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The Way Things Were

Kerry Lown Whalen

    Children obeyed their parents back then in 1960, even when they were fifteen years old. Kay had always wanted to paint, had always dreamt of being an artist.
    “You’ll be a secretary,” her mother said, and waved her off to business college to complete a business diploma.
    On her first day at work, Kay entered an imposing building in the centre of Sydney, its cavernous marble foyer echoing with her footsteps. She passed the lifts and pushed open the glass door to her new workplace. The tiled ground floor with its ornate high ceiling amplified the sounds of voices, typewriters, telephones and cash registers. In this vast, impersonal place, solemn-faced policy holders queued to pay their premiums. The sanctified air and observance of ancient rituals reminded Kay of a church. How on earth would she cope in such a place?
     Her typewriter sat on a black felt cushion beside a tiered rack of white, pink and yellow paper. Mr. Morgan sat at a desk behind her, blowing sweet clouds of smoke from his pipe into her hair.
    He observed a strict routine. “Dictation, Kay.” Each morning at eight-thirty, she rested her notebook on Mr. Morgan’s desk while he dictated a batch of letters, her pencil making squiggly lines on the pages. Afterwards, her fingers flew like a concert pianist’s over the typewriter keys, churning out letters and memos. She filed the pink and yellow copies in two clunky, grey filing cabinets.
    While she worked, Kay thought about her boyfriend, Dan. On Saturday they’d go to the beach, plunge into the foaming waves and swim out to the calm green water beyond the breakers. Thinking about Dan made the hours fly.

    During the tea break, Kay talked to her boss, doodling with a soft-leaded pencil on his large, leather-edged blotter. Aged thirty-five, he had grey hair and a face webbed with veins. Mr. Morgan knew every female in the building and winked at each as she passed.
    “Why do you flirt?” Kay asked, frowning. “You’re married.”
    “Married, with a ten-year-old daughter.” He spooned three sugars into his milky tea, dunked his arrowroot biscuit and swilled the pap in his mouth like a baby.
    “Who does she look like?”
    “Me.” He grinned. “She’s stunning like her old man.”
    On his blotter, Kay drew precise geometrical shapes free-hand.
    He watched. “Are triangles and squares your specialty?”
    “Yes. But I’m drawing circles next.”
    “Why?”
    “Well-adjusted people draw circles.”
    “Who said?”
    “I read it in a magazine.”

    One Friday, Mr. Morgan stood beside her while she typed a letter.
    “That’s the last one you’ll type for me.” He signed it with his gold fountain pen.
    “Why?”
    “I’ve been transferred to the accounts department. I start Monday.”
    She gasped, her stomach fluttering. “Who’ll be my new boss?”
    He tilted his head at Mr. Osborne in the claims department. Wearing a white shirt, dark suit and tie, Mr. Osborne looked like all the other bosses.
    “When did you find out?”
    “An hour ago.” He raised an eyebrow. “Will you visit me in accounts?”
    Her eyes brimmed. “I might.”
    On Monday she carried her notebook and pencil to the claims department and met Mr. Osborne, a cuddly bear of a man with a dimpled chin. He called her ‘dearest, darling, adorable’ and ‘my pretty one’, was unmarried and spoke with a lisp.
    Kay sat at a desk beside Maree, happy to talk to her when she wasn’t busy. These cozy sessions were interrupted by Bulldog Butch, a sneaky clerk, who sometimes crept up behind her and pounced.
    “Less chatter and more clatter, Kay.”
    She’d glare at his disappearing back. Talking was a rare pleasure in that moribund office.
    Unlike Kay, Maree wasn’t interested in a career. She wanted a husband, house and children. “Patrick and I are getting engaged.”
    Kay beamed. “When?”
    “On my eighteenth birthday.”
    “Congratulations.”
    “You’re supposed to congratulate Patrick and wish me well.”
    Kay sighed. Life was full of rules and regulations. How would she ever learn them all?

    Only one female in the company held a senior position and that was Maree’s boss, Miss Murphy. According to Maree, Miss Murphy had a temper, a dependent mother and a belief in Catholicism – she attended Mass every Sunday. Beyond that Maree knew nothing and neither did anyone else, but it didn’t stop them speculating.
    Once Kay overheard Butch say, “It’d do the old girl good to spend a night with a sailor. That’d put a smile on her face.” His colleagues laughed like schoolboys. When she thought about it, the office had a hierarchy just like school. The difference was that every male had a position of power.

    As time inched by in the gloom of the workplace, Kay’s shorthand and typing speeds increased. Her skills were acknowledged but rather than offering her a pay increase or promotion she was rewarded with extra duties. One task was to order stationery. She hummed while shuffling boxes of carbon and typing paper, staples, biros, and pencils to make space for new supplies.
    Butch interrupted her labors. “Stop humming, Kay. Think of your office decorum.”
    As his disapproving back melded into the shadows, she gazed around at the grim faces of her co-workers. On a sheet of cardboard, she wrote in large black letters:
    EMPLOYEES SHOULD LOOK MISERABLE AT ALL TIMES. MANAGEMENT DOES NOT PERMIT SMILING OR LAUGHTER DURING WORKING HOURS.
    She showed it to Maree. “I’d like to hang this on the wall.”
    Kay welcomed her new duties as they gave her an excuse to leave her desk. She collected stationery supplies from the printing department, a busy place where men joked over the screech and thump of the printing machine. Whenever the door opened, the smell of ink, paper and glue spilled out into the hallway.
    Norm whistled as he hefted reams of paper off the shelves and onto a trolley.
    “Any chance of working here, Norm?”
    He grinned. “It’s men’s work, Kay. Heavy and dirty.”
    “I could design things. Be useful.”
    “Females belong downstairs. At typewriters.”

     At tea break, Kay chatted to Mr. Osborne. “Dan and I saw Let’s Twist Again.”
    “Can you do the twist?”
    “Of course.”
    “Show me.” He laughed when she shook her head.
    “I have a question. A serious one.”
    “What’s the trouble, bubble?”
    “Why do men earn more money than women.”
    He stirred his tea. “Men have to provide for their families.”
    She mulled this over. “What about Miss Murphy? She has to care for her mother. It doesn’t seem fair that she earns less than a man.”
    He chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
    Kay swiveled to face her typewriter and banged away at the keys. It wasn’t right and it didn’t make sense. When she remembered Mr. Osborne had a male partner, she turned to confront him. “What about you? You’re not married. Why should you earn more money than Miss Murphy?”
    He straightened his tie. “That’s the way it is.”
    Kay observed a number of instances where females received unjust treatment. Gail was a case in point. She’d just announced her engagement. It should have been a time of celebration, but Gail had to find a new job because the company didn’t employ married women.
    Kay discussed it with Maree. “We pay our fees but the union does nothing for us.” She folded her arms. “And why are clerks paid more than secretaries?”
    “It’s because secretaries are female. It’s women’s work.”
    “So I could’ve earned more money if I hadn’t gone to business college?”
    Maree nodded. “The company doesn’t value secretarial work.”

     Bursting with news, Kay hurried to her desk the following morning. Maree shushed her. “Miss Murphy’s in a bad mood. And I’m too busy to talk.”
    But the words slipped out. “Dan’s taking me to lunch.”
    The thud of heavy footsteps approached and Miss Murphy loomed over her.
    “Maree has work to do – you’re wasting her time.” Miss Murphy’s ample frame shook as the flush starting at her neck spread to her face. Fascinated by the sight of Miss Murphy in full roar, Kay watched her dab at her face with a white lace handkerchief as she marched back to her desk. Those in the vicinity exchanged amused glances.
    Mr. Osborne muttered, “Change of life.”
    Intrigued by the bearing of the angry lump of a woman, Kay longed to capture her image. She seized a pencil. Doodling had taught her shape and form, but she’d rarely attempted caricatures. With fuzzy lines and using her finger to smudge each stroke, she sketched her subject. The pencil moved of its own accord and Miss Murphy came to life on the page. Kay gazed at her work, stunned at her ability to produce an unmistakable likeness.
    Mr. Osborne spotted the drawing. “My God! That’s brilliant.” Chuckling, he snaffled it from her desk. “Everyone will get a laugh out of this.”
    His progress around the office was charted by shrieks of merriment. Kay squirmed as her subject peered over her glasses at the disturbance spreading like a storm on a lake. Kay hadn’t meant to make Miss Murphy an object of derision. Her intention had been to try her hand at caricature.
    After lunch, Miss Murphy sat at her desk, head resting on her hand. Heart thudding, Kay approached.
    “Excuse me.” Miss Murphy looked up. “I’m sorry I distracted Maree today.” She swallowed. “I’m happy to help if you’re still busy.”
    Miss Murphy’s mouth formed a thin line. “Are you responsible for that drawing?”
    Kay blushed. “Yes, Miss Murphy.”
    Several moments passed while Miss Murphy stared at her. “You have a lot to learn, my girl.”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Murphy.” She shuffled her feet. “Can I help you with anything?”
    “No thanks.”

    During a tea break, Kay took a deep breath and visited Miss Murphy at her desk. The older woman leaned back in her seat, her gaze curious.
    The words bubbled from Kay’s mouth. “I saw Elvis Presley in Blue Hawaii.”
    Miss Murphy’s face brightened. “Good film?”
    “Yes.” Kay smiled. “Been to the pictures lately?”
    She shook her head. “Not for years.”
    “Any plans for the weekend, Miss Murphy?”
    “Mass on Sunday. It’s the highlight of my week.”
    Kay’s heart sank. It was true Miss Murphy led a dreary life. “I’m going to the beach with Dan if it’s fine.”
    She nodded. “Known him long?”
    “He’s a neighbor. I’ve known him since I was twelve.”
    A wistful shadow passed over Miss Murphy’s face. “Make the most of being young, Kay. It doesn’t last forever.”

    His face serious, Mr. Osborne tapped Kay on the shoulder. “I’m taking you to the Metropole for lunch.”
    “Why?”
    “I have news.”
    She studied his face. “You’ve been transferred.”
    “We’ll talk at lunch.”
    Tears misted her eyes as typewriters clattered, telephones shrilled and voices jabbered. If Mr. Osborne was leaving, she’d go too. She’d had enough of the mindless work, the mean-spirited people and her place at the bottom of a ladder she could never hope to climb.

    She strolled with her boss across the foyer and into the grand dining room of the Hotel Metropole.
    “Like chicken-in-a-basket?”
    “Yes please.”
    Businessmen seated close by argued about sales targets while waiters carrying aromatic food glided between tables.
    “I’ve been promoted to branch manager. In Brisbane.”
    Her chin quivered. “You deserve the promotion. But I’ll miss you.”
    “That’s not all.”
    “What else?”
    “Butch wants you to work for him.”
    Her eyes widened. “Why me?”
    “Because you’re the best secretary.”
    She shook her head. “I’m resigning.”
    “I want to talk about your future.” He paused as the waiter placed their meals in front of them. “If you could do anything you liked, what would you choose to do?”
    “I’d draw. Paint. Mix with artistic people.”
    “What’s stopping you?”
    “Money.”
    “You could study during the day. Waitress at night.”
    She beamed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
    “Because you’re sixteen.”
    “How do I apply for Art School?”
    “Get a portfolio of artwork together. Have an interview.”
    “Did you make enquiries?”
    “Of course.”
    “You’re the best boss in the world.” She patted his hand. “And if you were interested in girls, I’d kiss you.”
    He blushed. “Kiss me anyway. I want to make those businessmen jealous.”

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