Free I'm All Right Jack by Alan Hackney Page B

time-clock office at the main gate. “Yer, course there are. You seen the notice up. Watsher trade? Electrical fitter? Coppersmith?”
    “Oh no,” said Stanley. “Nothing skilled.”
    The man took him by the shoulder and laid a long pointing arm within an inch of his head. He squinted along it for the space of a breath and then said: “Up that main avenue, go straight the way through and you come to a road junction.”
    “Yes, I see, a ro——”
    “You go left ‚”interrupted the man. “And on your left’s the inquiries. Mr ’Aywood.”
    *
    Stanley went in and knocked at a hatch. There was no immediate response and he sat down on a bench. He had hardly done so when the hatch opened and Mr Haywood looked out.
    “Yes?”
    “I came to see about a job,” said Stanley, coming to the hatch.
    “You probably want the main block,” Mr Haywood leaned out and pointing through the window began: “Follow this road and bear right at the bottom….”
    “Excuse me,” said Stanley. “The man at the gate said come here. Isn’t that right?”
    “Ah, but for managing staff you want the main block,” said Mr Haywood. “Follow this road down …”
    “But I don’t want a job in management,” said Stanley. “I just want a vacancy.”
    “What sort of vacancy?”
    “Oh, just the sort of vacancy I could fill. I’m not a fitter or a coppersmith or anything. I’d thought of starting as unskilled and working my way up to semi-skilled. You see, a relative of mine advised me to do this.”
    “Oh, I get you. He recommended you should get a bitof proper experience before you go in for the management? That’s a point.”
    “Oh no, that wasn’t his idea at all,” said Stanley.
    “Well, never mind what his idea was,” said Mr Haywood. “I have got work to do, you know. Y our idea is an un skilled vacancy, I take it. How long for? We’ve got nothing temporary.”
    “Oh, definitely permanent,” said Stanley. “You see, this person said …”
    “Half a minute, half a minute,” said Mr Haywood. “You fill in this application while I look up. Want any help, ask.”
    The form was very simple, requiring for the most part answers of ‘No’ to questions like ‘Have you any convictions by a Civil or Criminal Court?’
    “Excuse me,” said Stanley.
    “Yes?”
    “It says, ‘Schools attended’ but it doesn’t mention universities.”
    Mr Haywood took a breath.
    “We don’t pay much attention to that,” he said in a nearly even tone. “The geezers here don’t seem to have got around to it somehow.”
    How much more sensible, Stanley thought, an interview like this, the two parties leaning for a few minutes on the sill of a hatch, and no nonsense about a third-class degree and in English of all things.
    “You got a driving licence?” asked Mr Haywood.
    “I had one in the army once.”
    “Well, there’s a job in Stores and Packing. Hundred and eighty-nine shillings basic. You a union member? You got to be. Get your card from GEEUPWOA at the branch in Clyde Street.”
    “What’s that?”
    “General Engineering and Electrical United Projectile Workers and Operatives Alliance. When you’ve said it once you’ll call it GEEUPWOA or the General. Start tomorrow? Well, you’ll want your Insurance card in here during the week. Your shop steward’s Mr Kite. Short-arsed bloke with glasses.”
    “Well, thank you very much,” said Stanley. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Don’t come and see me, for Christ’s sake,” said Mr Haywood. “After you clock in eight-fifteen go to S Block and report to Mr Morris. He’ll take both your cards.”
    *
    At first the people at the General Projectile’s branch were suspicious of Stanley and asked if he were from a newspaper, but they accepted his assurances and nodded at his chit from Mr Haywood. They gave him another chit to be taken to Mr Kite.
    “You want two signatures from members,” they said.
    His great-aunts were not very keen on the union.
    “I think the