say, ‘Now we’re very attractive . . .’ A lone titter rose up, and, glancing uncertainly towards the sound, I grappled for the thread of my argument. ‘Our name and reputation are the attractions,’ I said at last. ‘And of course our designs. But valuing a name and reputation is not the same as valuing a workforce.’
That had sounded all right, but my brain was functioning with agonising slowness. ‘People like Donington have the capacity to produce the Hartford range at their own plants so, if they outbid us, well – you can imagine. This factory will almost certainly close.’
I was back on track at last, my mind free of whatever had constrained it. I thrust some optimism back into my voice. ‘But we can make damned sure that doesn’t happen! We can make sure that our bid is bigger and better than anyone else’s!’ I paused, trying unsuccessfully to gauge their mood, before plunging on. ‘Now, we’ve already asked a lot from you, I know that. And you’ve responded one hundred per cent and that’s the entire reason we’ve managed to keep going as long as we have. But the venture capital people want one more undertaking, and that’s what I’ve come to ask you today. They want a formal undertaking that you’ll agree to a two-year period of wage restraint.’
I explained how this would work, how their share options and profit-sharing schemes would remain unaffected. I told them that if it had been left to me I wouldn’t have asked them for anything in writing, but venture capitalists were altogether more cautious animals.
I said a lot more of what I hoped were the right things before halting with a sense of relief. My brain was clear, but my momentary disorientation had shaken me and I didn’t want to risk it happening again. I had no intention of going on, I certainly didn’t mean to get onto emotional ground, but my judgement was all over the place and, without any idea of where it might lead, I found myself saying forcibly, ‘You know, some people believe tradition’s a bad thing, that it’s the enemy of change – the great modern god Change. But I believe that the traditions we’ve built up here really matter, that they actually help us to change in a productive way. We’ve been together so long that we think like a family, we take each other into account, we’re not just out for ourselves and to hell with the next man . . .’ I broke off, aware of how pretentious this must sound to people who, at the end of the day, just wanted a regular job like everyone else. ‘What I mean is – I believe that this company is worth fighting for. And not just for what comes off the end of the production line. But for the way we do things here.’
A voice piped up, ‘We certainly do it our way!’ and there was a ripple of laughter followed by a call of ‘You can say that again!’ and a smattering of applause.
Buoyed up by their irreverence, I laughed with them before delivering a few last words.
When I stepped down my shirt was damp with sweat and I pulled at my collar to loosen it. Madge brought me a glass of water. ‘No need to worry about us, Hugh.’ After twenty-five years at Hartford she used my name with a disarming familiarity. ‘We’re the least of your troubles.’
‘Madge . . . That’s good to know.’
‘We don’t mind the wages, we don’t mind being asked to do the overtime, what we don’t like is being second best to cheap glass and tableware.’
‘I never meant Hartford to be second best.’
‘Got your head turned, didn’t you?’ Madge prided herself on her blunt speaking. ‘Big ideas.’
I couldn’t deny it and I didn’t try.
Madge, who was a grandmother ten times over, gave me the sort of admonitory nod she probably reserved for her own middle-aged sons.
George and I lingered for a few minutes answering questions before walking back to the office.
‘Good speech,’ he exclaimed delightedly. ‘Just what we needed.’ He caught my expression. ‘You
That had sounded all right, but my brain was functioning with agonising slowness. ‘People like Donington have the capacity to produce the Hartford range at their own plants so, if they outbid us, well – you can imagine. This factory will almost certainly close.’
I was back on track at last, my mind free of whatever had constrained it. I thrust some optimism back into my voice. ‘But we can make damned sure that doesn’t happen! We can make sure that our bid is bigger and better than anyone else’s!’ I paused, trying unsuccessfully to gauge their mood, before plunging on. ‘Now, we’ve already asked a lot from you, I know that. And you’ve responded one hundred per cent and that’s the entire reason we’ve managed to keep going as long as we have. But the venture capital people want one more undertaking, and that’s what I’ve come to ask you today. They want a formal undertaking that you’ll agree to a two-year period of wage restraint.’
I explained how this would work, how their share options and profit-sharing schemes would remain unaffected. I told them that if it had been left to me I wouldn’t have asked them for anything in writing, but venture capitalists were altogether more cautious animals.
I said a lot more of what I hoped were the right things before halting with a sense of relief. My brain was clear, but my momentary disorientation had shaken me and I didn’t want to risk it happening again. I had no intention of going on, I certainly didn’t mean to get onto emotional ground, but my judgement was all over the place and, without any idea of where it might lead, I found myself saying forcibly, ‘You know, some people believe tradition’s a bad thing, that it’s the enemy of change – the great modern god Change. But I believe that the traditions we’ve built up here really matter, that they actually help us to change in a productive way. We’ve been together so long that we think like a family, we take each other into account, we’re not just out for ourselves and to hell with the next man . . .’ I broke off, aware of how pretentious this must sound to people who, at the end of the day, just wanted a regular job like everyone else. ‘What I mean is – I believe that this company is worth fighting for. And not just for what comes off the end of the production line. But for the way we do things here.’
A voice piped up, ‘We certainly do it our way!’ and there was a ripple of laughter followed by a call of ‘You can say that again!’ and a smattering of applause.
Buoyed up by their irreverence, I laughed with them before delivering a few last words.
When I stepped down my shirt was damp with sweat and I pulled at my collar to loosen it. Madge brought me a glass of water. ‘No need to worry about us, Hugh.’ After twenty-five years at Hartford she used my name with a disarming familiarity. ‘We’re the least of your troubles.’
‘Madge . . . That’s good to know.’
‘We don’t mind the wages, we don’t mind being asked to do the overtime, what we don’t like is being second best to cheap glass and tableware.’
‘I never meant Hartford to be second best.’
‘Got your head turned, didn’t you?’ Madge prided herself on her blunt speaking. ‘Big ideas.’
I couldn’t deny it and I didn’t try.
Madge, who was a grandmother ten times over, gave me the sort of admonitory nod she probably reserved for her own middle-aged sons.
George and I lingered for a few minutes answering questions before walking back to the office.
‘Good speech,’ he exclaimed delightedly. ‘Just what we needed.’ He caught my expression. ‘You
Similar Books
