End Piece

The sack

Jeffrey Bernard

I got the sack last week from the Daily Express and it occurred to me that there are ways and ways of sacking people. Thanks to the inefficiency of the GPO I got it verbally from the editor — 'Oh, you're still here then' — some four days before his formal, polite and quite unbelievable letter of dismissal arrived at my door. The sack, as such, was merely a financial blow, nothing more. But

still, it was a clumsy business and one that women and headmasters manage much bet ter.

Women, I've found, usually adopt one of two methods when they wish to terminate good relations or bad ones as the case may be. They either suddenly manage to forget your phone number or they manufacture a row. Now manufactured rows are quite an art and of all of them that I have indexed in the dark recesses of my twisted mind the one that gets an alpha plus was the one that started with me saying 'Would you like some tea then?' and getting the response, 'You've snapped at me for the last time'. I mean it takes real gall and theatrical presence to turn an offer of afternoon tea into a final door-slamming exit. Unfortunately, not many women break it off by pen and paper unless they fancy themselves as writdrs in the capital W class. When they do, there's no holding them. I've got one old letter in my files in which Auden of all people is thrown at me.

'Auden writes in The Shield of Achilles of a deprived urchin, the victim of civilisation,

who'd never heard Of any world where promises were kept.

Or one could weep because another wept.

It reminds me of you; and that makes me very sad. Sadder than you could realise'.

What a magnificent way to be given one's cards and what a far cry from the note a prep school headmaster gave me when I was expelled from a ghastly school in Sevenoaks at the age of twelve. The reference — for that was what it was intended to be — ended, 'While his discipline at this school was generally good, unlike the influence he had over his fellow pupils, Bernard ishould develop into a fine seam bowler.' The man actually expected me to go through life wielding his note to gain entrance into one of the professions by it.

But the most masterly bit of sacking that has ever come my way deserves to be quoted in full. Nearly eight years ago I had a twice-weekly column on The Sporting Life. You can imagine the personal chaos that daily racing led to. Anyway, one day it was decided that I should go to a dinner and

make a speech on behalf of the paper. Looking back on it, I can't think why but I was petrified and on the day itself I took vast quantities of Dutch courage, so much in fact that come speech time I Was speechless. The next post brought the following.

Dear Mr Bernard, It will come as no surprise to you that following your unpardonable exhibition at the point-to-point dinner which you attended as a representative of the paper on Friday evening, it is no longer possible for you to continue in our employ.

This was not, you will agree, the first time your behaviour has compromised us and to protect myself and all connected with The Sporting Life from further embarrassment, I have no alternative but to terminate your engagement forthwith. . . .

I am sorry this has become necessary, but you will agree you were given every chance.

Should you wish to return to the office to collect any personal belongings, I would be glad if you would arrange with Mr Sandys to do so and I would also be obliged if you would return to me your metal Press badge at your earliest convenience.

Yours faithfully, etc.

Now there are two things about that letter that remind me of the attitude of women when they are firing men. In the first place my exhibition was pardonable — it caused me to get numerous invitations to speak at racing dinners afterwards — but more significant is the bit at the end about returning the metal Press badge. That's obviously what the editor considered to be the most important thing, and in that sentence he is very nearly a female `ball-breaker'. It's rather like a letter from a woman that might end: `Although I paid for the carpets and most of things in the kitchen you can keep them. Just let me have the record player back as soon as you can.'

Sorry about that, I nearly got carried away. I could write letters like that all day. But you see what I mean,! hope. The sack is the sack is the sack. Incidentally, I did once sack someone myself. It was when I was the head man in the 'flies' at the old Winter Garden Theatre. There was something incredibly dodgy about a bloke who used to turn up to do shows and one night I told him not to bother to turn up the next day. Oddly enough the police did and they said they'd been looking for him on account of the fact that he'd recently murdered his wife. Had I known all that I would have written him a letter sacking him instead of telling him to his face.

Dear Fred, (I would have written) It will come as no suprise to you that following your unpardonable exhibition at home in the kitchen last Tuesday. . .1 would be glad if you would arrange with the Stage Carpenter to return my brace and bit at your earliest convenience. Yours etc.