IF the preceding chapter was all too much for you, have a nice lie down, dry your eyes and prepare yourself for tidings of great joy.
As an addendum to the brief note of dismissal which My Friend Harry read over his mug of cocoa, the Editor of the paper which no longer wanted his services severely stated that it was not the company’s practice to issue references. So, if you had just got the sack, had no money and no reference, what would you do? Look for the bottle of Lysol? Maybe, but that’s not what Harry did. He finished his cocoa and went to bed. On the Monday morning he mentioned his plight to three friends: Bert Webster, manager of the Empire Theatre, Chatham; Frank Bannister, partner in the car and motor-cycle business of Frank Bannister and Son, Chatham; and Philip Featherby, former school chum and son of the proprietor of the highly successful garden centre (as it would be termed today) in Gillingham.
Bert at once offered Harry the position of assistant manager of the Empire. Frank said he would put Harry on the payroll right away as a car salesman. Philip said there would be a job available at the garden business, although it would mean starting at the bottom. Harry, some sort of a future thus assured, thanked them all and asked for a week to think it over as, naturally, he would wish to remain in the newspaper business if that were possible. Thus comforted, Harry then set about the real business of getting a job.
First thing was to obtain references. No problem. Over the years, in the course of his daily rounds, he had chatted up the secretaries of all manner of notabilities in the regions. As a chatter-up he was, in those days, in his element, principally because he made the girts laugh and also because, from time to time, he would leave a small box of chocs or a ‘flat 50' tin of fags on their desks just to show that their co-operation was really appreciated. Cast your bread ...
So, with all the time in the world now that he was jobless, he went the rounds of the girls with one request to make. Would they kindly let him have a few sheets of headed notepaper? Saddened by the news that, in the middle of the great Depression, poor Harry had been cast out into the cruel world without a penny to his name, the tearful girls were only too ready to give a helping hand. Harry returned to his home in high glee.
Then, using the headed notepaper, he set to work to type out such glowing references as his fertile imagination could contrive. Sir Gerald Fitzgerald Hohler, M.P. for Gillingham, declared that he was devastated that such a brilliant young journalist should have found himself in such an undeserved plight. He had always found him unerringly accurate, scrupulously fair, etc., etc.
The Chief Constable of Kent testified to the remarkable ability that had been so abundantly evident in a young man who had so swiftly mastered the art of court reporting; who had never betrayed a confidence and whose whole demeanour commanded trust and respect. The Bishop of Rochester, having observed with the utmost approval the development of a young journalist from a mere, though eager, beginner to a thoroughly competent and trustworthy mature young man, readily commended him to all who sought someone utterly reliable, etc., etc.
The manager of Gillingham Football Club said he had met many sports journalists in the course of his career, but rarely had he ever met one with such remarkable flair or one whose knowledge of the game was so profound, etc., etc.
The Commander-in-Chief, The Nore, said it was a pleasure to deal with a young man who so clearly understood the need for the closest liaison to exist between the Senior Service and the townspeople of the Medway Towns. His grasp of naval matters was astonishing, etc., etc. The Mayor of Chatham was astonished that one so young should have such a comprehensive understanding of the functions of the local authority and, in addition, could deal so cordially with representatives of all political parties, showing favour to none but respect for all.
The Secretary of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, Rochester, said few journalists had demonstrated such understanding of the relationship between the administrators and the patients or had gone to such lengths to ensure that confidences, etc., etc.
After a couple of hours of dedicated work, My Friend Harry sat back, well content with the tributes that had flowed from such distinguished well-wishers-and trusted that none of the people to whom such references would be committed would ever be tempted to confirm them. He was safe. None ever did. There was one reaction in reverse, though. Harry applied for a job advertised by the Mexborough Times, Yorkshire.
The Editor, returning the references which Harry had sent him, regretted that Harry was far too qualified for the vacancy which existed on their small paper. Not for the first time, it must be said, My Friend Harry had overplayed his hand. Still, the references did work in the end. After three weeks of relative idleness, the Reading Newspaper Company invited him to open a new area up for them in the region based on Camberiey, in Surrey, and to start work there in three days’ time. It was a humble enough job and the pay was minimal, but Harry jumped at it. Any work was better than no work. It proved to be a turning point in his life.
He drove over to Camberiey on the Sunday morning in a Morris Minor he had bought on generous h.p. terms from his friend Frank Bannister, found comfortable digs with a nymphomaniac landlady (£1 5s a week including all meals and laundry) and was able to phone over his first stories to the Reading head office by 10 a.m. on the Monday.
And the girl at head office who took his very first phone call later became his wife.
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