one just either knows shorthand or not. And in my case not.

  Good-night, my dears. I’ll try to write fairly often once things settle down. In the meantime don’t mind if my letters just let you know that I’m well and happy.

  Hilary

  Minerva

  September 6th

  

  From which you’ll gather, darling, that I’ve retired to bed. I do understand now why it is that the Unemployed need to rest so much in the intervals of Genuinely seeking Work. It’s just terribly exhausting. I’ve tried everything, from the grander kind of Advisory Bureau which caters for the University Woman to the Advertisements in the daily press and the Labour Exchange. No results so far.

  I used to think that I’d a qualification or two: (they paid me rather heavily to teach History to the daughters of gentlemen.) But now, I doubt it. I started out, all buoyed up, for the Advisory place. They instantly charged me a fee, and then said that if I had capital to invest in training as a Decorator, Nurse, Window-dresser or Masseuse, they would be pleased to help me. So then I pointed out that I expected people to pay me. They gave me one look and said: ‘In that case we don’t think you’ve much chance. Still, you might try the Labour Exchange.’

  Words passed. I began to think that a few pennyworth of stamps would be cheaper than expert advice. And said so. And swep’ out. I went home, with the Daily Post – our paper – while my rage was still on me, and turned to the Situations Vacant. There were several exciting offers which began: ‘Lucrative Position for Woman of Personality’, and I felt sure that there couldn’t be enough Women of Personality to go round them all. And wrote to ten, as impressively as possible. You remember that bit of typing I did for you in the summer? It may surprise you to know that it figures as ‘considerable and varied secretarial experience!’ So far only two of the advertisers have taken any notice. And to-day I went to interview them both.

  Not a success, Basil, either of those interviews. I sat at the end of the first queue for an hour; then I was shown into a split-new office, where a beautiful and surprisingly cordial young man greeted me and offered a buoyant arm-chair. I sat into it, and he began to talk about Personality, Opportunity, and Ideals in Business. He went on for a long time, with suitable gesture, and I could neither get away nor bring him to the point.

  Eventually it proved to be Corsets. It was further conveyed to me that I was expected to put down thirty pounds – what with one thing and what with another – for the privilege of selling them. The serpent said that it was a mere nothing ‘compared to the profits’. And he seemed to think that I’d have quite a success with the Stout Gents’ Belting. I don’t doubt it, but I feel that with your prejudice against women in business you could hardly be expected to welcome the idea of me in Gents’ Corsetry.

  So I explained that I had neither thirty pounds nor a kind friend who would give or lend it, pawnable property nor sufficient faith to enter upon his sort of commercial venture. If his firm wanted me they could pay me to come to them. He dismissed me with evident nausea and sent for the dim spinster who had been before me in the queue.

  I went on to my next interview a little dashed. This time it was with a purveyor of Psycho-therapy. He had a perfectly normal (female) secretary, so that I wasn’t prepared to find him in a Biblical bath-robe, contemplating eternity in front of a Grecian vase with one lovely flower in it. I can’t think what my duties would have been, but the word ‘salary’ shocked him nearly as much as the Corset gentleman. He murmured (in one of those organ voices) that he could not EMPLOY anyone untrained, though for a consideration he might allow me to serve him. After an exchange of banalities we parted – again, my dear Basil, quite largely because of my dutiful feelings towards you.

  I made one more effort. I called on the Ever Ready Helpers. Have you heard of them?

  Got a problem? We’ll solve it!

  Need help?We’ll give it!

  Got a talent? We’ll use it!

  Lonely? We’ll find your twin soul!

  So marvellous, don’t you think? I paid half a crown for the privilege of laying my talents before them; but when they found that I didn’t ‘adore children’ and wouldn’t go and be a Mother’s Help in the country they rather lost interest. I said something about being a secretary-chauffeuse, and they said: ‘Oh, a secretary­-chauffeuse … Yes. But we’re afraid you’re not the type.’

  

  Finally, I went to the Labour Exchange. I felt that they at least might know of jobs with s
alaries attached and guaranteed respectable. Nobody’d call that place attractive, by the way. It’s one of those unpleasant, dark-brown rooms with hard chairs and clerks with colds: the walls are hung with curling, dirty notices, all about Life in the Colonies, and a framed copy of the GFS18 Words to Girls Travelling. About half a dozen of us were waiting: different ages, shapes and sizes but all depressed. It was rather like the Out patients at Christophers – but undisinfected.

  We waited … for Hours. I was the last. When I was brought up before the Powers – two thin women – they asked me what kind of a job I wanted. I said: ‘Oh, almost anything’, and they cheered up. But when they found that I wasn’t a cook they were terribly short with me. I asked if there weren’t any other sort of places, and they looked me up and down and said darkly that it all depended. They had placed twenty people from Wales last week, but I was more difficult. (I hadn’t the courage to ask why.) At last somebody had an idea. They suggested that I might be a Good Saleswoman. And what about a Bookshop? A degree, they said, would matter less there. It might almost cease to be a disadvantage.

  Anyway, there are two definite openings! Messrs Brown’s Universal Bookshop requires young ladies for their library, and there is another vacancy in Everyman’s Stores. I’ve applied for both.

  What sent my temperature rocketing up I don’t know; but the main thing is to get it down in case either of them wants me. I’ve spent to-day recuperating, and it has stretched out beyond all recognition. I’ve slept a little, and read a little, and the hotel people have grudgingly brought up meals and clattered them down on my knees. Dreary meals, but possibly sustaining.

  To think that it’s less than a week since I left you, and that you didn’t want me to go and I might have stayed … Only, I know I couldn’t wait for you if I were idle, sitting about and trying to fill the gap between one lovely experience and another with those dreary little sociabilities that you despise as much as I do. I wish I had the kind of talents that you’d really like to have about the house, my lamb. It would all be so much simpler if my bent were music or if I could write. But it isn’t any use, Basil, I haven’t any talents; even my drawing’s always got me into trouble. I’ve just got undecorative ability and too much energy to be happy without a job.

  But – oh, dear!

  H

  Minerva Hotel

  Beddington Square

  W2

  September 9th, 1931

  To: –

  The Staff Supervisor

  Everyman’s Stores

  Oxford Street

  W1

  Madam,

  The Labour Exchange, Great Yarmouth Street, has informed me that you require an assistant in one of your departments, and I therefore venture to apply for the post, enclosing their introduction.

  I am twenty-seven years of age, and have had some secretarial experience. During the past two years I have been employed in the Municipal Library, Corstorphine, Edinburgh, but a reduction in staff has made it necessary for me to leave.

  I should be most grateful if you would consider my application: if you wish to see me, I can come for an interview at any time.

  Should you require testimonials I will send them, and I enclose a stamped and addressed envelope for a reply to this application at your convenience.

  Yours faithfully,

  Hilary Fane

  EVERYMAN’S STORES

  Oxford Street

  W1

  ‘Our business is your pleasure.’

  September 10th, 1931

  The Staff Supervisor will be glad if you will come and see her at the above address to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock.

  (Signed)

  M E Ward

  Staff Supervisor

  Miss Hilary Fane

  Minerva Hotel

  Beddington Square

  W2

  BT/MEW

  Telegram

  September 11th

  Fane university close Edinburgh.

  Got a job details follow.

  Hilary

  The Minerva

  Friday evening

  September 11th

  Basil Dear,

  I meant to write to you last night, but I waited, because I thought there might be a letter. And there was – a very sweet one. Bless you! But I don’t think one enjoys: ‘I told you so’ however beautifully it’s put. It isn’t true, either. I’VE GOT A JOB. So I won’t be coming to heel just yet.

  All the same, to be quite honest, I’m not so very pleased. I’d set my heart on the bookshop. It’s nearer my own line. But they wouldn’t have me. They said I was too tall; certainly all the people I saw to-ing and fro-ing were neat little creatures. The officials were gentle and kind, but utterly unencouraging: I didn’t venture to mention the word ‘waiting-list’. Besides, I’m not really prepared to wait.

  So I went on to Everyman’s, more or less as to my last hope. And it materialised, Basil, into an offer of work, immediate, whole-time, salaried work. For that I’m thankful. For the rest – well, one can’t judge yet.

  I began wrong, of course. I went in at the main entrance, and one of those large, buttoned men they keep loomed up at me and asked if he ‘might help, Madam?’

  I said: ‘Well, I’ve got an appointment with the Staff Supervisor’, and I think that his face went through the funniest transformation I’ve ever seen in my life. There was a sort of convulsion, and when it was over all the deference had gone. However, he did indicate a door with a curtain over it, and told me that if I went that way no doubt I should find someone to direct me. I got as far as the Supervisor’s room and then had another of those waits outside it, on a hard chair in a draughty passage. Finally I was summoned, and left alone with a large lady, very well girthed, in a room full of weighing­-machines and card-indexes. I stood meekly till she asked me to sit down, and began a series of questions, none of which seemed relevant. I kept my degree dark for quite a long time, but it shocked her less than I expected when I finally owned to it. She said, yes, they did take on some graduates now and then, but only as an experiment, of course. Titles were better value, I gathered.

  

  ‘A Large lady, very well girthed’

  Then she discovered that I’d done librarian’s work as well as teaching. That seemed to interest her, and she asked so many more questions that I thought a really exciting job might be forthcoming. It wasn’t. She ended the catechism by asking if I ‘liked gels’. I said that I didn’t, but that I could cope with them, and she told me blandly that if I realised how dull the work would be, and if, in spite of that, I really wanted the post, she could offer me £2:10:0 a week. So I goggled, but kept my head sufficiently to ask what exactly the work would be. She went vague at that, like everybody else, but said that perhaps I would do better on the Book Floor than in the Millinery, where they were also short­handed. I thought that sounded likely and said so, and she explained that I should probably not be in the selling department at all, of course, but somewhere behind the scenes. As a clerk. Somebody insignificant developed appendicitis last night, it seems. That’s why they’re taking me on.

  A clerk: it sounds dreary, but I daren’t refuse. It may lead to something, after all. (I wonder how many people get themselves landed for incredible years by that hope and by being too scared afterwards to throw up one job and look for another?) Anyway, I took it. I may have been a fool. I know there’s precious little prospect of advancement unless one’s head and shoulders better than the other people. But if I am, and if someone who matters notices it in time, I shall have my chance.

  Only, you can see why I’m not jubilant.

  Tell me about yourself. I expect you’re hideously busy now you’re back from that shooting party. I must say I was hurt when never a bird reached London, though, as you very properly pointed out, I wouldn’t have known what to do with game in a hotel.

  Is your assistant to be long away? I’m afraid you won’t have much chance of getting on with your book for a while. Or does diffic
ulty wake the same devil in you as it does in me, I wonder. (I don’t mean that for virtue. Rather the contrary.) Something cussed makes me lie flat on my back and purr when things go well. My sort of weakling can only get things done under opposition, I suppose. And that’s partly why I’m taking on this job, my lamb.

  They want me to begin on Monday: I must go to bed now. Good-night: I love you.

  Hilary

  PS – How long does it take to have appendicitis? Comfortably, I mean.

  From the Official Records of Messrs Everyman & Co

  APPLICATION FOR EMPLOYMENT

  Name (in full)Hilary Ervine Fane,

  Present AddressMinerva Hotel, Beddington Sq, W2

  Permanent Address University Close, Edinburgh

  Age Twenty-seven

  Nationality Scots

  Denomination

  Last EmploymentAssistant Librarian

  Department Municipal Library, Corstorphine, Edinburgh

  Cause and Date of Leaving Deductions in Staff. May 1931.

  Qualifications B.A. (Hons) Oxon. Three years teaching; two years librarian work. Typing. French and German.

  I, the undersigned, declare that these facts are, to the best of my knowledge, correct, and I agree to the following terms on which employment with Everyman’s Stores Limited, depends: –

  Salary 2:10:0 per weekHours 9-6

  Date of commencing WorkMonday, September 14th, 1931

  Employment may be terminated by one week’s notice from either party. In the event of any misdemeanour, this notice may be waived by the Company.

  (Signed) Hilary Ervine Fane

  Health and Unemployment cards must be handed to the Cashier on beginning work. Failure to do this involves a fine.

  Minerva Hotel

  September 12th

  Dearest Mummy and Daddy,

  Yes, it is rather a comfort, isn’t it? I’m glad that you thought the occasion called for a telegram in reply to mine. I have a suspicion, though, that you were subterraneously sad as well as pleased. I know what a lovely welcome you’d have given the prodigal if London hadn’t wanted her. And during the last week I’ll admit that I thought London was going to have nothing to do with me at all.