office party, they just drank, talked and laughed.
Harry, carrying a tray of filled sherry glasses, stopped in front of a group of men and one of them said, "Well, there's no need for the old seasonable advice today, Mr. Blenheim, eh?"
"What's that. Barney?"
"Well, if you drive don't drink, and if you drink don't drive."
"Oh yes, yes, that's true. Well, we're going to get something out of the snow after all, you could say."
An elderly-looking man said, "I've seen some snow in me time but never anything like this. I've never seen it so thick that you couldn't get your cars out of the yard."
"They say the buses are only running on the flat; they can't tackle Brampton Hill or the cemetery road."
"Well the weather's not going to worry me," said another man.
"I mean to get bottled and stay corked for the entire four days."
Harry moved on amid laughter and went to a corner, where two girls were sitting on upturned boxes. As he neared them one got to her feet, saying, "I'll go and bring Ada," and Harry, offering the tray to the remaining girl, said, "Well, Miss Ray, how are you doing?"
"Quite well, Mr. Blenheim, quite well; I've still got some." She raised her half-filled glass; then putting her hand out she added, "But I'll take another, just to keep the kettle boiling."
"To keep the kettle boiling!" Harry laughed down on the girl.
"It's a long time since l neard mat one. Wtncn part are you from?"
The pert face pushed up towards his and the voice, hushed a little, said, "I'd better whisper it, Bog's End."
"No I Well, the same here."
"You, Mr. Blenheim 1' The brown eyes were stretched wide, the mouth agape.
"Yes, I was born there."
"Well, I never. Small world. Some go up, some go down, and some just stay put. The last's me. Although we don't live actually in Bog's End, but not a kick in the backs ... Oh lord!" She put her hand over her mouth and spluttered, "Aw well, it's Christmas, I might as well say it."
Harry was laughing freely again. She was a card, this one. He wondered how she ever became a shorthand typist; her kind always ended up in a store or a factory. There was nothing of gentility, faked or otherwise, that he had come to expect from the typists in Peamarsh's.
And she was a looker too, full of personality.
When her companion and another girl came scurrying back and sat one on each side of her he offered them glasses of sherry, and they giggled as they said, "Oh, thanks, Mr. Blenheim."
He smiled widely at them, saying, "It's my pleasure, ladies." Then, again amid laughter, he moved on.
When he went to the trestled table to replenish his tray his father-in-law was standing talking to Graham Hall. Hall was senior to Dave Rippon, but by how much was anybody's guess. He suffered from a stomach complaint, and it was rumoured he was going to retire long before his time. Harry knew that his father-in-law could hardly wait for Hall's shoes, or for that matter Mr. Walters, whom everybody said should have retired years ago.
Dave Rippon, showing his consideration for the staff, called in a voice that he aimed to raise above the din, "You're seeing to everybody, Harry? How about Miss Bateman?" He pointed to where Miss Bateman was standing condescending to talk to Jim Whelan, it being the one day in the year when position and seniority were supposedly forgotten.
Harry looked towards Miss Bateman, but she was looking at her boss"
and her boss was smiling at her and waving his hand. The atmosphere was very genial, very.
Mrs. Streatham, who saw to the tea each day, was now busily filling glasses, As she piled half-a-dozen on to Harry's tray she said, "What about yourself, Mr. Blenheim? I haven't seen you take a drink yet."
"You must have had your eyes closed then'--he poked his head towards her" --I've downed three so far, and there's still time to double it.
They're saying back there we've no need to worry about drinking and driving today. "
"That's true, Mr. Blenheim; we're going to get something out of it
Harry, carrying a tray of filled sherry glasses, stopped in front of a group of men and one of them said, "Well, there's no need for the old seasonable advice today, Mr. Blenheim, eh?"
"What's that. Barney?"
"Well, if you drive don't drink, and if you drink don't drive."
"Oh yes, yes, that's true. Well, we're going to get something out of the snow after all, you could say."
An elderly-looking man said, "I've seen some snow in me time but never anything like this. I've never seen it so thick that you couldn't get your cars out of the yard."
"They say the buses are only running on the flat; they can't tackle Brampton Hill or the cemetery road."
"Well the weather's not going to worry me," said another man.
"I mean to get bottled and stay corked for the entire four days."
Harry moved on amid laughter and went to a corner, where two girls were sitting on upturned boxes. As he neared them one got to her feet, saying, "I'll go and bring Ada," and Harry, offering the tray to the remaining girl, said, "Well, Miss Ray, how are you doing?"
"Quite well, Mr. Blenheim, quite well; I've still got some." She raised her half-filled glass; then putting her hand out she added, "But I'll take another, just to keep the kettle boiling."
"To keep the kettle boiling!" Harry laughed down on the girl.
"It's a long time since l neard mat one. Wtncn part are you from?"
The pert face pushed up towards his and the voice, hushed a little, said, "I'd better whisper it, Bog's End."
"No I Well, the same here."
"You, Mr. Blenheim 1' The brown eyes were stretched wide, the mouth agape.
"Yes, I was born there."
"Well, I never. Small world. Some go up, some go down, and some just stay put. The last's me. Although we don't live actually in Bog's End, but not a kick in the backs ... Oh lord!" She put her hand over her mouth and spluttered, "Aw well, it's Christmas, I might as well say it."
Harry was laughing freely again. She was a card, this one. He wondered how she ever became a shorthand typist; her kind always ended up in a store or a factory. There was nothing of gentility, faked or otherwise, that he had come to expect from the typists in Peamarsh's.
And she was a looker too, full of personality.
When her companion and another girl came scurrying back and sat one on each side of her he offered them glasses of sherry, and they giggled as they said, "Oh, thanks, Mr. Blenheim."
He smiled widely at them, saying, "It's my pleasure, ladies." Then, again amid laughter, he moved on.
When he went to the trestled table to replenish his tray his father-in-law was standing talking to Graham Hall. Hall was senior to Dave Rippon, but by how much was anybody's guess. He suffered from a stomach complaint, and it was rumoured he was going to retire long before his time. Harry knew that his father-in-law could hardly wait for Hall's shoes, or for that matter Mr. Walters, whom everybody said should have retired years ago.
Dave Rippon, showing his consideration for the staff, called in a voice that he aimed to raise above the din, "You're seeing to everybody, Harry? How about Miss Bateman?" He pointed to where Miss Bateman was standing condescending to talk to Jim Whelan, it being the one day in the year when position and seniority were supposedly forgotten.
Harry looked towards Miss Bateman, but she was looking at her boss"
and her boss was smiling at her and waving his hand. The atmosphere was very genial, very.
Mrs. Streatham, who saw to the tea each day, was now busily filling glasses, As she piled half-a-dozen on to Harry's tray she said, "What about yourself, Mr. Blenheim? I haven't seen you take a drink yet."
"You must have had your eyes closed then'--he poked his head towards her" --I've downed three so far, and there's still time to double it.
They're saying back there we've no need to worry about drinking and driving today. "
"That's true, Mr. Blenheim; we're going to get something out of it
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