bout de papier, Vol. 24, No. 2 (2009) — Spring 2009 // Printemps 2009, pp. 32–33
Rummaging in old papers can be fun. The other day I came across the following letter dated September 22, 1952 to my parents in Princeton, New Jersey, recounting my first, deeply naive but enthusiastic week, at External Affairs. I and seven others had joined the Department on September 16, as the last batch of that year’s intake of 24. I had never seen the letter again until now.
Dear Mother and Father,
Well, Iam wthe thick of tC Now. It is all moving somehow remorselessly according to plan. At 9.30 we appeared in the Personnel Branch, were handed a huge sheaf of documents, and led over to a Conference Room where we were told how to fill them out. Then a chat by the Chief Personnel Officer. Then elevenses — coffee in the canteen. Then more chat by CPO — full of phrases like “consultation on various levels.” Also a discussion of our probationary status, ending in a rather lovely phrase. “After 8 to 12 months, three things may take place; you may become a “temporary” officer; your probationary status may be prolonged; … or, ah, separation may take place.”
Thew w chaton security by the head of Defence Liaison II (Security & Intelligence) — a very good man who made all the cloak and dagger stuff seem the most natural thing in the world. We have to lock our files when we go home, and the door of our office every time we go out to the washroom.
Thew some good Views. I am to be posted to “European Division” because they are short-staffed. This is great fun, but unfortunately I will be shunted off to some other division in 4-6 months. More chats that afternoon; and also our little group of 8 newcomers were led off upstairs to a little man who produced two bibles, one for R.C.’s and one for Protestants. 7 men stepped forward and were each allowed to clutch a corner or side of the Protestant Bible. Then we said “I do” to a long oath which binds us for life.
Next momuinyl was told to report to the head of the European Division — and then I was in the thick of it. My first task was and is nothing less than to write a Letter of Instruction to the new Canadian Ambassador to the Hague! This is done by cribbing wholesale from old Letters of Instruction, by reading up in a whole mass of files labelled either “Unclassified.” “Restricted.” “Confidential,” “Secret” or “Top Secret,” almost all of which contain waffle that it would do no harm whatsoever to learn.
My starTon the Letter was held up by the temporary absence of my immediate boss — there was a Departmental Golf Tournament that afternoon. Then there were more little talks, an interview alone with another Personnel Officer who told me (and apparently everybody else) to be “docile, hard-working, and friendly.” Medical. Meetings with Assistant Undersecretaries, and the Undersecretary himself — Wilgress, very nervous — a rather painful interview with him nervously twisting his hands while eight keen young men leaned docilely but earnestly forward waiting for words of wisdom. One of the Ass’t Undersecs is a MacKay who says he was at Princeton with you, and met you again a couple of years ago in NY.
This Mmornimgnhe machine ground even faster. A stenographer came in and asked me my initial. “It’s for your rubber stamp, sir.” Tremblingly, I also dictated 2 memoranda this morning, having written them out in longhand first (luckily, I find many people, including the man who shares my office) do likewise. [Note from 2009: it was the late Paddy Duder, a fine man]. I even have a buzzer to summon a stenographer. We are definitely made to feel we are “officers” e.g. we do not sign the attendance book, we have separate offices etc. I am like a very very junior 2nd lieutenant confronted with sergeant-majors of 30 years’ service. This afternoon I was reading a list “circulated” to me of postings, transfers etc. One member of the department was recently drowned on holiday after a conference in Switzerland. The list accordingly read, under the heading “Separations”: “J. Smith, deceased, effective Aug. 31st.”
Apout from all this; I have been mastering the technique of pinning “Routing Slips” to things, and learning to “refer” monthly reports on European countries to different government departments, several of which I had never heard of until two days ago. Then too, an enormous quantity of miscellaneous files comes in with my name on a little list; Iam supposed to cross my name off, read the files (which are circulated for information) or not, as I please, and toss it all into my out-basket.
Though I may paint an ivveverent picture, it is actually all tremendous fun, and the people are all very friendly and relaxed. Even my immediate boss I am to call “Jim”. [Note from 2009: the late Jim Weld, who became a good friend.] The work is going to be hard, but I’m sure [’II enjoy it.
… Must get to- bed now So as to get up in time for my 9-1 stint tomorrow. [Note from 2009: at that time the Civil Service still worked these hours on Saturday morning, although nothing much got done then] It really is much easier than I thought to get up at 7:15. If you know you simply have to, you do. For many years now it has been a question of will-power — should I go to that lecture or shouldn’t I? Now, as at school, it is comparatively painless.
Much love from Michael, Dutch Desk, European Division, Dept. of External Affairs B
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 24, No. 2 (2009) — Spring 2009 // Printemps 2009, pp. 32–33. Read the rest of this issue →
