by ToClark
CHAPTER 16
Millar's retirement was the signal for a general reshuffle. Anderson was promoted to some position so high that nobody knew what it was, only that he disappeared from view altogether. Watkins was made up to Works Director and Folklore to Technical Director. The vacancy for a Technical Manager which was thus created was given to a nonentity from Head Office with whom the executive could think of nothing better to do and Grey was passed over. George was promoted from Plant Superintendant to Plant Supervisor.
Folklore's first act on the Monday morning of his new appointment was to fire Millar's secretary, something he had been pleasurably anticipating for some time. The lady, in a justifiable fit of pique fed the entire contents of Millar's filing system to Melksham's document destroyer and emptied the paper spaghetti in a heap on her late boss's office floor for Folklore to find when he took possession. She then walked out, never to be seen again, taking with her the Cona coffee machine which was her own property and the electric kettle which was not.
The chemists were reduced to a state of hysterics when Melksham dolefully passed on the news to them but Dave's mirth was cut short by unpleasant realisation.
"What's the matter?" Mike saw his change of expression.
"Our report!"
"Which report?"
"THE report!"
"Chapter one of our book?"
"That very one."
"Not..."
"I'm afraid so. Lying in a heap on Millar's floor all chewed up along with everything else."
"Well that's alright, isn't it. Folklore's secretary will just have to type it up again."
Dave shook his head sadly. "When Millar's secretary typed up the draft copy, I checked it through and sent it back for finishing. I tore up the manuscript. She never finished it - that draft was the only copy in existence."
"We still have the original data though."
"It would take just as long to rewrite the report as it did in the first place. I somehow can't see us finding the heart to start again."
"Oh well" Mike sighed mournfully "we would never have written a book, anyway."
"How come she was doing it in the first place?" asked Pat.
"Because Folklore's American Report was so long that it completely clogged up the system and any spare typing got passed on from Folklore's secretary to her. She didn't like it, but she couldn't really argue since Millar had just about given up and she hadn't anything much else to do."
George chose that moment to bounce gaily in through the doorway with a copy of the Good Book in his hand. "The Lord be praised!" he exclaimed, "I have been promoted to Plant Supervisor and Pete is doing the running, so I have time to bring the Word amongst you."
Dave, Mike and Pat turned upon him a united stare of icy hatred.
"Bugger off!"
"Yeah, get lost!"
"Drop dead!"
He stared with blank astonishment at the fury which vented itself upon him, muttered "God bless you" and fled back to his stock requisitions.
"I'll go and inform Grey" said Dave in the wake of his departure, "not that it'll do any good."
"Oh." Grey paused. He looked even more depressed than he had been before Dave had given him the news. "I'm sorry. You did a first class piece of work there. Worth ten of that fat old cunt's American Reports!"
He was taken aback, Grey rarely swore and then only in the mildest of terms. "You're not too happy either, are you?"
"Not very. I've done more for that obese pig upstairs and, I venture to add, for this department as a whole, than most people. And what do I get by way of recognition for ten years of dedicated work? They would rather have some goofy twit with striped trousers and braces who knows as much about foam technology as my aunt Fanny's fanny than to have me as manager. And for all His hot air that he did all he could to get me the promotion, I bet the self centred old git couldn't give two sucks at a monkey's chuff. Well, he can get jacked up as far as I am concerned, because I am here strictly for the pay cheque from now on and" he added "I am going to call him at home tomorrow to tell him I'm sick and won't be able to take him to Heathrow - at such short notice that he will have the choice of missing his flight or getting his wife to drive him there and she won't like that so her driving will be at its abysmal worst and she'll probably scare him half to death. I hope he starts an ulcer!" he concluded viciously.
"I'll say this much for Grey" he reported to the others, "when he gets mad, he has a beautiful turn of phrase!"
Folklore was sipping lukewarm instant coffee, carried by hand the several hundred yards from the canteen and half slopped into the saucer. The euphoric pleasure of sacking Millar's secretary had evaporated and the accumulating aftermath was threatening to give him indigestion. It had been particularly irritating to have to make soothing noises in the direction of the chemist over some insignificant report he had lost. He lingered over his ill humour for a few minutes before stabbing his finger down on his desktop buzzer, holding it there until the door opened. His secretary gagged over her coffee as the compelling snarl paralysed her mind and she almost ran the four paces to his door as the only means she had of stopping it, managing to compose her features by the time she stepped across the threshold except that a small twitch in the corner of her left eye betrayed her enough for Folklore to feel the familiar surge of moist pleasure which swept away his former mood.
"There is a patent dispute coming up which may depend upon documentary evidence from my filing system. Unfortunately, the date in question was around 1964 and everything predating 1965 was erroneously left behind at the other factory when we moved. Will you call Mr Happy and arrange to have him send it here for you to search through. And did you get the Executive Furniture catalogue I asked for? Good. Bring it to me."
He settled back in his chair and perused the luxury office suites with minute care and attention to detail. He was torn between two models which he considered to be in keeping with his importance, the one traditional and very plush, the other spectacularly modern without being garish and perhaps more suited to his image as the forward thinking go-ahead sophisticate. Unable to decide on aesthetic grounds, he eventually opted for the more expensive and at the same time made up his mind to have the Executive Intercom. system which went with it. This latter was a masterpiece of imagery, it had a desktop miniature telephone exchange and a device which enabled him to talk into an amplifier without the irksome necessity to hold a handset. Its ultimate refinement was a distinctive ringing tone so that the minion on the receiving end could be aware that his master required him and so would move all the faster to answer it.
"What did the Old Sod want?" enquired Mike. It was unusual for Dave to be summoned to Folklore's presence these days, indeed, they were hardly on speaking terms.
"I've been put out to grass" he replied sadly. "Taken off the Project and sentenced to a priority three job in the pilot plant."
"Well, you expected some reaction after your hard words when the Holding Stores went up."
"It's all Pat's now, though, and good luck to him!"
"What does Grey think?"
"He didn't say much. He's gone very subdued lately, but he was kind enough to point out that the Trotter & Globe contract has been running very successfully on the old Mark One formulation, which at least made Folklore look uncomfortable for a moment."
"Perhaps you're well out of it."
"In more ways than one, I think. Folklore's got me lined up for the Rees treatment."
"Rees treatment?"
"Nice chap. When I was first taken on, he was doing the job that I took over. Folklore got him to resign - I think because he was Doc. Edwards' assistant and he didn't adapt kindly to Folklore - he sort of held him responsible for Doc. Edwards' death in the E2 fire. I remember him warning me about Folklore, right at the beginning, only I didn't take too much notice at the time. It seems as though the wheel is coming full circle and now it's my turn. Mind you, there is a difference."
&
nbsp; "What's that?"
"Rees just gave up and went on his way. I intend to hang on and make a fight of it."
Pat came into the office. "Mr Mellow has just arrived." he announced.
"Who?"
"Our new master!"
"What's he like?"
"Mellow by name and, I suspect, mellow by nature. Sort of jovial, hail-fellow-well-met character. Wears a motheaten sports jacket and smokes a pipe. Looks like he's been living in a filing cabinet for a few years."
"I suppose we'll soon find out if he's any good" observed Mike, "if only by the volume of arguments Upstairs when Folklore starts throwing his weight about."
"Well, I'm not too optimistic from first acquaintance. I reckon he's a bit of a 'yes' man."
"That was good timing on Folklore's part" commented Mike, "putting you off the Project before the new man has even got his foot in the door."
Pat's eyelids rose. "What's happened?"
"I'm off the Project. I've been put to work on Sage's small machine in the pilot plant. Along with Bobski the alcoholic Pole" he added.
"Well, you don't agree with the way things are being run, do you. And you haven't exactly been diplomatic about it, either."
"No, but you do, I take it. Which is fine, because it's all yours, now."
"Humph!" Pat looked embarrassed. "I must go and see Grey about something."
"Beware the Ghost of Rees!" said Dave softly as he passed out of earshot.
"Ah, very good, you come to see Bobski, yes!" greeted him as he pushed open the pilot plant door to inspect the jumble of machinery within.
"Come to join you, old chap. I'm working on the small machine."
"Is good. Ernie getting fed up with chess because I always beat him. You and me can have good game, yes?"
"Why not. It's about time somebody thrashed the pants off you!"
"First, we have little celebration. I have Polish vodka." He produced an anonymous looking bottle from the back of the cupboard and poured a generous quantity into each of two paper cups.
"In my country, we drink straight", he eyed Dave expectantly.
"Good luck then!" and he swallowed the colourless liquid in one gulp. "Oh my God!" he wheezed, as a ball of fire erupted in the depths of his stomach and roared up the back of his throat. "What the Hell is in that stuff?"
"Is good, yes?" Bobski drained his cup. "I drink when TDI get on my chest. Which is nearly all time", he added. "Is only thing I know stop me coughing. I take him with Polish gherkin - make you feel much better. Here, have one." He produced a jar of pickled gherkins with eating instructions written in Polish on the label, unscrewed the lid and speared one with a throwing knife which he then held out for Dave to take directly into his mouth. As he chewed, a renewed, but subtly different incineration of his tastebuds began and he was only too grateful to seize the proffered cup which Bobski had refilled, to wash it down with. A great warmth was spreading through him. Maybe the pilot plant wasn't such a bad entombment after all.
"One for road" offered Bobski. "We drink in friendship, like so!" as he linked arms with Dave so that each drank behind the other's elbow. "Is long time since you come see Bobski. I think maybe you not my friend anymore. Now I know is not true." He held up the bottle. "Only little drop left is not worth it to keep. We finish" and he poured a large measure into Dave's cup, draining the remainder directly from the bottle.
"Here's to the Factories Act, which we have infringed right royally!" he offered, flamboyantly downing his grog. He coughed and came up for air just as a stranger entered, accompanied by Grey. He recognised him instantly from Pat's description.
"Dave" began Grey, "I'd like you to meet Mr Mellow, our new manager."
He stifled the giggle which the name 'Mellow' threatened to bring on and took the hand that was offered to him.
"Pleased to meet you" said Mellow in a voice which eminently suited the name. The idea struck Dave as comical but he had the wit to conceal his incipient giggle as a cough.
"Is this where you work?"
"I've just been promoted to the pilot plant. I'm working on Mr Thage's thmall mathine." He gestured in the direction of the machine which, ironically, was just about the largest in the place because Alf had made a mistake with the rotary sliderule and made all the running tanks ten times too big.
"Oh, I see" replied Mellow over his shoulder as Grey hastily steered him away in the direction of the laboratory, "dreadful lisp that poor fellow has."
"Who is that?" enquired Bobski.
"That ith our new both."
"Please, I go kiss him on both cheeks!" He took a step after the departing figures but Dave was able to restrain him.
"I don't think he would appreciate it, and bethides, he would smell the liquor on your breath. You play cheth with me instead."
"Is good. Bobski beat you!"
"You think tho?"
He laid out the board, offering white to Dave, who studied it with fierce concentration until the chessmen stopped moving and advanced a pawn thoughtfully. Bobski countered and he was about to move in with his bishop when it seemed to him that there were irregularities in his opponent's array of pieces. "You've got two thingth!" he protested.
Bobski stared at his crutch in sudden alarm. "My wife never say anything before!"
"Idiot bloody Pole! Thingth! Two thingth. Thethe thingth!" and he seized one of Bobski's two kings which suddenly merged into one as his hand touched them. "I think I need a little lie down. Feel a bit thick." He stood up, waited until the room stopped whirling round and then set off unsteadily in the direction of the Finished Product Stores to sleep it off in peace behind a pile of mouldings.
He might have slept the clock round had not Mike found him after a prolonged search. Even so, it took a lot of shaking and cheek slapping to bring him round and when his eyes finally did open they let in a splitting headache along with the daylight.
"How do you feel?"
"Need you ask?"
"Grey wants you in his office."
"Can't you tell him I've gone home sick, or something?"
"I don't think he would believe me."
"I don't know if I can stand up. That bloody Pole got me drunk."
"So I heard! Seems you can't hold your liquor - Bobski's alright."
"He's used to it. Half a bottle for breakfast every day!" He stood up, unsteadily. "I must have some water. Throat's like a badger's back yard. Will you tell him I'll be along in a few minutes, I'll go to the washroom and try to make myself a bit presentable."
"OK, but don't be too long, he's not in a very good mood."
Grey looked up with a curious mixture of rage and wry amusement as Dave entered his office with a noticeably ataxic gait and looking decidedly ill. "I take it you have sobered up."
"After a fashion."
"Mr Mellow has a false impression of you."
"He didn't exactly see me at my best, did he?"
"Thanks to me, he didn't see too much of you at all." Grey leaned forward sternly and glared with uncharacteristic annoyance "but unfortunately, he did see enough to be very embarassing."
"Oh?"
"He thinks that you have an impediment in your thpeech."
"Pardon?"
Grey reddened. "He thinks that you have a heavy lisp!"
"Why should he think that?"
"Because you were so plastered that you couldn't talk thtraight."
"It look like it's catching!"
"Very funny! Let me wise you up, Dave. Tomorrow morning, sharp at nine oclock, I shall be doing your annual assessment at which Mr Mellow wishes to be present, which leaves you with a problem to resolve between now and then."
"Which is?"
"Whether you spend the rest of your days lisping in his presence or else admit to being drunk on the premises, an offence for which you are liable to instant dismissal!"
"There's one more thing I must do today" said Dave after he had relayed the
details to Mike "and that is to join the Union. I think I might need a bit of protection."
"You could be right! You're off to sign up with Frank, then."
"That I f-f-fuckin' am! See you later."
He made his way to the front office block and the Chief Storeman, who was also the ACTS shop steward. Frank was lounging in his office chair, holding forth to one of his deputies. "...that f-f-fucking Sid Parslow's f-fuckin' missus has been going with that f-f-fucking f-fairy Collier from Dispatch. If you ask me, she wants f-f-f-fuckin' well f-f-ucking! Dozy f-fuckin' bitch!"
He rolled his own cigarettes and, despite continuous practice (his upper lip was rarely free of its adornment, in the best Andy Capp tradition) had patently failed to master the art. His roll-ups were invariably misshapen, bulbous things which emitted eruptions of smoke and ash, like a miniature Vesuvius, in time with his stutter. The front of his jacket was permanently bespattered with grey specks and streaks where he absently brushed away the accumulating debris with his hand. Dave recalled seeing him once at the annual Works 'do', immaculate from the rear in his best suit but just as dreadful as usual from the front.
"And what can we do f-for you, my old f-f-fucker?"
"I want to join the f-, the Union."
"Oh, you f-fuckin' do, do you by f-fuck! Well, I've been f-f-f-fuckin' shop steward of this f-fucking Union f-f-for three f-f-fucking years. Why haven't you come to see me before?"
"Because, by rights I should be an ASTMS member only there isn't a branch here. Besides, I haven't felt the need for solidarity and mutual protection quite as much as I do now."
"Getting a bit f-f-fuckin' draughty down your end of the f-f-fucking f-factory, is it?"
"You could f-, you could say that!"
"Suits me then! The more we are to f-fucking gether, the better I f-fuckin' like it." He passed a membership application form over to Dave. "F-fill her in, along with the salary deduction slip, let me have the f-fucker back and you're in with all the rights and priveliges of the best f-fuckin' Union in the f-fucking district."
"I'll do it here and now, if that's OK?" and he completed the details with a somewhat trembly hand while Frank continued his interrupted monologue.
"...if-f you ask me though, if Sid f-f-fucking Parslow spent more of his f-fuckin' time looking after his f-fuckin' missus, he wouldn't have the f-f-fucking f-f-fucking trouble he's f-fuckin' well got now!"
At exactly 0900 hours the following morning, Grey accompanied by Dave, knocked on the door of Folklore's old office and entered to find Mr Mellow seated behind Folklore's old desk, sucking ruminantly at an unlit pipe.
"We've come to do Dave's annual assessment."
"Do make yourselves comfortable! I should explain", he addressed to Dave "that I wanted to be present in order to help to acquaint myself with my new staff and this seemed to be an ideal opportunity. Unless you have any objection, that is?"
"It's all the same to me. It is Mr Grey who is making the assessment, though?"
"Quite so. I have agreed and rubber stamped his observations, but that is a purely nominal function at this stage - after all, I do not know you."
"That's straightforward enough, then."
Mellow's brow creased and he eyed Dave thoughtfully. "By the way, I hope you won't be offended, but yesterday, when I met you, didn't you have a bit of a lisp?"
Grey rolled his eyes heavenward and pretended to be elsewhere.
"Yes, but I've been having thpeech serapy!"
"Oh, I see. Humph, er, well then - do carry on as if I were not here" and he retreated quizzically behind his pipe.
"To begin with, then, here is your assessment form." Grey slid a blue sheet of paper across the desk to Dave. "I have got the name correct? Spelt properly?" He made an aside to Mellow, "I'm being rather formal for your benefit."
"Yes, you have got the right name", he replied with more than a hint of weariness in his voice.
"Oh, good!" Grey cleared his throat self consciously. "Perhaps you'd like to read my comments and then tell me whther you accept them as fair and reasonable, or whether you have any objection or observations of your own to make."
He read swiftly through the half dozen lines of typescript. It was the usual bland, noncommital comment such as a teacher might write on a school report when he could not remember who the pupil was. The sting was the phrase 'tends to be outspoken and inflexible in his views' tacked on at the end.
"It reads almost exactly the same as last year except for the last bit. I take it that Folklore had it added on after I spoke my mind at the time of the Holding Stores fire?"
Grey looked uncomfortable but refused to be drawn. "You will agree that you stick to your opinions once they are formed, though?"
"Certainly. Unless I get evidence to the contrary."
"You agree to my comments, then?"
"If by that, you mean 'inflexible and outspoken' constitutes having a mind of my own, then I suppose I do."
"I could reword it slightly."
"I shouldn't bother!"
"You will notice" Grey moved on hastily "that we have given you a 'C' grading this year as opposed to a 'B' last time. May I remind you of the categories in the grading system? (Just being formal)" he slid out of the side of his mouth to Mellow.
"'A' is the highest rating it is possible to get. It is virtually never awarded and more or less means that you are a genius."
"'B' is an excellent performance, quite out of the ordinary and you earned it last year on the basis of your work on the Project."
"'C' is very satisfactory and you have been given it this year because you have not done quite so well. Hardly surprising and not your fault in that you can hardly expect to have two consecutive years as good as last."
"'D' is average and 'E' is unsatisfactory, I add to complete the picture." He paused. "Any comments? Observations? Anything you would like to say? There is a space allotted for your comments, if you have any."
Dave shook his head. "You want me to sign it?"
"Not yet. I will get the comment about your inflexibility amended in the light of your feelings and you can sign afterwards."
"Good! Now that that is out of the way" interjected Mellow, "perhaps we can have a little chat about what you are doing."
"I've just been given a priority three job in the pilot plant."
"By whom?"
"Mr Folklore. He saw me yesterday, before you arrived."
Mellow raised his eyebrows and sucked thoughtfully at his pipe. "Why did he do that, I wonder?"
"Probably because I am inflexible and outspoken."
"And have you been?"
"Shall we say that I haven't been toeing the party line lately."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I take it you are aware that we are attempting to increase the tear strength of our flame retardent foam in order to extend its range of potential applications?"
Mellow nodded and took a firmer grip on his pipe.
"It is my opinion, based on the experience of experiments too numerous to detail, that the property we seek, to whit, flame retardence, is linked in with the molecular structure which also controls the tensile and tear strength of the material and that to continue as we have been doing is simply a waste of time, effort and money. I think that Mr Grey agrees with me."
Grey looked uncomfortable again. "I agree with you in part, but as it is our job to solve problems, I don't accept that we should give up."
"I didn't quite say that but I think that we should stop these expensive and futile Plant runs. And that", he said to Mellow, "is where I am at issue with Mr Folklore and hence my relegation to the pilot plant."
Mellow put a match to his pipe and produced a fair imitation of the 'Coronation Scot Steaming out of Euston' before asking Dave to leave so that he could discuss something personal with Grey.
Pat and Mike were wrestling with the 'Telegraph' crossword when he reached the office.
"Had
your assessment, then?" enquired Mike.
"I have. I am outspoken and inflexible and I have got a 'C'. Have you had yours yet?"
"We had them yesterday while you were in your cups."
"How did you get on?"
"I got a 'B'. So did Pat."
He paused to take stock and felt the anger beginning to grow inside him. He cast his eye around the room while Pat and Mike watched him curiously. He opened the window very gently before picking up a litre bottle of catalyst which a salesman had left some months ago for evaluation and which had become forgotten in a corner beside the coatstand. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it with minute care, polishing it until it sparkled. He held it up to the light of the open window to study the contents, gave one more wipe and then hurled it with all his might into the car park where it burst like a bomb, scattering glass far and wide and releasing a smell of chemicals. He closed the window carefully so that it made hardly a sound before dusting his hands together and walking out without saying another word.
"I think 4 down is 'tinkle'", said Pat thoughtfully.
He erupted into Grey's office, snatched the P & R Weekly from hands which had only just picked it up and threw it down on the desk. "How come the others get a 'B' and I get a 'C'?" he demanded.
Grey was startled. "You shouldn't make comparisons."
"Like Hell! Have I done any worse than them?"
"Well..."
"Was it your idea to give me a 'C', or was it His?"
"Folklore and I discussed it and that was our conclusion."
"Right. I'm going to see the fat bastard and get it from his own slobbery lips!"
"Why don't you calm down?"
"Give me one good reason why I should?"
"I'd better come with you" sighed Grey.
He stomped along the corridor and upstairs to Millar's old office, ignored the secretary, crashed his knuckles against Folklore's door and marched in, closely followed by Grey, who was slightly out of breath. Folklore was seated at his newly delivered, super luxury desk, admiring his new intercom. system which looked most impressive but had still to be connected up. One glance at Dave's face was enough and he switched on his most soothing expression.
"Do come in and sit down, gentlemen." He folded his pink, clean hands on the red plush surface of his immaculate desk so that his monogrammed, mother-of-pearl cufflinks (now accompanied by a matching tie pin, bought for him by Mrs. Folklore to celebrate his Directorship) showed to best advantage. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I would like to know" ground out Dave "why I get a 'C' for my assessment when everybody else gets a 'B'?"
Folklore looked full of sympathetic sadness. "I can quite understand how you feel, but you know, the assessment is supposed to be a confidential document and is not intended for comparisons to be drawn between members of staff, for reasons which I am sure you are beginning to appreciate."
"That doesn't answer my question."
He made a soothing gesture with his hand. "Well, as you yourself must realise, your work has not been so successful as it has been. That is why I have taken you off the Project on to other work. I think that you are a little stale, you have been on the one job for too long."
"Not stale" Dave returned sharply, "just happening to disagree with you."
"If you must put it like that, I don't see how I can dissuade you." He sighed with paternalistic concern. "In any case, it hardly matters - these assessments are rarely referred to, they just reside in a filing cabinet from one year to the next."
"Oh yes? What happens when there's a promotion in the offing? So they rake them out and the first thing they do is to compare the ratings!"
"No, no, no! I can assure you that the rating is just one of many factors which are taken into consideration when the person's overall suitability for a particular post is decided."
"You'll have a job to convince me of that! Anyway, I'm not signing it until I get an adequate explanation of why I am being downgraded in comparison to my peers. If you consider that my work has been lacking in comparison to theirs, then you'd better come out with it - and you make it good!"
"I really can't see why you are so upset about this. 'C' is still a very good grading, you know." He sighed again. "While we are on the subject of promotions, I have a report here from Smith which strongly recommends that we increase our Technical strength at the Other Factory. That means someone to lead that effort and I did have you very much in mind for it, but if you don't sign your assessment then I don't see that I can do anything for you - it would cause problems in the Personnel Department and even if I agreed to it, they couldn't sanction it."
"You might say that now, but if such a possibility exists I would have to compete for it on unequal terms with Pat and Mike."
Folklore smiled paternally. "I need Pat to run the Project here and Mike's expertise can only be used in conjunction with the instruments lab. which we have no intention of moving. So that only leaves you, that is, if you are interested and, of course, if your documents are all in order at the Personnel Office. He nodded to Grey who had grabbed the modified assessment form from where it had been lying at the top of Folklore's secretary's 'in ' tray on the way in. He laid it on the desk and Dave could read at a glance that he was now 'inflexible and outspoken sometimes'.
He reached out for one of Folklore's Shaeffers, changed his mind and felt in his pocket for a biro, thinking of Howell, a sunny hillside and the peace of a far distant factory.
I was forged in the White Heat of the Technological Revolution"
The Author
