In all their Glory

Monday gave me the opportunity to firm up my idea of where Redcar is.  When I was given the job in the late morning I thought, 'somewhere in Yorkshire - I should be back in good time to go ringing tonight.'  Now I admit I felt that a little optimistic, but when I discovered that a) it was quite near Middlesbrough, and if not actually in Teesside, it has a TS postcode, and b) on the seaside, I was not only surprised but also neatly provided with a good excuse for not going to the weekly bellringing practice after all.  I got a meal on the way home, and was back about 9.15.

This gave me the opportunity to ring the office at 8.0 am yesterday, and then stay home for a while.  I managed to finish the microfiche catalogue that I've been struggling with for the last couple of years or so.  Now all I have to do is print it out to go with me to the Suffolk Family History Society meeting on Saturday.  I'd just finished the viewing stage of the last batch of fiche when the phone rang.  I dropped everything, shut down the computer and went off on an urgent job to the bright new Broomfield Hospital in Chelmsford.  When I returned I was still nowhere near the top of the list, so was sent out again on a less urgent job to the West Suffolk Hospital in Bury St Edmunds.  By the time I was on my way back from there, jobs were being allocated for this morning, and I was sent to Stevenage to what is probably our biggest customer.

When I looked at what I had collected, I confess to some reflection about 'how the mighty are fallen'.  Notwithstanding their ranking in the list of firms using our services, I have to say that their professionalism leaves a lot to be desired.  I was presented with a delivery document addressed to their customer, with the correct street details but no town name, the county name mis-spelled - "Wilkshire" - and a postcode.  When I got home I had to spend some while sorting out exactly where I should be going, and then, after the minimum of admin, went to bed, since delivery had been requested for 7.0am in what I discovered to be Melksham, Wiltshire.

When I arrived (about one minute late) it was just getting light, and I was pleased to see that one of the windows of the bungalow showed a light inside, indicating that the householder was at least up and about. In answer to my knock, a figure approached along the hall and having confirmed that there was someone at the door, turned and went back for the door key.  The figure returned, there was a rattling and the sound of the key in the door, and then it was opened on the safety chain.  A hesitant voice said, "Yes?"  I explained my mission, the door closed and then re-opened with the chain removed.  I was confronted by a lady of about seventy, clad in her dressing gown.

"Oh," she said, "are they coming back today?"  It seems that an installation team had visited on a previous occasion, been unable to complete the job for want of whatever additional parts that were packed in the box I was delivering, and disappeared.  The poor lady had been given no idea when they might return, and no warning at all that I should be arriving with the parts today, let alone at 7.0 in the morning!  And then, when she acceded to my request for a signature, it became apparent that the firm had got her name wrong into the bargain!  I felt quite sorry for having disturbed her breakfast, and wondered what would have happened had she not been the sort to be up at that hour.

Money talks, they say.  But seldom, it seems, does it express consideration for the common man - or in this case, woman!