Mr. F. and Indian Clubs
Mr. W.G.S. was a stickler for accuracy. You were not allowed to make mistakes in legal documents, well not in his firm. In other law firms I have worked for, correction strips or fluid were allowed but Mr. S. forbade them. If you made a mistake, the whole document or letter had to be re-typed - hard work in the days before electric typewriters and computers.
However, I am grateful to him because it certainly improved my typing skills and has stood me in good stead to this day. I soon got used to the archaic language that was used "the party of the first part, second part, third part" " messuage" etc. - the legalese which is probably still used today and I also learned how to sew legal documents binding them together with coloured tape. I was earning the grand sum of six pounds and ten shillings per week. (Most people get far more than that an hour nowadays) Out of this grand sum I had to fund my fares to London on both the overground and underground trains, pay keep to my Mother and buy my clothes and make-up. What little was left would be spent on records or books and it was impossible to save anything.
As I have previously mentioned, Miss I. was in her fifties and the other two typists were in their thirties and there was I, a few weeks short of seventeen years of age - a youngster in their terms. I did a lot of growing up at W.G.S. & Co., pretty soon became unshockable and learned a great deal about human nature.
When it was established that I was good at what I was doing, I was assigned the position of secretary to Mr. F. He was the general manager of the firm. His office was very cluttered as well although he could not match the dusty mountains of his boss. He was a very short, very stout man in his early sixties with a round red face and a bulbous nose, quite bald but with a few stray hairs combed across his head. He was always with jacket off and wearing braces as well as belt. He perspired a great deal and was endlessly mopping his brow with his handkerchief. It must have been a great embarrassment to him that I was so young because often the divorce or rape cases contained explicit sexual detail. It would fall to him to mention some of these details in dictation. He would constantly clear his throat, mop his brow even more furiously and stammer over his words. My face would burn, not only with my own embarrassment but with his. He would also apologise "I am sorry Miss F. - sorry you have to listen things like this. This is not the sort of material young ears should have to hear." The more he apologised, the more embarrassed he got and the more he sweated and mopped.
I remember one day I had to type up some personal diary extracts that were to be used in evidence. Mr. F. gave me no warning except when handing me the papers he did remark he hoped I would be able to cope. He also told me not to look at the photographs that were in the back of the dossier. Of course, when someone tells you not to do something, it is the first thing you do. I got my eyes well and truly opened I can tell you. These diary extracts were very explicit indeed. As I was typing them I thought of my father and how he had protected me from anything of a sexual nature. I thought of him sitting in his own office in another part of London at that very moment, never dreaming that his "baby" might be reading and typing such pornographic stuff as this. Poor Dad, he would be horrified. Well, I did cope and when I handed Mr. F. the finished documents he told me “Never keep a diary Miss F. Never keep a diary or a journal of any kind. You never know what sort of trouble they will get you into." Oh, Mr. F. if you could see me now! I do keep a diary and I write this journal and you, dear Mr. F. are being featured in it.
The strongest memory I have of Mr. F. and one which still makes me laugh to this very day concerns Indian clubs. I had been taking dictation for well over an hour and lots of it was pretty lurid. Mr. F. had never been one for normal conversation with me, usually it was strictly business. But this day after sweating and mopping through another set of sexual references, he suddenly looked me straight in the face and said. "Indian Clubs, Miss F." "Pardon?" I said, looking and feeling bemused.
"Indian Clubs" he repeated. "Whenever I get the urge," he explained, " I get out my set of Indian Clubs and have a good work-out." It took me a few seconds to realise that what he was referring to was the sexual urge. I stifled a laugh and tried my best to appear serious and dignified. Looking at Mr. F. I could never imagine him having an urge of any kind let alone a sexual one! "Oh" I said - for want of something better.
"Yes," he continued, "we live in a world gone mad (wonder what he would make of it today, it has got much worse since his time) "all this filth here, all these people behaving like animals, all this lack of moral fibre and fortitude, none of it would happen if they would only use Indian Clubs." By this time I was fighting the urge to collapse in hysterical laugher. "No", I said, trying to keep a straight face, " probably not".
"So, Miss F. get yourself a set of Indian clubs and use them on a regular basis and that will stop any urges you might feel from getting the better of you". I broke into a hasty fit of fake coughing to cover my hilarity but after I left his office, I giggled loudly all the way down the corridor. When the two typists asked what had me so amused and I told them, our whole office erupted in gales of laughter except for the formidable Miss. I. who defended "her men" with the ferocity of a Tigress and adopted the face of someone who had just sucked a very sour lemon. I wondered if she had her own set of clubs! That night I told my father what I had been doing (minus details of course) and he looked a trifle perturbed. I then related what Mr. F had advised me to do. My father was drinking a cup of tea at the time, he spat it all over himself and the floor as he laughed so hard that the tears actually ran down his face.
Poor Mrs. F. I imagined her having the urge and using her wily ways of seduction on Mr. F. only to have him run off and get his clubs out. I knew they had three children so he must have kept them locked away on some occasions. From then on, whenever I saw him I could only picture him in his underwear, standing at an open window and throwing clubs into the air with one hand whilst frantically mopping his brow with the other.
Did I ever buy myself a set of clubs? Certainly not - and as for any urges I might have had - you will never know, Mr. F. - oh, you will never know. Only my diaries ever held those secrets.
No, this is not him!
25 comments:
OH! how funny your entry is today Jeannette. I can just picture you sitting there holding back the giggles. That was something him telling you to get yourself a set of clubs. I can almost picture you using them too LOL. Very good entry. Did you by any chance write all these happenings in your diary?? Helen
I have read Helen's comment Jeannette. I did not know if this was literature that was written by an author and you were relating it. Did you actually write such an expressive and well formed composition. If so, I consider you a writer of the talent of the great published writers of our time. I am truly amazed by this short story. I am baffeled. mark
I'm glad I wasn't drinking when I read that, ROFL!
Very funny entry...I cannot imagine you not doing this for a living...you need a manager and a contract for being a writer!
Joyce
J as u know this is very new to me - I read most of your journal from my alert - then went to your journal read the end - then back to my alert pressed reply and got e mail up so sent it from there - but once again very good it made me laugh out loud. Ally
Oh memories! Aren't they wonderful? We can go back & chuckle at our hilarious past without any guilt whatsoever...love it...Sandi http://journals.aol.com/sdoscher458/LifeIsFullOfSurprises
Lol!!! I'm loving these stories Jeannette.
I've never heard of indian clubs, thankfully!
Sara x
evidence once again that inside our minds lies a circus of curious characters that are just anxious to get out........
Very well expressed.....send in the clowns! Marc :)
Have been reading todays journal great stuff had nearly forgotten what it was like to type on an old manual Underworld Typewriter that I used in the Showroom where I worked at the age of 16 oh thats a long time ago. love Joan.
ohh this is toooooo funny!
for this stupid American could you please tell me how much : grand sum of six pounds and ten shillings per week is in Dollars??
You have resurrected so many memories. I can remember sewing douments together with either pink or green tape, tracing building plans etc., when I first started work. I earned the grand sum of £32 a month then and was lucky, as I had a scooter and only two miles to my work. Used to dress up in "bike gear" to get to work and then change into pencil slim mini skirt, or suit and stilletto heels. I was very fussy in those days, about my dress code. Now I am happiest in a pair of jeans. How the years change us lol. Thanks for this brilliant entry.
Sylvia xx
Indian fighting clubs...now there is a lost form. LOL This is too funny!
Another brilliant entry Jeannette, I can`t wait for the next entry. What exactly do DO with Indian Clubs? It all sounds really funny...lol!
:-)
Sandra xxxxx
hilarious entry, I loved it, thank you Jeannette........Jules xxxx
http://journals.aol.co.uk/jules19642001/Itsmylife/
Great story Jeannette, I worked in an office when I left school back in the sixties. My boss wasn't quite so restrained and was having an affair with his secretary. The affair seemed to be entirely conducted in the elevator. I lost count of the times the lift doors opened and I found them hurriedly straightening their clothes and smoothing their hair down!!
With love,
Jeannette.
jeanette, i thought i was the only one in the whole wide world with indian clubs, i had to retire them recently cause i was wearing them out....love ya roberta
I laughed so hard at this - thanks for cheering my day!
Ahhh, sexual harrassment in an office environment... The indian club story just cracked me up! I used to be a child welfare investigator and I have seen a lot of nasty stuff going on in this world. No wonder I did not last long at that job. Another great entry, Jeanette.
Sounds like quite an interesting working life you've had! I guess Indian Clubs might be better than a cold shower!
http://journals.aol.co.uk/irisclyde/LaDolceVita
Jeannette, I love this continuing story. You have done a great job with the writing. It makes you hungry for the next installment. And it is hilarious! Pennie
hahaha your tale made me laugh. I work in the legal profession and all I can say is not much has changed.
Amanda
Oh what a great entry :-) Well written once again - I had a picture of Mr F in my head wiping his brow!! Brilliant.
You have a marvelous way with descriptions dear! I can picture Mr. F mopping his brow as he dictates to you and fretting over your young ears and what they had to be hearing lol!
thanks for sharing with carnivAOL!
loving you
karyl
found your story thru carnivAOL -- so very funny!! lucky you for having such wonderful memories. thanks for sharing :)
Found you through CarnivAOL! Very funny and well told story, indeed! Thanks for a great laugh.
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