Work experience

Giles. Daily Express 2 July 1964 — ‘...may I expect your homework to be at least partially legible.’

It seems extraordinary now, but when I failed the ‘pernicious’ 11 plus exam, and therefore attended a secondary modern school (in 1955), none of us were entered for O levels. I found out only recently that there was never any intention that secondary modern school pupils should be prepared for exams. We had – oh, wonderful system! – been ‘stamped’ at age 11 as being decidedly in the category of ‘limited expectations’. There  was to be no teasing out of ability or encouragement of talents: we were put into a convenient ‘social lump’. Fortunately, I had the lucky escape of enrolment at Hastings School of Art, and therefore was spared the tedium of most of the employment opportunities in Hastings – then as now, alas.

However, there is something else which seems extraordinary now. Which is that it was then possible to walk into the offices of, for example, a newspaper, and simply ask if there were any jobs going. And the reply might well have been, ‘Yes, can you start next Monday?’ No interview, no CV – just a quick ‘eye to eye’ assessment. If you were diligent, personable, punctual, and flexible you could then work your way up, learn a trade, become a skilled worker, and at the very least earn a reasonable wage. How stark is the contrast now! Between applicant and employer there is a thick wall of qualifications, written applications, CVs, and – if you are lucky – interviews. And yet, despite all these hurdles, hoops, and ‘safeguards’ there is still no guarantee that the most suitable candidate will be chosen.

No names, no pack drill, but I know of disastrous decisions which have been made by people nowise lacking in intelligence. The artificiality of the interview seems to be the main problem: instead of your being observed working and relating to other people, you have to attempt to describe how you do these things. A near–impossibility, I think. Moreover, a clever interviewee can sway the judgement of a poor interviewer – and there is not exactly a dearth of the latter.

Well, as light relief to all this, I was once asked by the son of family friends which school I had been to. This was a bit tricky, as he was attending St Pauls, London... Anyway, I was able to reply, ‘The Grove School, Hastings.’ Not surprisingly he had not heard of it, but it sounded well: The Groves of Academe, as might be said...

Endnote: I remember an unusual interruption to one of our lessons in my last year at the Grove school. Unannounced, the head master came in with someone from British Railways. There was    a vacancy for a porter at West St Leonards station: would anyone like the job? Immediately, a  hand shot up, and there it was: a lad employed on the spot! I remember at the time understanding exactly why he was so keen to get out of the classroom and start earning a wage. And I guess too, that he had made the right decision.