Sample

Henry’s story

Henry Doncaster loved his job, or so he thought. Twenty years ago, after leaving school he had decided on a career in banking. At the time this seemed to offer everything that he wanted, a regular income, and stability together with prospects of advancement. Although the war with Germany had been over for some years it had nevertheless left the country with some feelings of economic uncertainty as governments struggled to revive the Nation’s prosperity. At about the same time he met Marjorie, a few years younger, and soon after they became married. Like every other married couple there were times when things went well and other times when not so well. Even so their marriage was a success. They enjoyed doing lots of things together, as well as some things apart. Henry had always considered himself more studious and somewhat more introvert while Marjorie was always more outgoing and gregarious. Henry liked his books and newspapers and led a very ordered life. His characteristic attention to detail was often seen as obsessive, only to be complemented by his wife’s more relaxed style and easy going manner. Every day, in keeping with thousands of other people, they went through their usual routine in preparation for work.
    It was an early day in June and already daylight in the sleepy country village where they had lived for most of their married life. By now the dawn chorus had already come and gone and the day was beginning to unfold like any other Monday. Marjorie would usually wake up first. Once Henry was awake there seemed little point in staying in bed for either of them. Although they set an alarm clock every evening, it seldom was needed, and, it didn’t have a very nice sound anyway. Today’s breakfast had already been meticulously prepared the night before and it was simply a matter for Henry to finish his toast and coffee before saying goodbye to Marjorie and drive off to the local railway station to catch his usual 7.45 train to the office. Already we can see that Henry was no different to the thousands of other people doing exactly the same thing, time after time, each day. Once on the train, he might catch a glimpse of one or two of his neighbours, or maybe the pretty young girl who sometimes smiled at him. Where did she work? What did she do? What were her secrets? As soon as the train was in motion, he could switch off from his world of urban normality and enter the dreamlike state in which fantasy and reality became one, occasionally punctuated by the sound of a fellow passenger’s walkman radio, or a visit by the ticket inspector. At the age of fifty-two, Henry was a happy man. He knew he was a happy man, after all, why should he be anything else? For the last twenty years he had worked at the Central Bank Securities office in Whitechapel London, in the Transfer and Holding department. It was soon after starting that he met Marjorie, who was then working in the Staff Records office. It had been love at first sight and after a short courtship and marriage they had decided to set up home in the country. It was a pleasant house, not too big, neatly furnished, a house where you felt comfortable and at home as soon as you walked through the front door. The house conveyed a sense of order, a sense of comfort. Everything was where you might expect it to be. Somehow before you opened any door you had a feeling that you knew exactly what would be on the other side. Henry’s taste for older furniture had blended well over the years with Marjorie’s sense of colour and soft furnishing. Indeed they were a perfect couple living very much in the present while retaining a firm belief in older values and styles of comfort. Over the years, they had often talked about having children but somehow it was never to be. This was an area where both of them were happy to let fate control their lives, and they were happy to reconcile themselves to this consequence. Due to his dedication over the years, Henry’s position at work had improved. He had always worked hard, and as he became better off it was eventually possible for Marjorie to leave work, developing other interests in and around the home. Henry was very content with this arrangement. He never really wanted her to work after they were married and he quite liked the idea of her leading a more independent lifestyle.
     Soon the train would be arriving at its destination. He had read his morning newspaper, but for some reason Henry found himself unable to relax back into his trance-like state for the last few miles of the journey. The pretty young girl had not got into her usual carriage. He could see the bright red sun through a hazy mist, just beginning to rise above the drab buildings that so inexorably seemed to represent his other city life. Occasionally he could see the fleeting image of the early morning workers as they arrived at their desks. What could they see of him and the other passengers as the train sped by? A life surrounded by commerce, of responsibility, of activity and yet a life where he had not made very many close friends. By now the train was starting to slow down. He carefully folded his newspaper and reached for his briefcase, which was beside him on the carriage floor. Suddenly as the train drew to a halt he could not believe his eyes. He was wearing odd socks, not only odd, but very odd. In a normal way this would not present a problem. Henry’s taste in socks could never have been described as adventurous. Earlier in the year Marjorie’s younger sister Maureen had given Henry a pair of Bart Simpsons for his birthday. He never really liked them, or indeed, had the courage to wear them. Since then they had mysteriously become relegated to the bottom of the pile in his dressing table, their bright yellow and orange colours languishing beneath the subtle tones of his more conservative footwear. It was time to get off and head for the office. As he descended from the train, the platform seemed unusually low. Could this really be the effect of wearing odd socks? Mysterious forces were at play. Henry felt self-conscious. In an attempt to reduce his embarrassment he found himself taking shorter and shorter steps to avoid the socks being seen. Perhaps if he went a little slower he could stop off at the station Sock Shop. For the first time in his life he had realised why stations had sock shops. Getting up in a hurry must have created a whole growth industry of sock shops. At that moment the pretty young lady hurriedly passed him by, “Morning Mr Doncaster, I do love your socks”
     Henry was suddenly aware that this was the first time she had ever spoken to him. He wondered how she knew his name. For years, they had often passed by each other on the same journey but seldom exchanging more than the casual glance or friendly acknowledgement. How on earth did she know my name? Henry’s steps became quicker and soon he was in front of the large impersonal building that comprised the Central Bank Securities Office. A few minutes later he had ascended to the seventh floor, passing by the imposing potted plant that always adorned the last bend in the corridor to his office. As offices go this was nothing particularly special. Once the door was closed, Henry felt that he had entered into his other world. A world where he was secure and in control, a world in which he had all of his books and files neatly placed around him. On front of him, on his leather bound desk was a photograph of Marjorie. It was a picture taken of her to celebrate her fortieth birthday only a few years earlier. At this moment there was a knock at the door.
     “We are all needed upstairs for a meeting this morning, Henry”. It was George, one of his colleagues from the office across the corridor. From the expression on George’s face, Henry could see that something unusual was in the air. “Something to do with changes to the management system, I believe, see you there.” At that moment, Henry noticed a new memo that had just appeared in his office in-tray. It was marked Management-in-Confidence. Carefully he opened it and read,
     “Following a recent review of management structuring within our overall organisation, it has been agreed to introduce a more detailed and systematic review of the function and operation of every department of Central Bank Securities at Whitechapel. This review falls into line with other similar activities which have already taken place at our subsidiary offices in the UK and abroad, and has been taken in full consultation with both Staff Unions and other staff representatives”
     Henry was starting to feel uneasy. Already his day was beginning to feel different from the norm. He thought he had already planned his morning’s activities, but now he was starting to speculate. The memo continued,
     “A meeting will be held this morning in the Conference room at 11.00hrs, which is intended to explain a number of proposals following this review and describe the timetable for their implementation. All staff should attend, if at all possible. Please consult with your line-manager if this causes you particular difficulties”
    By now Henry was feeling even more concerned. At that moment his telephone rang.
     “Henry, this is Peter Smilie. I just thought I’d better warn you that we had a meeting with the Board last week and they are quite keen to push these new proposals through” Peter was one of the bank’s staff representatives and generally regarded by Henry to have his ear well to the ground. “I’m sorry that you didn’t hear last week but you were away on the Retention and Dissemination training course” Henry stretched back in his chair and looked down at his flashing ankles. By now he was convinced that this was definitely not going to be a good day. The previous week had been a disaster. The whole of the staff in the Transfer and Holding Department, some twenty people, had spent three miserable days under the glaring eyes of various members of the bank’s training department. More streamlined methods were to be introduced into Henry’s department, which to Henry, and indeed most of his colleagues, were unnecessary, irrelevant and incomprehensible.
     Henry looked back from his chair and peered through the window. The sun was beginning to throw strong shadows across the rooftops and chimneys of the surrounding offices. Peter continued,
     “We all know that things can never stay the same, but this time I think they’ve got it wrong, a clear case of change for change’s sake. What they implied was that this was going to be an opportunity to completely appraise everyone’s responsibilities and workloads. You’d think that by now someone was in charge who really knew what was going on, anyway let’s not worry too much at the moment, but wait to hear what they have to say upstairs. See you there” Henry put the phone down and almost immediately it rang. It was Marjorie, just to let him know that she would be out when he got home and would be leaving him a microwave Toad in the Hole for supper. Before he could ask her where she was going, she was interrupted by someone at her front door and rang off. It was a bit unusual for Marjorie to be out in the evening, but then it was starting to be an unusual day anyway.
     Eventually the time for the meeting arrived and Henry found himself in the overcrowded Conference room high in the stratospheric reaches of the building normally occupied by only the most senior of staff. Looking around, he suddenly realised that while he knew some of the people there, perhaps those with whom he had some regular contact, that many of the faces were unknown to him. As he sat down amongst the serried ranks of gold and red velvet chairs that had been specially arranged for such large numbers, he felt a hand on his shoulder from behind. “I still like the socks Henry” As he looked round, he found that he was aware of a familiar face, and suddenly realised that it was the pretty girl from the train. Being so close, he felt somewhat disarmed. She was even prettier close to and yet what on earth was she doing at this meeting? “Perhaps I can come and sit next to you” she asked rhetorically. Henry could not believe his good luck.

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