Henry's First Day at the Dockyard

"There are nine intervals, either end of each being announced by The Sirens. That makes ten times a day that The Sirens sound." He looked at his watch. "In about half an hour we'll hear the 9.30 siren. That's when we take a half hour tea break."

Henry was puzzled. He was seated behind his new desk in the office that he was to share with Senior Stores Officer Mr Alf Whitehead. Mr Whitehead was standing at the window looking down on the Dockyard through the large expanse of glass.

"But we've been reading the paper, drinking coffee and chatting since I arrived this morning. I don't understand, when do we start work?"

The storeman, a portly man in his early fifties with receding grey hair and an upper lip which, over the years, had been allowed to run wild and was now covered with a huge tangle of overgrown moustache, turned to look at Henry, his face suddenly rendered grim by a veil of non-comprehension. Then the light of understanding returned, he snorted and resumed his contemplation of the naval scene.

"You're very new here. It's quite natural that it will take you a little while to acquire our way of seeing the world. There's a lot to learn. You see, to start with, it doesn't matter what we actually do, it's when we do it. Between 7.30 and 9.30 we work. If we choose to drink a cup of coffee in that interval, then it's work."

"But…" Henry remained nonplussed. "I mean, how do we justify it?"

"Good God, boy! Justify it?! If you can't justify it there's no hope for you. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be on the planet." He paused, trying to control his impatience. "Look, if we are drinking coffee it's because we're testing a victual. Commander Wolfaart has complained about the freshness, or staleness, of the instant coffee. We are conducting tests on different batches of Nescafe to determine which one it is that fails to meet naval standards. We are consulting the newspaper in order to find out when that French freighter will be docking in Cape Town - you know how urgently the shipment of submarine parts is required. We are in conversation because I am briefing you on important matters concerning the efficient running of this store. Get it? Really, if you can't justify your existence then you are bereft of imagination. But don't worry, I'm sure you don't fit into that pitiful category. You'll soon pick it up and become adept in…"

This is an extract from The Life of Henry Fuckit, which can be read on my website here.