John Smith, the articled clerk in the firm from whom I rented rooms, recently told me of the ritual for opening the post. He and managing clerk Jeal had to be in their office by 8am having collected the principal Hornchurch’s Capstan Full Strength cigarettes.
Jeal slit envelopes and passed them to John, who removed the contents, date-stamped the letter, clipped any enclosures and passed them to Hornchurch. The principal read, reread and digested the contents.
He then checked the envelopes against the light and passed them back to Jeal.
All this was conducted in silence. Jeal then examined any cheques for mistakes or post-dating, read out the contents, which John entered in a book, and the letters were then passed back to Hornchurch to be arranged in random order. John was entrusted with the cheques – ‘in case the faithful Jeal should do a runner’ – to take to the bookkeeper.
At 8.30 all fee-earners lined up: the junior partner Jones; the articled clerks; then the rest. Hornchurch would flick each letter at the relevant man (no women) on to the floor, shouting his name. The fee-earner would then pick up the letter and any attachment.
‘This process took time,’ John explained, ‘but eventually we all lined up in said order, holding our post and waiting for “IT”. “IT” was a public dressing down: “Why, Smith, have you been sent a second reminder – why can’t you deal with things on time? Anticipate, Smith, anticipate. Jones, don’t you know anything about the landlord and tenant legislation? File your forms in response forthwith”, etc. Everyone’s failures were laid bare.
‘One day we had finished bumping into each other, and had gathered up our post, and attachments, and were all standing in line ready and waiting for “IT”. “What in the hell are you doing there, Brown?”
‘We all looked blank.
‘Hornchurch had read his Times, “Brown you failed, Smith you passed (the Intermediate). Move up, Smith,” and we duly swapped places in the line-up.’
James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor
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