Free Paid Servant by E. R. Braithwaite Page B

he’d be willing to help. Can I have his name and address?”
    â€œNo, he doesn’t know about the baby, and I don’t want him to know, not yet anyway. He can’t help me, he has a family of his own.”
    â€œAny near friend who might help you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat about the baby’s father?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBut I’m afraid … ”
    â€œNo.”
    Now the right hand went into her coat pocket and the garment was drawn tight around her, as if to give some protection against the embarrassing questions. The interviewer changed tactics to:
    â€œHow’s the baby?”
    â€œHe’s still in hospital. They say there’s something the matter with his lungs, some shadow or something, so he’s got to stay there until they’re sure he’s all right.”
    Aha! Quite a speech. This was safe ground, talking about the baby, but the girl still seemed unrelaxed and watchful.
    â€œWhat’s his name?”
    â€œI told them up at the hospital it’s Michael, Michael John Coates.”
    â€œWell, Miss Coates, what would you like us to do for you?”
    â€œPut Michael in a Home until I can get a job and look after him myself. Up at the hospital they told me that if everything’s okay with him, I’ll have to take him home next Friday. But I’m staying with friends in Willesden and they can’t have Michael. There’s no room. But as soon as I get a job I could find a room and have him with me. You know, put him in a day nursery in the mornings and collect him at night.”
    â€œThat’s all very well, Miss Coates, but it costs a lot to keep a child in a Home, and it would be some time before you could find a job and a room. Surely Michael’s father should help you with him? At least, if it is possible to get Michael into a Home, his father should make some contribution to his maintenance.”
    â€œNo.”
    There was something grand about her resolution and spirit. She had guts.
    â€œBut why?” There was a note of impatience in the officer’s voice.
    â€œFrom the time I told him I was pregnant he never came near me, never even wrote to me or anything, and when I wrote to him he didn’t even answer. Now I don’t want to have anything more to do with him and I don’t want anything from him.”
    The lips closed as tight as a trap. That’s how she felt and there was no use arguing about it. ‘Bravo!’ I thought.
    The officer realized that there was no use pursuing that line, and said:
    â€œWell, Miss Coates, I’ll have a word with the Supervisor and we’ll see what we can do. We’ll get in touch with the hospital to inquire about the baby’s illness. Could you call here again in a few days, say next Thursday, then I’ll let you know what’s been decided.”
    â€œThank you.”
    End of interview.
    That was the pattern, with the officer’s position and that of the applicant clearly defined. From what I’d heard, the relationship generally improved as the interviews increased in number, and officer and applicant became accustomed to each other. But that necessarily took time and there weren’t enough officers to allow for such waste. It seemed to me that it was quite possible to establish a better working relationship with an applicant from the very beginning. Instead of sitting on the edge of a chair with her legs tucked under in tense unease, she should be relaxed, or as nearly so as her own anxieties and problems would permit, and assured of the officer’s help and service. Yes, service. At most interviews I witnessed officialdom but not service. The officer was the kingpin, firmly in the seat of authority. To serve was consciously to reverse the position, and to make the applicant conscious of being served. Everything should be geared to that. I’d really think about it and try to work it out at my own interviews.

Chapter