The Bowler Hat Brigade

Ladies and Gentlemen:

Ever wonder, what they do?

Ever wonder, just what they actually do, those dark suited, black brolly wielding, black briefcase carrying, black Bowler Hat wearing, British Government Civil Servants?

Yes?

Well, I will tell you, then.

The following account is an excerpt from my Diaries, in which I assiduously chronicle the daily events of my working life, which I have expanded upon here, for the benefit and the elucidation of the reader.

I keep my Diaries, for the sole purpose of writing my memoirs of my Political Career, as a Civil Servant in Her Majesty's Government, for me to peruse and to ponder upon, from time to time, and for me to look back on, with fond nostalgia.

However, I have no plans to publish my Diaries, at the end of my Political Career.

Not so much, because of a fear of contravening the Official Secrets Act, which I have of course signed up to, but rather, because I am of the decided opinion, that few will want to read my memoirs, and that fewer still, (and, rather more to the point), will wish to pay for them.

MONDAY: 1st -- MARCH -- 2010.

Today is my birthday, and I am 40 years old.

They say, that 'Life begins At 40'.

Well, I would see for myself, now, as to the veracity or otherwise, of that rather optimistic, and wholly unfounded philosophical outlook.

And, today, I had also reached another significant Landmark, besides my 40th birthday, and what was, to me, an important and noteworthy milestone, in the course of my Political Career, and of my chosen vocation, as a Civil Servant in Her Majesty's Government.

Today, after joining Her Majesty's Civil Service at just 15 years of age, and straight from my Secondary School, I had now been a Civil Servant, and a member of The Bowler Hat Brigade, for exactly 25 years.

Which was exactly half way, through the British Government's '50 year Career Service Time Frame', of my Political Career, and chosen vocation, as a Civil Servant, and, as a member, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

And today, on Monday -- 1st -- March -- 2010, after having served my first 25 25 years as a Civil Servant in Her Majesty's Government, I would begin my second 25 years, of selfless and dedicated service, to The Crown, and to the British Government, and to the British people, until my retirement became due, at age 65.

Though, I had heard some disturbing rumours, of late, that, because of the impending Public Sector Spending restraints, occasioned by the ever burgeoning Public Budget Deficit, the Public Purse strings were going to have to be tightened, somewhat, and the age of retirement for Civil Servants, such as myself, was, unfortunately, if there was any truth to those disturbing and distressing rumours, going to have to be raised, and, I might have to continue working until I was 70, or even 75, before I would qualify for my Pension.

Not, I hasten now to add, that either the fact of today being my birthday, or the fact of my now having reached that impressive and significant Civil Service Career milestone, was at all likely to engender any interest or sentiments of congratulation, of any note, let alone, occasion any forms of celebration or ceremony, even of the most modest and understated, in nature, among my colleagues, and still less, among my Superiors, at the Office.

At 7 am, I stood in the narrow hallway of my cramped and decidedly modest bachelor's flat, which, sadly for me, was located in a decidedly seedy and distinctly insalubrious neighbourhood of East London.

The Estate Agents, though, looking through their rose tinted glasses, might have euphemistically described my flat, to a prospective buyer, as 'cosy', and would no doubt have further enthused, that my flat was 'handy', for the local Pubs, and for the Indian and the Chinese Take -- Away ouutlets, and, would no doubt have further still, shamelessly heaped praise upon my cramped, and decidedly modest bachelor's flat, for it's being so 'convenient', for the Bus Stop and for the Underground Station, which were all in very close, raucous, and smelly, and noisy, respectively, proximity, but that, sadly for me, my humble abode, was the best that I could afford on my meagre salary, which was the very lowest of all of the Remuneration Packages, of the British Government's Civil Servants Pay Grades.

Now, I faced the irksome problem, that (with the sole exception of my very first Monday morning, when I began my Political Career), I had faced every working Monday morning, for the past 25 years, and, I struggled to force shut the lid of my black, Civil Servant's briefcase, that was somewhat larger than a standard, conventional size briefcase, and was of the type issued by the British Government to Civil Servants, such as myself, who were the members, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

This was a problem that I always faced on Monday mornings, much more so, than through the rest of the week, due to the high volume of my weekend workload, which were the weekend assignments that I was invariably allocated, by my Superiors at the Office.

This was important work, that I must on no account fail to perform and complete, to the full satisfaction of my Superiors, and, which took up such a large proportion of my 'free' weekend time, as to leave very little of it left over for myself, to indulge in any such personal hobbies or interests that I might have, and, I most certainly did not have the surplus time, to enjoy what we might commonly describe as, a 'Social Life'.

Such, were the oppressive and repressive, stringent and restrictive Terms and Conditions, of my Political Career, and chosen vocation, as a Civil Servant in Her Majesty's Government, and, as a member, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

When I had finally managed to force shut the lid of my black, Civil Servant's briefcase, I assiduously checked the correctness of my appearance, in the full length, hallway mirror, preparatory to leaving my cramped, and decidedly modest, East London bachelor's flat, for the Office.

Then, after I had painstakingly checked, the required correctness of my appearance, in my full length, hallway mirror, after I had checked, that my highly polished black shoes, absolutely gleamed, and checked, that my black trouser legs, had a razor sharp crease, to them, and checked, that my starched white shirt, was perfectly pressed and spotless, and checked, that my black suit jacket, was immaculate, and totally free of any errant creases, and checked, and made the most minute of corrective adjustments, to the knot, and to the straightness of my black tie, then, and only then, did I proudly don, what was, the piece de resistance, and, quite literally, the crowning glory, of my monochromatic sartorial ensemble, the proud emblem of my status, which was my Government Issue, black Bowler Hat.

Then, when I was quite satisfied, that my appearance correctly projected, to the Public at Large, the Bowler Hatted persona, of the Public's perception of one of Her Majesty's Government's Civil Servants, I finally let myself out of the front door of my cramped, and decidedly modest, East London bachelor's flat, and, I walked the short distance to the Bus Stop, which was the same Bus Stop that I had used, for the past 25 years.

About 30 minutes later, the red 'double decker' bus deposited me at the very same Bus Stop, from where, come hail, rain or shine, I had taken the same 15 minute walk to the Government Offices in Whitehall, for the past 25 years.

Once on the pavement, I made the long and measured strides born of 25 years of practise, and of such a prodigious pace, so as to ensure that I would not be late for my 8 -- 5 Offfice job, and, to any onlookers, I seemingly glided along the pavement, my steel tipped black brolly ringing a metallic note upon the concrete, and seemingly propelling me along, like some unsuitably attired skier, and I moved smartly and brusquely along, in a businesslike, intent and purposeful looking, and urgent, 'on a mission' sort of gait, and, in the way that is peculiar to, and commonly associated with, The Bowler Hat Brigade.

As I neared the Whitehall Offices at which I worked, my path began to converge with that of some of my Office colleagues, some of whom, had served as Civil Servants for as long as, or even longer, than my own 25 years of Civil Service.

Here, were 4 of the older, and rather more sober and unforthcoming of my Bowler Hatted Office colleagues, whose black, Civil Servant's briefcases, I noticed, with bleak satisfaction, were bulging, and straining to contain their workloads, which were the results of their weekend assignments, and the allocations of their Superiors, just as mine was.

My 4 older, and rather more sober and unforthcoming of my Bowler Hatted Office colleagues, strutted along, as though they owned the pavement they walked on, like arrogant and self important penguins, puffed up, with pompous pride, and with their over inflated notions of their own value.

These 4 Office colleagues, of mine, were Percival Haskins (Percy), Alexander Caruthers (Alex), Norman Jenkins (Jenks), and Alistair Greening (Greenie).

Upon spotting me, my 4 Office colleagues pointed the steel tips of their black brollies at me, by way of fellow acknowledgement, and I returned in kind, our traditional salute.

This small gesture was the extent of our decidedly reserved Monday morning greeting, and, no words were exchanged between us, as we entered the Whitehall Office building where we worked, and headed straight for the lift.

Now, my Monday morning mood brightened, slightly, when I saw that, already waiting at the lift, were 3 of my younger, and rather more talkative and more sociable Office colleagues, and, they were the closest thing I had, to what we might commonly describe, as 'friends'.

These 3 Office colleagues, of mine, were Nigel Spottiswood, (Spotty), Harvey Dinsdale (Dinners), and Charles Cruddas (Cruddy).

By way of a friendly greeting, and what passed for a token of congratulation, I received a resounding slap on the back, from one of my younger, and rather more talkative and more sociable Office colleagues, Nigel Spottiswood. "David! If I'm not tragically mistaken, you've got your first 25 years of Civil Service under your belt now, haven't you, birthday boy?". "Yes, that's right, Spotty", I replied. Then I added, with a weak and decidedly unenthusiastic grin, which was a rather pitiful attempt at bravado, "only another 25 years to go then, Spotty!"

Then, as all 8 of us stepped into the lift, one of my older, and rather more sober and unforthcoming of my Office colleagues, Alexander Caruthers, who had served in his capacity as a Civil Servant, and as a member of The Bowler Hat Brigade, for 48 years, now, remarked to me, in what to him, passed for outrageous banter, "Good Lord, David! You are not still having 'birthdays', at YOUR age, are you?"

Then, he added, and reverting back to type, after his brief outburst of what for him, was unbridled bonhomie, "anyway, David, let's see if you've still got a smile on your face, even if it IS a sickly one, when you have served as a Civil Servant here in Whitehall, and when you have put in as much time here, as I have!"

When the lift juddered to a stop at the 16th Floor (which was identical to all of the other 19 Floors of the 20 Floor Whitehall Office Establishment), all 8 of us exited it, and we were greeted, by the familiar sight of the Government posters on the walls, exhorting us to 'REPORT BULLYING AT WORK!'

We were also greeted, by the even more familiar sight, of our workplace, which was a vast, 'open plan' Office, or, as it was known to us Civil Servants, and members of The Bowler Hat Brigade, 'The Secretariat'.

This vast, 'open plan' Office, or Secretariat, which was just one of many such Government Establishments situated around Whitehall and Westminster, was comprised of 8 Sections, of Parliamentary Secretaries Desks, numbered from 1 to 8.

Each Section, consisted of a double row of Parliamentary Secretaries Desks, facing each other, and which was 10 Desks long, thereby giving a total of 20 Desks, in the Section, numbered from 1 to 20.

This meant, that there was a sum total of 160 Parliamentary Secretaries Desks, in the 16th Floor Secretariat.

This meant, that there was a sum total of 3,200 Parliamentary Secretaries, in just this 1 Whitehall Government Office Establishment.

Each of the 8 Sections, had a Supervisor, or, Section Head, as they were known to us Civil Servants, and members, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

After hanging up the proud emblems of our status (our Bowler Hats), my 7 Civil Servant Office colleagues and I proceeded to report for duty, at the relevant Section of Parliamentary Secretaries Desks, to which we were assigned (in my case, Section 5), and, that were the Work Stations at which we served in our vocational capacities, as Her Majesty's Government's Civil Servants, and, as members, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

The Parliamentary Secretaries, who worked in this 16th Floor Whitehall Secretariat, all 160 of them, just like all of their Office colleagues, who worked on the other 19 Floors of this Whitehall Government Office Establishment, and in many other such Establishments, that were situated around Whitehall and Westminster, were the Superiors of the Civil Servants, such as myself, who were the members, of The Bowler Hat Brigade.

The Parliamentary Secretaries were all dressed alike, and they wore white, sleeveless blouses, black, knee length skirts, dark or tan hose, and on their feet, they wore black, Office pumps.

Those of the Parliamentary Secretaries, who had longer than shoulder length hair, wore it neatly, on top of their heads, in an elegant chignon, or in other, fashionable and attractive styles, or in pony tails, according to the sometimes capricious whims, and spur of the moment fancies of their own tastes.

The ages of the Parliamentary Secretaries, who worked in the particular Whitehall Secretariat in which I, myself served, ranged very widely.

Their ages ranged, from the mere slips of girls of just 18 years old, and who were just starting out on their working lives, many of whom would move on to other jobs, that were perhaps better paid, or that simply suited them better, and who would be immediately replaced by new Parliamentary Secretaries, while others would stay, finding the work very much to their liking, and whose jobs would become their Political Career, and their chosen vocation, right through to the older Parliamentary Secretaries, aged 59, and who were now in the final year of their Political Career, and who, untouched by the impending savage Public Sector Spending cuts, would soon retire from their jobs, to receive their very generous State Pension, plus a very handsome cash Bonus Payment, as a special Government 'Thank you', and 'Golden Goodbye', upon their reaching age 60.

One of those mere slips of girls of just 18 years old, a strikingly attractive, blue eyed young lady with shoulder length blonde hair, worked at Section 5, Parliamentary Secretary Desk Number 2.

Her name was Miss Suzanne Forsythe.

Miss Suzanne Forsythe, although she had worked as a Parliamentary Secretary in the same Whitehall Secretariat in which I myself, served, for less than 3 months, had settled in extremely well, and very quickly, I thought, and, she had a natural air of authority about her, that 'her kind', I thought, seem to wear about them like an aura, and, hers was a sense of authority, that took some of the other Parliamentary Secretaries, sometimes several years, to fully acquire, and to begin to exercise and implement, with anything like the full power at their command over the Civil Servants, such as myself, who were their underlings.

And, it was to 18 year old Miss Suzanne Forsythe, at Section 5, Parliamentary Secretary Desk Number 2, who I reported to now.

Upon reporting for duty at my Section, I stood to attention, by Parliamentary Secretary Desk Number 2, and I waited, silent and still, until it was convenient for my Superior to address me.

After several moments, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the Parliamentary Secretary at Section Desk Number 2, finally looked away from her computer screen, and she turned her full attention, and her haughty and supercilious gaze, fully and penetratingly upon me, as she addressed me.

"Good morning, Unnworthy.

Did you successfully complete the important assignment that I gave you to take home with you, over the weekend?", demanded my Superior, curtly.

"Yes, Ma'am, I did. I have your completed weekend assignment with me here, Ma'am, in my briefcase", I replied respectfully.

Carefully, I placed my black, Civil Servant's briefcase on my Superior's Desk, and then, I felt the usual 'butterflies in the stomach' moment of anxiety, just before I pressed the 2 catches that released the straining lid.

When the briefcase lid sprang open, like some kind of 3rd rate 'Jack in the Box', the Parliamentary Secretary, upon seeing what she was looking for, among all of my other completed weekend assignments, reached inside, and she removed the completed weekend assignment, that she had set for me.

I waited anxiously, and I worried, and was fretful, that my Superior might find some kind of fault, as she held my completed weekend assignment in front of her, and as she minutely studied the results, of my diligent and dedicated efforts, with very great care, and with very close and critical, and analytical scrutiny.

"Did you follow my explicit instructions, EXACTLY, Unnworthy?", snapped my Superior.

"Yes, Ma'am, I did. I followed your instructions, to the letter, Ma'am.

I used fabric conditioner, AND softener, Ma'am, just as you ordered, when I hand washed your jogging socks for you, Ma'am", I assured my Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary, at Desk Number 2, Section 5.

Apparently satisfied, (albeit grudgingly, I couldn't help but feel), with the results of the completed weekend assignment that she had allocated to me, my Superior, Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the Parliamentary Secretary at Desk Number 2, said to me, sharply, "very well, Unnworthy! Now, get about your work! Go and deliver the results of all of your other completed weekend assignments, to the Parliamentary Secretaries who allocated them to you.

Then, Unnworthy, when you have done that, you shameless idler, you can jolly well make yourself useful, for a pleasant change, you good for nothing, common layabout, and you can go to the kitchen and make tea, for myself, and for your Section Head", ordered my Superior, imperiously, (and rather unjustly, I couldn't help but feel).

"Yes Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am", I replied, compliantly.

After I had emptied my black, Civil Servant's briefcase, of all of my completed weekend assignments, which were of various types of socks; ankle socks, gym socks, jogging socks, sports socks, bed socks, etc, etc, etc, to hand wash and to press, to a high standard, and, of a considerable number of pairs of hose, tights, and stockings to very carefully hand wash, that had been allocated to me by my Superiors, who were the various Parliamentary Secretaries of my Section, and, after my completed weekend assignments had undergone all of their careful and critical inspections, and had earned the metaphorical stamps of their approval and satisfaction, I went to the kitchen, to make tea, for Miss Suzanne Forsythe, the 18 year old Parliamentary Secretary at Section Desk Number 2, and for the Section Head, as she had ordered me to.

But, before I went to the kitchen, I went to the Ladies Cloak Room, as per my daily morning custom, and I left my black, Civil Servant's briefcase in there, (for which I would return, at 5 pm), with the lid open, for the ease and convenience of any of the Parliamentary Secretaries of my Section, who wished to avail themselves of my services, and who wished to allocate to me, their Monday evening assignments.