James Smythe-Rivers, with a hyphen, sped down the road to the industrial area of the city, his moped at full throttle buzzing like an angry wasp trapped in a jam-jar. His parents had arrived in England on the Windrush and the Smythe-Rivers name, with a hyphen, had been inherited from 18th century colonial plantation owners. Today he was on his way to a job interview and had no intention of being late.
Many years earlier James’ wife had returned to Jamaica to nurse a dying aunt who had succumbed to a fever. Unfortunately she contracted the same fever and never returned to him. This had left him in Manchester with a young daughter to bring up, but now the daughter was grown up and was living in Leicester, a divorcee with two teenage boys. The boys were beginning to get unruly, but they loved and respected their grandfather, so James had resigned from his post in Manchester to come and live with his daughter in Leicester. It would be more financially viable for all concerned and provide some male authority and example for the boys in the Leicester household.
James had been employed by an engineering works in Manchester and was now on his way to a textile company in Leicester. He turned in at the main gate of MacFarlane Textiles Limited and stopped by the security guard showing him his appointment letter. The guard instructed him to park his moped by the cycle racks and pointed him in the direction of the main office.
He sat nervously in the PA’s office, straightening his tie and flicking the odd speck of dust off his worn dark suit. Moving and finding fresh employment was not so easy these days when you were over 50 years old.
At the same time in the big room beyond the door through which James would soon be summoned sat Rex MacFarlane, managing director, flanked by two of his fellow directors. MacFarlane was studying the sheet of paper he held with its impressive letterhead Crombie and Taylor Engineers and the Royal Cypher indicating they held an appointment to the crown. MacFarlane’s had been troubled by labour disputes, production delays and falling sales – they were looking for someone to help turn their fortunes.
“Well, well,” Rex Macfarlane mused, “Smythe-Rivers, with a hyphen, sounds like a public- school type to me. Is that what we really need here?”
“Hang on though – listen to this and it is signed by old Crombie himself – must have thought well of the fellow.”
Rex MacFarlane started to read out the testimonial, “To whom it may concern James Smythe-Rivers has been employed by my company for over thirty years and sadly family circumstances are the cause of his moving on. He has become undoubtedly the most popular person in our firm. He has always been a welcome sight to all the blue collar workers on the shop floor making his regular trips around the factory, but likewise always welcomed by the typists and clerical staff, listening with a sympathetic ear to everyone’s problems, but always with a cheery smile and a friendly sense of humour. Often when he has been in the boardroom and my directors have been locked in dispute over an issue I’ve turned to James and said “What do you think?” Amazingly he would often come up with a new perspective which we had not considered, but on which the board would then proceed in complete agreement. In short James has brought cheer to the shop floor and offices of our works and his own brand of polish and refreshment to the boardroom. It is men like him that keep the wheels of industry turning.”
After some discussion with his fellow directors Rex MacFarlane pressed a button and instructed his PA to send Mr Smythe-Rivers in. The three men sitting behind the desk looked up in surprise as the tall West Indian entered in his worn dark suit and very colourful tie, though definitely not an “old school tie”.
Rex MacFarlane opened the questions. “Mr Smythe-Rivers, we’ve been reading your reference from Crombie and Taylor, you were obviously held in high regard there. Could you give us more details of your employment there, I assume from what we’ve read you were Personnel Manager.”
James white teeth flashed with a broad grin, “Oh no Mr MacFarlane, Sir, I was always the tea boy there. Every day about mid-morning and mid-afternoon I would wheel the tea trolley round the shop floor and the offices and try and keep everyone happy with tea or coffee and biscuits. Then when there was a board meeting I made coffee for the directors and sometimes Mr Crombie would ask me for my opinion. You see Mr MacFarlane, Sir, I was the only person in the firm who met every employee in the place every working day and got to know most about them. Oh and I must not forget Sir, I also had responsibility for polishing the boardroom table and chairs with my own prepared beeswax polish. It gave ‘em a wonderful shine.”
Rex MacFarlane said “James, if you don’t mind us calling you James, would you wait in the PA’s office for a few minutes and we’ll call you back in to let you know our decision.” As James left the room Rex turned to his fellow directors and remarked “I thought we were going to interview a senior executive today, but nonetheless I think we’re onto something. Isn’t that crabby old woman who mans the tea trolley due for retirement; she’s always moaning about everything and getting everyone’s back up and the tea tastes bloody awful too.”
James Smythe-Rivers, with a hyphen, was engaged and worked at MacFarlane’s for many years in precisely the same role as he had at Crombie and Taylor including coffee making and giving the occasional opinion in the boardroom. The whole workforce was a cross section of Leicester’s cosmopolitan populace and James fitted in easily. Labour relations improved, production rose and profits increased. At home his grandsons worked harder at school and now one is training in journalism. James has a secret dream that one day he will see him as a newsreader on TV, whilst the other joined MacFarlane’s and is working his way up in the firm towards an executive grade.
When James finally retired he was presented with a parcel of shares and an honorary seat on the board and from time to time he still returns to share his valued opinions. As old Crombie recognised “It is men like him that keep the wheels of industry turning.”
About the author
Guy Pratt is a retired octogenarian second hand bookseller who enjoys gardening, long walks with his dog and travel. He gravitated into the book trade after earlier years in farming, the army Intelligence Corps and the civil service.
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A lovely, heart-warming story. Thank you. Kate in Cornwall
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