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I have started my new job as a clerical assistant to the Section Manager, Miss Fortescue. Although I am highly-qualified, Miss Fortescue has decreed that I should ‘earn my status’ by working for a month in a menial role. If she is satisfied with my progress, I shall be allowed to rise to a more senior role. But for now I am required to do filing, photo copying, to run errands and to ensure that Miss Fortescue has tea, coffee, water, newspapers, documents and whatever else she wants – at the exact moment she wants it.

My first interview with Miss Fortescue set the trend. I was told to report on my first day at 8.30 am sharp, in a pin-stripe suit, white shirt, and plain tie, with clean black shoes. I duly arrived and was directed to the general office. A young, pretty blond employee in a smart blue pin-stripe skirt suit came up to me.

‘I’m Mrs Carstairs, are you the new boy?’ she said.

‘Er, yes, I have an interview with Alison Fortescue, my name is John’.

‘You have an interview with Miss Fortescue, I think you mean,’ she said, emphasising the word ‘Miss’.

‘Yes, sorry, Miss Fortescue.’

‘And we are not interested in your first name. What is your surname?’ she asked brusquely.

‘Smedley’, I replied.

‘You say, ‘Mrs Carstairs’ at the end of your sentences when you speak to me, is that clear Smedley’.

‘Yes, of course, sorry Mrs Carstairs’. Wow, this was going to be a very formal office, I thought.

‘Right Smedley, I’ll see if Miss Fortescue is ready for you.’ She approached a closed office door. She turned to me as she knocked. ’And if I were you, Smedley, I’d get your jacket done up at the middle button before you enter.’ And Mrs Carstairs – who couldn’t have been more than 24 – knocked and went inside.

I quickly did my jacket up and straightened my tie. The office was hot, and I was sweating around my tight collar. I wanted to take my jacket off, rather than do it up, but I realised that wouldn’t do here. The staff sitting at the desks around me were all young ladies. While they were all smartly dressed, they had their jackets off and hanging up or on the backs of their chairs. Mrs Carstairs came out.

‘Get inside Smedley,’ and she waved me in.

I went into the office. It was large, with a meeting table and chairs near the door, and a large window through which the staff outside could be monitored at all times. The carpet was plush and green. Across the office was a large walnut desk, behind which sat a beautiful dark-haired woman of about 30. She had a white shirt on, and I could just make out a tight grey skirt, dark stockings and high-heeled black shoes. Her black jacket was hanging up on a coat hanger by the door. She was reading some papers and didn’t look up or say anything when I came in. I waited just inside the door for a few moments, then began to say:

‘Excuse me, Miss Fortescue..’

She didn’t look up but said, ‘I didn’t ask you to speak. Remain silent.’ Then she glanced up. ‘And stand up straight, boy’.

I was not a boy by any description, being 48 years old. But the tone of her voice made me feel nervous. I stood more to attention. Five minutes went by. Finally, Miss Fortescue looked up.

‘Come here. Stand there.’

I stood in front of her desk, at attention.

‘There are very few rules here Smedley, but the ones I have are important and will be obeyed. Is that clear?’

‘Yes’, I replied.

‘Yes, what,’ she snarled.

‘Yes Miss Fortescue, sorry Miss Fortescue.’ I stammered.

‘Rule 1: you address me at all times as  Miss Fortescue. Rule 2: all senior staff are addressed here by their formal titles. If you don’t know their names, you address them as ‘madam’, clear?’

‘Yes Miss Fortescue’.

‘There are no men in senior positions in this section. But if one of the senior staff has a phone call which you take, or receives a visit from a male friend, you address them as ‘sir’ at all times.’

‘Yes Miss Fortescue.’

‘Good. Rule 3: you wear a pin-stripe or plain dark suit to work every day. Your shirt will be white. You will be given a company tie to wear, and you will wear it with a very small and tight knot. That is how I like ties, it looks neater. You are not allowed to remove your jacket without the permission of Mrs Carstairs, and it must always be worn when you leave your desk. You are not allowed in here without a jacket, and it must be worn with the middle button done up at all times. Your shoes will be polished for half an hour per day per shoe, so that they shine like mirrors. You will wear a bowler hat to and from the office, which will be raised to all senior lady staff if you meet them in the street.’

I was not looking forward to wearing a bowler hat! In the summer heat, this would be unbearable.

‘If you annoy me or break any rule about dress code, you will be made to wear ladies frilly underwear under your suit.’ Before I could object to that, she went on.

‘Rule 4: whenever I pass through the office, you stop what you are doing and stand to attention until I have gone past. Rule 5: you start work 15 minutes before I do, and you leave about an hour or so after I have gone. You will tidy away all my papers, wash up all glasses and cups and so on, polish all the furniture in here and then you may leave. When I arrive in the morning, you will be standing to attention outside my office door. On my desk will be my daily newspaper, neatly folded, with a cappuccino at exactly the right temperature, plus a slice of brown, buttered toast – hot, Smedley! You open the door for me, follow me in to the room, take my jacket, and coat if i have one, and hang them in my closet. You will then get under the desk and buff my shoes while i read the morning paper. Got it, Smedley?’

‘Yes Miss Fortescue’

‘One last thing, boy. I and my lady friends often shop around here at weekends. You will be in attendance on Saturdays here in the office – in your suit and tie – in case we drop in for refreshments. That is unpaid work – I trust you are happy to volunteer to help in this small way?’

‘Yes Miss Fortescue’. What choice did I have? It was obvious that I would be working every Saturday for my entire period of probation, unpaid.

‘If there are any more rules, I will let you know, but that should get you started. Mrs Carstairs is your immediate supervisor, and you had better be sharp lad, if you don’t want to get into hot water with her.  Out!’

Wednesday morning, 8.40.

I am on my hands and knees, crouched under Miss Fortescue’s desk, buffing her shoes with a cloth. I breathe onto the black leather heavily and then rub the shoe hard until it starts to shine. Up above, my senior manager is chatting and laughing on the phone with a girl friend. Occasionally, she adjusts her feet and moves her shoes away from me, when I have to crawl under the desk until I can make contact with her shoe again, and start polishing away. Once or twice Miss Fortescue breaks off from her conversation and snaps, ‘Rub harder, Smedley, I want those shoes properly shined’. I have to whimper from beneath the desk, ‘Yes Miss Fortescue, sorry Miss Fortescue’.  After 20 minutes of rubbing the shoes, Mrs Carstairs knocks and enters.

‘Smedley, do you call those shoes clean? Stay behind after work this evening , and you will photocopy the staff directory page by page, and then highlight all the letters a, e and j in yellow highlighter throughout the document. On my desk before you leave tonight.’

She and Miss Fortescue share in the joke, and laugh in a girlish fashion. I am hot in my tight collar and jacket. I am wearing frilly lace panties and stockings, because Mrs Carstairs caught me in the park one lunchtime with my jacket undone while I was sitting down having a sandwich. I remember the incident now, while polishing as hard as I can to try to get Miss Fortescue’s shoes even shinier...

I was just having a picnic on my own in the park one lunchtime. It was really hot weather, but I knew I couldn’t risk taking my jacket off, as that was strictly against the rules. I must have just half-dozed off when I hear d Mrs Carstairs’s voice and I woke up quickly.

‘Smedley,’ she was saying, ‘ haven’t you been told to keep your jacket done up?’ Before I could come out with a grovelling apology, she went on: ‘Frilly panties and stockings for you. To be worn under your suit trousers until further notice. Inspection in Miss Fortescue’s office tomorrow morning at 7.30 sharp.’ She was with a young lady from the office, and they both walked off giggling.

Now, two days later, here I was suffering the consequences. Every morning I have to lower my trousers and show Miss Fortescue and Mrs Carstairs my frilly lace underwear. On the second day, Mrs Carstairs’s husband was in the office, and I had to call him ‘sir’ and show him my underpants too. He laughed, and then ordered me to clean his shoes, which I had to do. Afterwards, he asked Miss Fortescue if she would cane me for my laziness, and she promised to do so on Friday at the end of business. I was dreading that, but first I had to write a letter to Mr Carstairs to thank him for having ensured I was kept up to the mark.

Mrs Carstairs and Miss Fortescue finished their conversation up above me. Miss Fortescue called down, ‘Smedley, that’s enough. Get back to your desk and get on with your work.’

‘Yes, Miss Fortescue.’ I left as quickly as I could. I had all this photocopying to look forward after office hours – and if Miss Fortescue had some friends up for drinks, that could keep me at my desk until 8.00 pm anyway. I wouldn’t be able to leave before about 10.30 at this rate. And then there was a caning to go through on Friday...

To be continued...
 

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