THE DOLE-QUEUE

By CLIFFORD TOLCHARD

IT'S no good moaning ; there's nothing you can do about I it. You've just go to wait your turn. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Box 4, 3.15 p.m. That's your signing time and days. You wonder why the queue on Box 4 is the longest in the Exchange. You don't know ; nobody knows. Its length goes writhing around the room like a snake, its tail lost in the confusion by the entrance.

3.15. In front are the three o'clocks, and behind are the three-thirties. It is a quarter to four. But you don't mind waiting. You've got used to it like all the others.

Shuff shuff. One step forward.

You relax again, leaning against the wall or the green- painted window. The paint has been scratched off in patches and you can look through the small holes into the street. You can see the men that are coming in, and those that have just gone out, some of them still holding in their hands the money they have just received. You wonder why so many of them hang around on the pavement outside. You don't. You come along as though out for a walk and then suddenly dart in ; afraid to be seen. And when you leave you slink through the door and hurry quickly away—ashamed. Every time you come out you feel dirty-soiled. You feel you must have a bath at once. And each time you feel worse than the time before.

Shuff shuff. One step forward.

There are posters on the wall. A smiling face ; upturned thumbs : IT'S GREAT TO BE IN THE ARMY. JOIN THE NAVY AND SEE THE WORLD.

" Ere yare 'Arree, join the army."

" That's — real." He spits out a stream of cigarette smoke. Over the grill at the counter is a large notice : No Smoking. What is it there for ? No one takes any notice of it. But nobody seems to have a cigarette : not a whole, fresh one. You watch a small, almost unsmokable ' tab' being brought out from an inside pocket. Head on one side, eyes closed and lips pursed to light it. A deep, frantic in- halation and the smoke is drawn down into empty lungs. One more draw and it is stamped out on the floor. Only on Thursdays can you buy a packet of cigarettes. A packet of Woodbines perhaps, for twopence. They're as good as food, and they last longer.

Shuff shuff. One step forward.

The clerk : " There you are ; sign on the second space." The man fumbles with a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and a stump of pencil.

" SECOND SPACE I said. Anybody think I was talking —German."

" No money this week ; only want your signature."

" But — ? "

" No money this week. See the supervisor if you want." " But — ? "

" SEE the supervisor. NEXT."

He turns away. Another hour to wait. Keep on waiting ; it will come in the end.

Shuff shuff. One step forward.

" Court of Referees."

" But I've had no money for three weeks."

" Can't help it. Got to go before the Referees."

" When ? "

" I don't know. You'll get a letter. Next."

You look at the man in front of you. He came here first two years ago. And he is still here. But what a difference. No coat now ; no polish on his boots. Shoulders, cheek and eyes, all drooping and heavy and sunken. Shuff shuff. One step forward.

Thursday : pay-day. It takes twice as long because you have to queue up twice : once to sign on, and then to draw your money. You wonder why the queue seems to be twice as long and so much slower on Thursdays. Perhaps it is because the last of the previous week's 17s. was spent two days ago. Anxiously you watch the cash clerk; afraid that the money might run out before you get there. But you know it won't ; you know the Government wouldn't let that happen. You hear somebody say they are building a new Exchange.

" Sh'ink so," somebody replies, " with eighteen million surplus. 'Ow about us getting a bit of it ? That's what I say. 'Ow about us ? "

Don't be silly. Why should you get any more ? What good are you ? You're too old to fight, and nobody will give you a job ; why should they ? You can't do anything any more. You're no good.

" So I ses. Yes, I am an Englishman, unfortunately, I ses. Be better off if I was a German, or a black man, I ses. I oughter be a black man, I ses, be better off then."

" See the Board he ses. What do I want to see the Board for ? What good's the Board going to do me ? I want me money ; that's all I want, me money. I don't want no Boards. Boards —."

Shuff shuff. One step forward.

You look at the clock to see how long you've been there. One hour and a quarter. You look at the man that has just Come in and wonder why he looks so much like a gorilla. His long, loose arms perhaps. Everything about him is loose and weary-looking : his greasy coat and ancient trousers ; his neck-scarf and moustache. He looks very dirty. You wonder who would ever give him a job. You know you wouldn't yourself if you could. Is he married, and has he any children? Somehow you don't think that can be possible.

Shuff shuff. One step forward.

That youth over there now. He's never had a job. He came here straight from school. This is all he knows and he likes it rather. Somehow he manages to get cigarettes and go to the pictures. Perhaps he makes something on the " side." There are lots of ways, and you don't have to tell the Labour Exchange everything. You just say " no work."

" No work ? " " No work."

Nearly at the end now. Be outside in another ten minutes. Outside with a ten-shilling note, two half-crowns and a florin.

You'll go straight to the tobacconist at the corner. You can almost taste that first cigarette. Deep down inside your lungs are clamouring for that first flood of acrid smoke. You study your slip to make sure that you are in the right queue and you notice that you are only eligible for benefit for another four weeks. You are close to the clerk and the checker now. You say nothing ; just slap your slip down on the counter.

" 22-35."

" 098563, pay seventeen."

Carefully you fold the note and put it in an envelope in ar inside pocket. That's not yours really, it's rent. YQL1 slip through the door and walk away quickly : away—away.

You feel better already. You breathe deeply of clean air. There's more sun than you thought. You go into the shop and decide at the last minute to spend sixpence on cigarettes ; you will regret it later, but what does that matter now Next week you will get another seventeen shillings.