DWP no more - part one

Last week I retired from the civil service after 40 years of dedicated, or sometimes  not so dedicated, service. I feel a bit like Samuel Beckett, who according to Seamus Heaney, when he was an old man, was sitting in a Parisian cafe with a friend, who like Beckett himself was somewhat socially shy, and after another gap in the conversation, turned to his pal and said "I've been waiting all my life to be old." You can maybe hear his voice if you just close your eyes and listen. Well I've been waiting a few years now to retire and had lots of plans for world travel, if not world domination, but due to the arrival of my tumour nothing is quite as I had hoped or looked forward to. But let's make the most of what we've got and next year is looking good to me.

I've not been working for the past couple of months, due to being in hospital and radiotherapy and other stuff, so it's not quite been the retiral I had imagined. I went in to see my colleagues on my last official day of work, 28 August , and it was good to see them all again. We've arranged one or two celebratory events, which I might tell you about nearer the time. But this posting is by way of a brief reflection on 40 years. So many memories, people, happenings, successes, disasters, friendships, too numerous to list, it's hard to know where to start.

Let's start at the beginning then, why not, seems like a good idea. I began work for DWP, or DHSS as it was back then, on 23 July 1973. A good summer, I'd been living in Glasgow for a year or two, and at the time sharing a flat with my wee brother Neil in Great Western Road, or was it Bank St? We shared so many flats in Scotland's second city I get confused now putting them in order. Anyway he had just told me that my presence was required at his marriage ceremony to the lovely Elaine. It was a bit of a rushed business altogether, because Neil had been a very naughty boy indeed, witness the fact that Gayle is the same age, more or less, as my civil service career. The ceremony was attended by the masses of Glasgow and the reception followed was in a Reo Stakis steakhouse somewhere in the city centre. They were a very popular in Glasgow at the time. Wonder what became of Mr Stakis?

Having seen them off on their honeymoon we set off down the M6 to Cheltenham, where the Department in it's wisdom, had decided to send me -  perhaps they felt a Scottish presence was needed in Gloucestershire. I still remember the drive down there, the first of many, in my Fiat 124 Special T, which I had very recently bought from the compensation money I was paid for losing my elbow in 1969. A pitiful amount, I hasten to add, but was the best I could get without going to court, or so I was told.  Just as well that  I bought that car as there was not much left soon after.

The Special T was very powerful, very fast,  and red. Or was it green? The most powerful car I've owned. There are videos to be found on You Tube of it being raced, if you like that kind of thing. I should not have sold it. I miss it more than any other car I've had, unless you count the Ford Cortina?  I think we drove down overnight for some reason. Maybe because we were young.

I need an editor for my blog, as I seem to have lost the plot here. Where was I again? Ah yes just arriving in Cheltenham where we managed to rent an excellent flat in Lansdown Rd, an excellent flat, in a beautiful old house, with an orchard at the back and other fruit bearing trees. The caretaker was an old lady who very much enjoyed her little tipple, but kept us in supplies of free apples and, which she liked to bring up to the flat at the most importunate moments. She would offer a drop of her sherry, for that was her favourite tope, as an excuse, but she always came  with a pie or some other delectable delight.  It would have been ridiculous to refuse her. She used to sit round the back keeping an eye on things, watching the world go by and putting it to rights as she saw fit. Once or twice we found her the worse for wear and had to help her to her flat. She was a funny old soul.

My first manager was  Mr Gent, and he was true to his name. Most of my time down there in Gloucestershire I worked as a visiting officer, covering most of the Cotswolds, and there are not many more beautiful places to spend your days driving around, than the Cotswolds. As I remember it the sun always shone and it never rained, but maybe my memory is playing  tricks again.

The names of all the places I still remember with fondness. Stow on the Wold, Bourton on the Water, Lower Slaughter and Upper Slaughter, where there was a ford I used to have to drive across, Moreton in Marsh, Chipping Campden and Chipping Norton, Cirencester and Tewkesbury and many more. It seems hard to believe but there were lots of poor folk in the Cotswolds at that time and probably still are today despite  PM  Dave and other rich bastards living there.

The other visiting officer for the Cotswolds was my friend Ivan, a Welshman, from Haverfordwest  who was a lovable rogue and always setting up or closing deals. I never knew exactly what he got up to but he seemed quite well off. I remember that he never used a brief case, always carried papers and files in the boot and under his arm. Would be sacked for that today, but those days we didn't carry laptops and memory sticks, everything was in our heads, I think. 

Ivan and I used to meet once a week in a pub in Chipping Campden where we played dominoes with the locals for money. I don't remember making much money out of it but we had good times. All the work got done of course. Back in the office in St George's Rd we had Betty keeping us on out toes and controlling everything. Our office looked out onto Cheltenham Ladies College playing fields and Betty would remonstrate with anyone caught spending too long staring out the window. Not that I did I hasten to add.

This is way too long but I'm not up for editing it, so will leave it at that with me stuck down in Cheltenham, waiting to return to the land of the brave. So lets call this part 1.