Free Paid Servant by E. R. Braithwaite Page A

been sufficiently revolted by the sterile and miserable condition of the interview and waiting-rooms to bring about some worthwhile improvements in them. Granted the rooms are clean, but so are laboratories and operating theatres. Much more is needed at Welfare offices where, from the very beginning, the entire process of helping must be related to the applicant’s dignity and assurance. Could it be that there’s something about their single-minded pursuit of a career which cannot accommodate the idea of comfort with service? Or are they so bent on being as much like men as is naturally tolerable that they deliberately favour the severe and regimented in official duties? It has been argued that Social Welfare in Britain is part of State machinery. Granted. But there is nothing which suggests that the work is less efficiently done for a little colour here and there. Welfare Offices are intended as the means by which the State can lend a helping hand to the people. The effectiveness of these officials should depend less on how much help they are able to give than on how quickly those helped become once more independent. If the very first contact with the Welfare Office and Officers helps to speed this process of independence, all the better. A bright, cheerful room with comfortable chairs can inject quite a lift into a depressed spirit, and so, even before the interview, the process of rehabilitation will have begun.
    However, in the final analysis, a great deal depends on the officers, and upon their first contact with the applicant. Although quite new to the work, I had visited all of the Areas in London and, with a few notable exceptions, the pattern of interviews was very much the same. The applicant would be called or sent to the interview room, and would sit in a chair on the other side of the table opposite the Welfare Officer, who would often have some files or other documents on the table before her, as if to suggest that she was under heavy pressure. The applicant often sat on the edge of the chair, maybe unconsciously getting the message that the officer’s time was valuable, and so prepared for early flight. The first step would be according to the book. The officer would produce a pre-set form, number something or other. I remembered one such interview.
    â€œYour name, please?”
    â€œMaria Coates.”
    â€œAge?”
    â€œTwenty-seven.”
    â€œMarried or single?”
    Maria Coates would now put her left hand into her coat pocket. It had been resting on her knee in full view of anyone who cared to look.
    â€œSingle.”
    â€œAddress?”
    â€œ47 Welleft Street, NW 10.”
    â€œProfession?”
    Blushes from Maria Coates, as she looked at the fingers of her right hand in the hope of finding some quick answer. No reply.
    â€œAre you presently employed?”
    â€œNo, that is, I was working at a factory, Crannock’s, but I left when the baby was on the way. As soon as I get him into a home I’ll be able to find another job.”
    One or two more details and then the form would be put aside and the real business would begin. Undoubtedly I was often very much impressed by the combination of kindliness with efficiency, in probing into the circumstances which led the applicant to seek departmental help; but there was every need to probe, to lift each resistant layer of privacy, as that inherent dignity which is the prerogative of all mankind struggled to keep some little corner of itself inviolate. Yes, the interviewers were kindly and considerate in their way, but they made it clear that they had a job of work to do, and the details they sought were necessarily part of that job. So come on now, give. This is no place to be shy and there are others waiting.
    â€œHave you any relatives who might help you?”
    â€œNo, I have a brother in Isleworth, but he’s married and he can’t do anything for me.”
    â€œMaybe if we have a talk with him