Grand Days

by Frank Moorhouse

  ‘Then you haven’t been to Zembla, by any chance?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could help us in our report if you have.’

  ‘I think I would know if I’d been to Zembla,’ she said grittily, glad of his silly question as a way of clambering some distance back from her embarrassment.

  ‘Lovely postage stamps. Triangles with pictures of their national casino. You must have seen their stamps?’

  She did remember triangular stamps but thought they were from Mozambique. ‘I know triangular stamps from Mozambique.’

  A long way off in the haze of her first day, a foghorn of warning sounded about this Liverright and she became uneasy.

  Liverright chattered on, ‘Historically, Zembla is a natural ally of Rumania. Has a sizeable industrial region. I spent every summer there during Cambridge vac. Learned the language, all that. Charming. Has no word for “war”. Twenty-five different words for “drunk on wine”.’

  ‘All right,’ said Ambrose, ‘enough is enough.’ He turned to her. ‘Liverright’s from Translating and he’s pulling your leg, Berry.’

  She blushed. There was some gentle laughter.

  But she didn’t know about what he was pulling her leg — the language of Zembla or the existence of any such place?

  Liverright from Translating smiled at her and said, ‘I was beginning to believe it myself. Sorry, Berry, welcome. Just wanted to show you we aren’t all earnest-minded officials here, like this bunch around the table. If you want fun, come along to Translating. Once again — sorry.’

  ‘A new girl is fair game,’ she said. ‘Although at my school, while new girls were not to be encouraged, nor were they to be teased or baited.’ She wondered how many times she would have to use that. Ambrose gave a small smile to her.

  ‘Well said,’ called Figgis from Social Questions.

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ Ambrose said, after glancing to her to see that she was all right. She was still burning from the leg-pulling.

  The meeting moved on without elucidation of the question of Zembla, and, if she could in any way avoid it, she was not going to ask.

  The woman from Information started the discussion. ‘It’s obviously out of the question to move Information away from the Palais. We have to be where people can find us and we can find them.’

  ‘What happened to the plan to build an extension on the tennis court?’ Political asked.

  ‘Not the tennis court!’ said Dr Joshi, jovially. He was Indian, and from Health. ‘Save the courts. I would rather doss three to a room than lose the courts.’

  ‘This is not a sporting club, Doctor,’ said Liverright. ‘Although sometimes I am confused.’

  Edith began to feel at home. She knew about committee wits and their butts.

  ‘Building on the tennis court was looked at and found to be too expensive,’ said Lloyd from the Building Committee.

  ‘Economic would have to stay here,’ said Economic. ‘We consult the library far more frequently than, say, Refugees.’

  Joshi from Health pointed out that their section had moved twice already. ‘And may I be sentimental?’

  ‘You may be sentimental,’ said Ambrose. ‘Continue in a sentimental vein, Doctor.’

  ‘Our chaps are spending a good deal of time away on missions in foreign countries, out in the deserts and jungles, so to speak, and when they return, well, they feel like being back in the thick of things and catching up. Corridor chats and so on. Cups of tea. So we would like to stay here in the Palais and feel that it was our home.’

  ‘Very moving,’ said Liverright.

  Political said, ‘I take it that the rule will prevail that a member of section is entitled to an office of his own?’

  Ambrose said the Secretary-General was committed to that rule, hence the new accommodation.

  Figgis from Social Questions said the rule also seemed to apply more to the men than to the women members of section. In Social Questions sometimes three members of section worked in one office.

  ‘Women are more accustomed to working in coteries,’ Liverright said. ‘Sewing circles, that sort of thing. And covens.’

  Everyone laughed and Edith was pulled along by the laughter and the camaraderie, glad to be seen laughing along with them although as a general rule she believed minutes secretaries should not serve as audience to committee members.

  Figgis said, ‘I would have thought men were more used to working together — in secret cabals and smoke-filled rooms.’

  ‘What is the collective noun for a flock of women in Social Questions?’ said Political.

  ‘A Concern of Social Questions. They are known as a “concern”. As in a “going concern”,’ said Liverright from Translating. ‘As in “going to the Annex”.’

  More laughter.

  ‘Come on, chaps, down to business,’ Ambrose said.

  ‘There are the loners — people working on projects who are not really part of a section team,’ said Political. ‘They could perhaps be moved away from the Palais.’

  ‘Wouldn’t think there could be sixty of such,’ said Ambrose, ‘but we could follow up on that.’ He half-turned to Edith to make sure she’d noted it.

  Mandates asked if he could have the floor. Ambrose nodded.

  Mandates said that he had been authorised by his Director to say that the moving of the Mandate section to the Annex would be firmly opposed.

  Edith felt a tension enter the sub-committee. Back in Australia, she and John Latham had taken an interest in the Mandates section because Australia held New Guinea as a League Mandate. Members of this Section had been a little too enthusiastic in collecting evidence on the performance of the governing country from sources other than officials of the country, causing some unease among the mandate powers.

  ‘On what grounds, then, does Mandates so strenuously oppose going to the Annex?’ Ambrose asked, nodding in her direction, as if to say, get this down in full.

  Mandates ran through a list of objections. ‘For instance, the question of the mandate of Iraq will be coming up at the next Assembly and we need to be situated close to the Council during that debate.’

  ‘The chaps who ride camels,’ said Political, ‘and who eat dust and flies.’

  ‘And in the case of Syria,’ said Liverright, ‘we have the chaps who eat snails and frogs watching over the chaps who eat dust and flies.’

  Edith enjoyed the irreverence while not smiling herself.

  Mandates went on, ‘May I continue, Major?’

  ‘Settle down, everyone,’ said Ambrose.

  ‘Finally, there is something I wish to say that doesn’t have to go in the minutes.’ Mandates glanced at Edith.

  Edith bridled. She did not like people instructing her on what should or should not go in minutes. Minutes were a legal record.

  She glanced at Ambrose who gave no indication that he saw the contention, so she spoke. ‘I feel that anything of substance said at this meeting should be in the legal record.’

  Mandates pulled a face of surprise. ‘For God’s sake, Madam Minutes Secretary, this is simply a sub-committee talking about the allocation of rooms.’

  Edith swallowed, gripped her pencil, and said, looking straight at him, ‘My name is Edith Campbell Berry.’ She then turned making a silent appeal to Ambrose.

  He said, ‘I rule that anything of substance goes into the minutes.’

  She did not say it, but it was also her experience that only the minutes truly remembered. Committees had faulty memories. ‘One more thing, if I may, Mr Chairman?’ Edith said, relishing speaking out, feeling the relaxation which always came to her once she had managed to speak.

  ‘Speak, Madam Secretary, speak.’

  ‘This meeting may only be about the allocation of rooms, but how we set ourselves up in buildings is a portrait of ourselves. More than that, even, it is an assertion of the gravity and spirit of the covenant.’ She then said quietly, so that it didn’t sound pretentious, ‘The physicals incorporate the phi
losophical.’

  ‘Nicely put,’ someone said.

  ‘We could adjourn and talk among ourselves,’ Mandates said, persisting, ‘or does Madam Minutes Secretary, Edith Campbell Berry, have objections to that also?’

  Ambrose laughed loudly, perhaps to break the tension. ‘I have ruled that everything said is for the record.’

  Mandates continued on, unhappily, ‘We fear that to move Mandates out of the Palais could be understood by the delegates as being a punishment of Mandates. In a sense, it will be seen as being thrown out of the Palais. Downgraded.’

  ‘We won’t sack you,’ Joshi said. ‘Someone has to stop those black chaps eating each other.’

  Edith suppressed her smile. She was curious that Joshi didn’t see himself as black. And she also noted to herself that she had never seen a black man on a committee before in her life.

  Ambrose said, ‘At the start of the meeting I told you that Sir Eric is adamant that moving to the Annex should not be seen as derogatory.’

  ‘It’s the way it will be seen. I have one other thing to say. Most of us here have heard that the Annex is damp and is not a particularly wholesome environment.’

  Lloyd broke in to say that maintenance work would be done to correct those problems.

  ‘Be that as it may, two of our ladies have been seriously ill in the last two months. Mademoiselle Bonna is convalescing. Miss Elwood, whose health is never strong, is completely run down at present and has been under great nervous strain. She is threatened by breakdown. I must add that the rumours about the future of the Mandates Section have contributed to her condition. It would be a calamity for these two ladies to be housed in anything but satisfactory accommodation.’

  Edith bridled again. She suspected the men in Mandates were hiding behind a sickly women argument.

  This time she must have allowed an expression of irritation and incredulity to pass across her face.

  ‘Does Edith Campbell Berry have a comment?’ Mandates said testily. ‘Perhaps Australian women are made of more rugged stuff?’

  ‘I know nothing of the personnel problems of Mandates,’ Edith came back, ‘and I know of no medical data supporting the argument that women necessarily suffer more than men from damp.’

  She would let the covert slight against the femininity of Australian women pass. For now.

  She saw Liverright pull a so-take-that face at Mandates. But she also began to fall apart inside. I am here less than a day and I have already made an enemy of Mandates, my favourite section. And I have behaved improperly as a minutes secretary by grimacing, and I have been made to look a fool about Zembla. Top day. First-rate beginning.

  Ambrose stepped in. ‘Berry is a member of section and she is entitled to an opinion and to courtesy.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Figgis.

  ‘No,’ she said, gathering herself, ‘if I could add something, Major Westwood? I may be entitled to an opinion but I do apologise to Mandates. As minutes secretary, it is not my place to display unspoken snide reactions to what’s being said. I apologise to Mandates.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Mandates said, ‘and apology extended.’

  ‘Both of you, stand in the corner for five minutes,’ said Liverright.

  Ambrose tried to pull the meeting together. He asked around the table for the attitudes of the sections and services which had not spoken.

  Joshi leaned over to Liverright who seemed to be dozing off. ‘Wake up, Liverright. Suffering from the sleeping sickness?’ He winked at the others.

  Without opening his eyelids, Liverright replied, ‘It is not I who am suffering from sleeping sickness, Doctor. It is the rest of you who appear to suffer from insomnia.’

  He again won some laughter.

  ‘I have the funny feeling,’ said Ambrose, ‘that no one wants to go to our new Annex. I’ll ask for volunteers. Who’d like to take over a fine new building and live happily ever after?’

  He looked around the committee. They either looked down at their notes, or shook their heads as his gaze reached them.

  ‘No one?’

  As they all sat in adamant silence, Edith looked around at them. I can handle this crew, she thought, I am not fazed by these people. But it had not been a smooth beginning.

  ‘We could draw lots,’ Dr Joshi said.

  ‘Coward’s castle,’ said Ambrose. ‘I’ll report back to Sir Eric that his Papal commission having thoroughly investigated all evidence, rules that the souls of the blessed saints do come face to face with the Divine Essence at the moment of sainthood.’

  There were chuckles as people sat happily slumped in the impasse, as if it were an achievement.

  Edith thought that given that no section wanted to go to the Annex, which must have been pretty much known before the meeting, there was, in fact, no decision that this committee could have reached — unless some sections ganged up on one section and threw it out of the Palais. For this committee the problem was insoluble. It was the wrong committee for the problem.

  She put down her pencil. It clattered and the committee looked to her, as did Ambrose.

  ‘Our minutes secretary has spoken,’ said Ambrose. ‘This meeting is closed.’

  People gathered their papers and began to leave. But most of them came over to welcome her personally.

  The two women came to her and told her not to take too much notice of Liverright’s joking or Mandate’s irritability. ‘Liverright’s a smart aleck,’ Figgis said. They both said that they would contact her and invite her to tea.

  As the two women stood there talking to her, she was aware that Liverright was also waiting back.

  When they’d gone, he came over to her. ‘Hope you weren’t offended.’

  ‘I can take a joshing.’

  ‘Good.’ He said lamely, ‘I hope I see you about the place.’ He then said, ‘Do call in,’ with a charm which changed it from a courtesy to a personal proposition. He shambled off.

  Her first day and her first approach of that sort from a young man. She was conscious that Ambrose was eavesdropping.

  Ambrose and she were left in the room. She liked the aftermath of committee meetings, the sudden relaxing into informality as the gathering was reduced to those who were allies, or to those who were linked together as officials of the situation. Now she was left with her new friend who at the same time was an allied functionary — the chairman and the minutes secretary.

  ‘Somewhat of a flop,’ he said. ‘Hope you don’t judge the Secretariat by this meeting.’

  ‘I was somewhat of a flop as well. Sorry.’

  ‘You weren’t! Not at all. I thought you were precisely correct. Handled it all well.’

  She needed to believe him but couldn’t decently seek any further assurance. She said, ‘It was not the right committee for the sort of decision we had to make,’ hoping to repair her position by saying something of merit.

  ‘Who should make it?’

  ‘You and I should’ve made it,’ she joked.

  ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Make a recommendation? On what authority?’

  ‘Oh, we could say that following the impasse of the meeting the secretary and chairman make the following recommendation, blah blah.’

  ‘Could you and I agree?’

  ‘Let’s try. Who would you send to the Annex?’

  ‘On the evidence of this one meeting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And bring down on my head the wrath of whatever section we send to Siberia?’

  He laughed. ‘And upon my head as well.’

  ‘Translating can go for a start. As punishment for japing me.’

  Ambrose pursed his lips. ‘A very good idea indeed.’

  It was too soon to admit it as a fully certain idea, but Edith already sensed romantic competition for her between Ambrose and Liverright. She said, ‘After all, Translating is not dealing directly with delegates, only with documents,’ trying to make it sound a rational suggestion.

  ‘Fine, we send
Translating to the Annex,’ said Ambrose. ‘Write it down. Bundle off Liverright and his gang.’

  She laughed. ‘I suppose I could punish Mandates as well. But that would be unfair.’

  ‘You would have the death of two fine ladies on your conscience. We will send Translating. We shall wage utter war on Translating,’ Ambrose said, looking to her as he echoed their time on the train.

  She smiled at him and gathered her things.

  After the meeting she went to the library and surreptitiously looked up Zembla in the atlas and encyclopedia and could not find it. Zembla was, then, a fictitious country.

  She sat there staring at the encyclopedia in painful consternation. What if she had claimed to know Zembla in the meeting? As, in fact, she nearly had. She would have been a laughing stock. She would have been the laughing stock of the League of Nations. It would have dogged her days for ever. She may well have been laughed out of the Secretariat. She saw it now as a particularly cruel jape. Maybe this man Liverright had not foreseen its potential consequences or maybe it had been a test. Perhaps they’d all planned it before the meeting. Was Ambrose part of it? While she was filled with relief at having somehow escaped, she was, at the same time, alive to the terror which came from having been so close to professional disaster. She also felt wary and isolated. She felt slightly queasy. She wiped perspiration from the palms of her hands with her handkerchief. She had nearly ruined her career. She would be very careful of this man Liverright — more wisely, she should befriend him. But she would not forgive him for having placed her at such perilous risk. She would also determine if it had been preplanned and whether Ambrose was part of it all.

  After sitting for a minute, she took a deep breath and went on with her work. She took down the staff lists and counted the staff in Translating and Précis-writing and saw that they would fit neatly into the Annex. The Way of Numbers.