Maureen !

Maureen was such a nice girl. Everyone was delighted when she landed a good job. Some people had been a bit worried when she was in the third year. Got into bad company and caught smoking in the lavatory! But later, thank goodness, after a few talkings to she had responded splendidly.

Just before leaving she had been a modest girl. Her speech had improved, so had her manners and appearance. There was no difficulty in recommending her for a good job.

She got a post with one of the best firms in the City. “I am pleased!” said Miss Prim.

She had done so well in the dramatic class. Why, her new employers were so good that when she asked for a day off, only a day after she had started, they said “Certainly!” You shall have full pay and we hope you will continue your drama studies! “What better treatment could you have than that? ”

Maureen came back after the first week to tell us how happy she was.

Imagine our surprise when she came again just before the Easter holidays to say that she was no longer there.

But why? Maureen! Surely the money was good, and it’s one of the best firms for staff welfare in the whole of London!

It appears that in three short weeks Maureen’s rosy dreams of a bright and happy future had evaporated.

The first week was jolly. The second a bit dull. The third very nearly drove poor Maureen barmy. Her job was examining banknotes, in a room full of other girls examining banknotes. All day long she sat at a table with a strong concentrated light looking at banknotes, hundreds of banknotes, thousands of banknotes. In the room she met and spoke to girls who had been examining banknotes for five years, and would go on looking at banknotes for another 25 years.

Maureen had looked hastily round. Girls can still pick and choose. She is now working in a dressmaking factory. At least the colours of the dresses are different.

Funnily, enough, I happen to know one of the directors of Maureen’s first firm in a purely private capacity.

“Pity about that Maureen kid!” I said. “Oh! I dunno! was the reply. She didn’t do so badly. Three weeks is about the average. We only get one in 20 to stay longer. Of course, it’s repetition work, but they can get used to it.”

There you are! That’s the trouble with the youth to-day. When I think of all the time spent at interviews. The Youth Employment Officer, the Headmaster, the Teacher. The letters and references, and now she’s gone to a dress factory where they don’t ask for references at all.

It makes you sick! Why, for all the good it’s done we might just as well have told her to go where she liked at first.

I nearly felt like telling her so when I saw her last week if she hadn’t told me first that she’d just been after a new job.

It appears that at the dress factory she had to sit at a machine sewing buttonholes. All day long, buttonholes, hundreds of buttonholes—thousands of ’em.

“CYNICUS”