2 (32) IN LESS THAN A CENTURY IX.

SOME THINGS JUST DON'T HAPPEN. 

The seventies (continued and concluded.) 

Edward Heath's beleaguered Tory government departed in 1974 and a Labour government led by Harold Wilson finally gained control, though only with a very narrow majority. In 1976 Wilson was replaced by James Callaghan and the Labour government borrowed from the International Monetary Fund.

Things, as my mother used to say, had come to a pretty pass. 

On the work front, I could see no point in the new Area Health Authority which, I was convinced, was a totally unnecessary tier of management. I did not like hospitals, had never wanted to work in or around them, heartily disliked the more overbearing of the buggers who did, was blunt in conversation about it and fell out rather pointedly with one or two of the more arrogant of the ilk along the way. 

Honesty is not always the best policy. (Ask Gerald Ratner. Ask Brian True-May.) So in 1978 when my (former Southampton; still living there; got to the office every morning at about half ten, went home every afternoon at around three) boss, the FPC Administrator, took his retirement, I applied for and, unsurprisingly, did not get the vacant post. The interviewing panel, which included at least one of the aforementioned ilk (judge not a man by his friends but by his enemies), gave it to a good talker. He came over from the mainland. I had come across him in the past: he had scant ability but had neatly mastered the art of moving from place to place before his mistakes caught up with him. Within a year he moved onwards and upwards. A bearded version of him then obtained the post. I didn't apply. No point. 

Some things just don't happen. 

What did happen was that Margaret Thatcher became Britain's first female prime minister in May 1979 and three months later Lord Mountbatten (cousin of the Queen and a popular governor of the Isle of Wight) was assassinated in Ireland.

My Leader has since remarked that the NHS in the seventies (like the Dementors in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books) drained me of all joyousness. I do regret putting her through that. A man brought up in the thirties really should have done better than bring his workplace home with him. 

Anyway, most of the protagonists are now dead and my dealings with them best forgotten. The eighties surely had to be an improvement. 

HOME. 

Nice people. 

We are blessed with an abundance of nice people who come by to tell us how much more the old surgery now looks like a family home. 

We have also been visited by the fire brigade's safety officer who fitted the place with smoke detectors and advised us how to reduce the hazard of accidental fire. A pleasant and worthwhile bloke. Our thanks to him.

TELEVISION. 

There has been much coming and going about which more next time. For now: 

The Graham Norton Show (BBC1 last night) captured the first television interview in 42 years by Maggie Smith - a magic appearance. 

If you missed it, look it up on one of those repeat thingies. Worth the viewing. Even the ubiquitous Mr. Norton is tolerable in such company.

2 (31) IN LESS THAN A CENTURY VIII

AND THAT WAS THAT.

The seventies (continued). 

The man from the ministry was Sir Richard Hayward CBE (1910 - 1994), regarded in some quarters as a poacher turned gamekeeper, but a pleasant bloke man to man. I met him at the wet end of Ryde Pier and drove him to the Executive Council offices for his appointment with my boss. I was quietly impressed by him and he was openly impressed by my elderly, midnight blue, Humber Hawk. (Of all the cars I ever owned that one was my favourite, too.) 
It transpired that the forthcoming NHS shakeup planned to bring together the disparate governing bodies of hospital, family services and local health. Area Health Authorities would be formed and, since it was an island, the IOW would have its own Area Authority. At the same time, Executive Councils would be disbanded. (City offices like Portsmouth and Southampton would be closed down entirely and taken over by the County office.) Nationwide they would all be replaced by Family Practitioner Committees with brand new members and lay chairpersons. 
It was a prize example of the political/civil service maxim: “If it ain't broke, for chrissake mend it.” 
Executive Councils were Insurance Committees up until 1948 when the newly formed NHS took them over, amended their function and renamed them. They were run by Clerks who, in the main, were qualified Insurance Institute members and knew their business. 
I don't know whether the same could be said for hospital management which was predominantly headed by the medical profession until the establishment of the NHS. Non-medical administrators were then recruited, largely from local government departments which, in all too many cases (I always thought), must have been bloody glad to see the back of them. 
In 1974 they, together with all the Clerks of E.C.s and allied health bodies, were to find they were jobless and their jobs had been put up for grabs. They could, of course, reapply for that job or they could seek a similar or improved post elsewhere. 
The new Authorities (Sir Richard told local heads of departments) would have new members and they would choose their own top officers to suit new, forward thinking, requirements.
By the time this esteemed Departmental spokesman had departed, all the top dogs in health on the Island (other than those already on the retirement list) were hastening to hone their interviewing techniques and assess the opposition on their ladder to Area Health Authority greatness. The smell of ambition was palpable. 
My own boss went for an interview at Portsmouth E.C., where my old boss had just retired. I might have gone for it but, in the circumstances, judged I would stand no chance. In the event, my boss was offered the job and tactfully turned it down. It transpired that he was also in the lineup of hopefuls for the post of Area Administrator on the Island. He was interviewed for that and he got it.
I became Acting Clerk of the IOW E.C. for the last six months of its existence (which included all of Ted Heath's three day weeks).
The Portsmouth and Southampton E.C. offices were duly closed down. The boss at Southampton was four years away from retirement and of similar experience to my old Pompey boss. He joined the shortlist for the post of IOW FPC Administrator and, unsurprisingly, was appointed. I was shortlisted, but the interview was a formality; in that company I was not to be remotely in the running. 
Much later I learned that Departmental specialists like Sir Richard, who had been sent to disseminate reorganization propaganda nationwide, had left firm advice that where Clerks departed from Executive Councils their Deputies should not replace them as Administrators of the new Family Practitioner Committees: such vacancies should be filled by outside applicants. So the 1974 reorganization changed my title from Deputy Clerk to Assistant Administrator. And that was that. (To be continued.) 
HOME. 
Surprises. 
Maureen had a change of hair style. (We both tend to be rather conservative about such things.) I like it and everybody says it suits her. 

That's my girl.
Moving house is a traumatic and at times surprising experience. Among the pleasant surprises afforded us has been an awakening to the many damned good books we had so far failed to read in our library. Meanwhile, the cat Shadow (below) has discovered the simple pleasure of cross-legged repose. I told him it wouldn't be allowed in a hospital and he muttered something. It sounded like 'Bollocks.' 
READING. 
Finished Maskerade by Terry Pratchett. Splendid. The Phantom of the Opera will never be the same again. 
Have read A Fresh Wind in the Willows (1983) by Dixon Scott; one of the previously unread books in our home library and a creditable little follow up to Kenneth Graeme's masterpiece. 
Am reading No Time for Goodbye (2007) by Linwood Barclay, another overlooked gem from the home library: more next time.