Group Efforts 21

Group Efforts
The Diary of a Workgroup Manager

Episode 76 (2001)

Previously in Group Efforts:
Barrett's Total Cost Rationalisation programme began, with his henchpersons, Llewellyn and Cathy, cutting Solvents Stores' heating budget (to disastrous effect), and IT footsoldiers pinching RAM from Sheila's PC to bring Rose and June's up to Office XP spec. Joan Davis got an earful from the Watford A Project manager over sub-standard fixings, and Bernard got a mouthful of sub-standard Shepherd's Pie thanks to cuts in the canteen's meat budget. Then, just as Llewellyn was about to start slashing Bernard's departmental costs, the news came through that Barrett had slashed Llewellyn's department altogether. The Great Houdini himself had been totally cost rationalised!

Now read on, as Llewellyn's dogged, Chapman's empty-handed, Barrett's unabated and our Hero's - well, a hero, all in this specially extended Season Finale diary of workgroup manager Bernard Pierce…

Wednesday 30th
The office is still reeling from the news of Llewellyn's redundancy. As so often before, his plight has aroused mixed emotions among the All Stars - on the one hand, grim satisfaction at seeing him get his just deserts for collaborating with Barrett, on the other, sympathy for having been double-crossed in such a cruel way by Barrett himself.
Surprisingly, Llewellyn's still here, doggedly working out his notice in the hope of a last-minute reprieve. That hope may not be totally unfounded as he's gained a surprise ally at HQ in the shape of Group Systems Manager Amrat, who's on record as describing the closure of our IT department as 'sheer lunacy', and Llewellyn as a 'useful if uninspiring operative' who should be kept in place. A year ago Llewellyn would have sacked Amrat for 'useful if uninspiring operative', but with the tables well and truly turned he's now pestering him with lunch invitations and helpful suggestions for improving inter-departmental synergy. It's not really Amrat's call though, and as things stand Llewellyn remains sacked.

Tuesday 5th
The office has stopped reeling, but only because it's now enveloped in stunned silence. We've lost Watford A, the first time in its history that the firm has been kicked off a contract. Faulty fixings are responsible, along with sub-standard seals, semi-emulsified solvents and a range of other cost-induced shortcomings that led the client to call us 'cut-price cowboys' and invoke Clause 14b.
        The reaction has been remarkable, with the girls in Contracts following Joan Davis's earlier lead and bursting en masse into tears, and the cancellation of this month's all-office Karaoke evening. Andy, meanwhile, says that our former MD, the great and much-feared Old Man, must be spinning in his grave. This is unlikely, as he's still alive and living in a luxury golfing development near Bognor Regis. Nevertheless I can see Andy's point.
        Despite this humiliation, Barrett's cost-cutting madness looks set to continue unabated. Chapman, apparently, was incandescent at the news of Watford A, and went straight off to HQ for a no-holds-barred meeting with Group Top Brass, only to find that Barrett had already been there talking about 'the importance of decoupling ourselves from unprofitable commitments'. Chapman returned empty-handed, and the insanity goes on.
        In the corridor I meet the sunken-eyed zombie that is Llewellyn. I'm about to say that I'm really sorry but there's nothing I can do for him, when he says he's really sorry and he'd do something if only he could but he can't, then shuffles off towards the Gents. Dismissing it as the ramblings of a broken man, I head quickly in the opposite direction.

Friday 8th
Suddenly I know what Llewellyn was talking about. I'm not a violent person, but if I met Neil Barrett right now I'd be sorely tempted to inflict irreparable physical harm on him. He's making Sheila redundant, after all the years she's spent keeping this department together, and with just a five-line 'thanks for your efforts but you're surplus to requirements so get out' memo.
        Sheila's distraught, Rose and June are homicidal, Danny's being remarkably mature (no P45 jokes and a genuine, non-harrassing hug), and Matt has a grim look on his face which indicates full Lethal Repercussion Plotting mode. Most distraught of all, however, is Spark, who to everyone's astonishment arrives and, without a word, bursts into floods of tears, causing Sheila to comfort him, which, I like to think, takes her mind off things for a moment or two.
        I phone Barrett to demand an explanation and tell him exactly what I think of him, not least for sacking my administrator without even telling me first. He replies that Sheila's a victim of the department's success - quite simply, our pioneering efforts in workgroup computing over the years have been so effective that she's been rendered unnecessary. He then asks me if I've thought any more about early retirement, to which I reply that I'll see him out first and good riddance it'll be. Frankly though, with the way things are going, I wonder whether I've got the stomach for it.
        I'm booked for a drink with George Barker after work, and in the sanctuary of Peg's I tell him how bad things have become, and that I'm beginning to lose heart. He reminds me that I've survived bad times before, and asks if if this one's really so different. I say it is, and then, out of the blue, he throws me a lifeline - a partnership in his Garden Centre, at a price I can easily afford on the proceeds of Broadleys' early retirement scheme. He says he needs the capital to diversify into conifers, but I know that it's actually a breathtaking act of generosity, offering to share ownership of his dream with a friend in need. Experiencing some difficulty in speaking, I say it's my round. Peg says I should go for it, and I reckon she's probably right. Back at the table, I thank George and say I'll think hard about it. We drink a toast to comradeship, but in reality I think I'm already drinking to horticultural retailing.

Tuesday 12th
I'm taking a few days' leave to decide about George's offer, but first there's the management meeting, which promises to be a real humdinger. The Managing Director of Broadleys Group himself is here, to investigate the rumours of serious rank-and-file discontent that are beginning to filter back to HQ (I don't know the exact channels of these rumours, but if they turn out to include A. Miller, M. Smedley and A. Advani, it won't be one of the great surprises of my life). Also present are Barrett, sporting his usual look of unpleasant self-satisfaction, and Cathy, who nowadays looks as if she expects to be 'Llewellynised' at any minute. Llewellyn himself is nowhere to be seen, although Andy's muttered 'clearing his desk, probably', may not be far from the truth.
        The MD gets straight to the point, saying that he's heard we're unhappy and wants to know what the problem is. The All Stars, however, remain silent, and it's easy to see why - Barrett's beady stare says, better than words, that any manager who complains about him will get a special cost rationalisation visit as soon as the MD's safely back at HQ. To my shame I stay silent too, but just as the MD is telling us that there obviously isn't a problem after all so he expects the rumours to stop, I realise that I don't have to be gagged. With George's offer on the table I'm free, and for the first time in twenty-six years I can say exactly what I think.
        So I do, telling the MD that Barrett's mad cost-slashing has, in a few weeks, as good as ruined a fine company that had taken fifty years to build. I tell him that morale has gone through the floor, and the firm's reputation out of the window, thanks to overstretched workers and second-rate materials. I tell him about the endless, petty cuts that are massively outweighed by lost efficiency, and how inedible canteen food makes everyone feel unvalued. Most of all, I tell him how line management's job now consists of cheating staff and customers alike, as we stretch inadequate resources to provide the minimum level of service we can get away with. If that's the way Broadleys treats subsidiaries, I say, then it doesn't deserve to have any, and the way things are going, it soon won't.
        For a moment there's silence, then the All Stars burst into a storm of table-thumping, cheers and catcalls, leaving the MD looking even more astonished than he already was. I expect Chapman to make an on-message intervention, but instead he confines himself to giving the MD a surprisingly uncamouflaged I-told-you-so look, which leaves Barrett, to everyone's intense pleasure, looking decidedly uncomfortable. In the canteen afterwards I'm awarded the Free Tea, and when a stony-faced Barrett comes over and demands to see me later, I tell him that, as of right now, I'm officially on leave and he'll have to wait until I get back, prompting another storm of table-thumping and jeers as he beats his retreat. I may well be on the way out, but if I am, then I'm going to enjoy myself getting there.

Monday 17th
My return from holiday has met with a range of responses over the years, but a round of applause has never, until today, been one of them. Taken aback, I ask what's happened, and hear that Barrett has been summarily ejected from the premises (and Broadleys Group), and his cost rationalisation measures, including redundancy notices, rescinded. Word has it that my speech at the management meeting sparked it all off, and as a result I'm the hero of the hour.
        I spend the morning responding to the well-wishers who crowd round my door, many of them bearing tokens of appreciation. Kay presents me with a special Personnel Pen, while Andy slips me a £15 rakeoff from the profits earned by his cleverly generous odds on Barrett lasting until Christmas. Spark gives me his treasured signed photo of record-breaking vert skater Sergi Ventura, while an emotional Joan Davis gives me a hand-knitted mug-cosy, and when Danny gives her a SlimFast leaflet, cuffs him gently round the head and calls him a 'silly boy'.
        In the afternoon things get even better, beginning with the most succulent Shepherd's Pie I've ever tasted, delivered to the All Stars' table by Eileen herself and washed down by unlimited Free Teas. Then it's back to the Ranch, and the first chance I've had to talk properly to the team. Sheila says she's really grateful, but I tell her that I'm the one who's grateful to her, for keeping me sane all these years. Matt shakes my hand and says 'Right stuff, Bernard', an endorsement which, coming from a leader of the upcoming generation, gives me an oddly powerful sense of pride. Danny, meanwhile, asks if I can swing it with Broadleys MD to get the anti-porn blocking software removed from our browsers, and I say I'll see what I can do. At four o'clock they surprise me with a cake, decorated with the words 'Back to normal, thank you Bernard'. It's a moving moment, and the cake (courtesy of Rose's mum) is delicious.
        A celebratory bonanza is planned for this evening (venue, Peg's) but first I need to see George. In the leafy shade of the Garden Centre Coffee Shop, I tell him the good news about Barrett, and he says it's a tremendous victory. I also tell him about the personal email from Broadleys' MD, thanking me for my 'invaluable courage and honesty', and he says I must be very proud. Then I ask him if his offer of a partnership still stands, and though clearly surprised, he says it does, and that he'd be over the moon to have me on board. I say that in that case it's full steam ahead, and we shake to the future of Barker and Pierce's Plants and Conifers.
        Later, among the hell-raising of Peg's Public, I tell Andy my news. Narrowly managing not to splutter his beer all over a passing June, he asks why I'm quitting at my finest hour. I say that the public version is the irresistible lure of Garden Centre life, but the private version is that I'm getting too old for this game. There'll be more Barretts, and the firm will need the energy of a younger generation - Matt, Amrat, and hopefully a reformed Cathy - to see them off. Looking suddenly older than his years, Andy says I'm probably right, and we repair to the Snug ('No dancing on tables, indecent singing or Barrett-based darts games in here - by order, Peg') for a quiet pint.

Tuesday 10th
My official leaving do is on Thursday, and looks set to be a real shebang, with a live band, ceremonial expenses-chit burning and guests as exalted as Broadleys MD and high-flying City banker Tim Costello already confirmed. The do that really matters to me, however, is tonight's, in the hallowed Snug of Peg's, with my friends and comrades around me.
        The B2s are here, reminiscing lewdly about the old days and leaving me wondering, as always, how software development can make the fingernails as dirty as diesel engine maintenance. Amrat's here, looking seriously sharp in his designer suit and trying hard not to say "of course over at HQ we..." in every sentence. The Girls are here, looking amazingly glamorous and engaged in an unofficial Snowball-drinking contest, and George is here, looking amazingly unglamorous and engaged in predicting great things for the expanded operation that "my business partner and I" are about to launch. Danny's on a yellow card from Peg for distracting her barmaid (whose phone number has materialised on his hand), and Andy's distracting Peg with some extremely interesting tips he'd had from a friend whose uncle's barber's milkman knows a stable lad at Newmarket.
        Perhaps the most surprising guest, however, is C. J. Llewellyn, newly-reinstated IT Manager of JA Brown PLC. He asked if he could come, in such genuinely humble tones that I couldn't refuse him, and now I'm glad I didn't. In a quiet moment he says he can't promise he'll do things differently in future, but that he's learned enough over the past few weeks to at least want to try. That's probably the most candid thing he's said to me in all the years I've known him, and as a leaving present it does pretty well.
        Then it's time for my real leaving presents - not the gold clock that Chapman will present me with on Thursday, but the ones bought by Sheila, Matt and Danny during their numerous mystery absences over the past week. There's a beautifully bound copy of Halliwell's Film Guide, a 'Bone Idle' baseball cap (some chance!), a 'Gardening for Dummies' book with 'Training Manual' stamped on it, and a range of minor fitness aids for the elderly. I also receive a remastered DVD copy of Casablanca, my all-time favourite film. I haven't got the heart to tell them that I don't have a DVD player, but after a few moments June has the heart to tell me that they have, in fact, bought me one, with Danny adding that his mate will chip it for multi-region discs free of charge at a mutually convenient date.
        A speech is called for and, not unprepared, I give a short review of my time at the company. Roger Brison and the Dorking Biggie, riotous management meetings, the Old Man's Force 10s, Oona Jardine (cue an embarrassed Andy), the Intranet website contest, Amrat and Cathy arguing, Word Training Manager Colin Smiles getting Word training from Rose's niece Julie, George the world's most unlikely Windows 95 evangelist, 386SX upgrade kits (cue boos from the Girls) and a large number of unsavoury episodes involving Danny all get a mention. I also take the opportunity to congratulate my successor as Planning Manager - Matt Smedley, now a fully-fledged All Star, and without doubt the possessor of large helpings of the Right Stuff.
        Then it's on to the final, solemn duty of my career at JA Brown. Calling for silence, I produce a gift of my own - the ceremonial mug that was given to me when I was appointed Father of Chapel of the Worshipful Company of Line Management All Stars. Turning to Andy, I present him with it, and congratulate him on achieving the highest office of our great brotherhood (sisters also welcome). Tears in his eyes, he accepts it, and swears, on a pint of Peg's finest, to uphold truth, decency and the Line Management Way, just as George and I did before him. He's a worthy successor, and I know he won't let me down.

THE END

That was the final episode of Group Efforts (we thought about continuing, but the Diary of a Horticultural Retailer didn't have quite the same ring to it!).

Bernard Pierce, diarist extraordinaire, would like to thank everyone who's read his diaries over the years, and hopes you've enjoyed them.