Goods inwards looks outwards

When a delivery van draws up at the goods entrance of Television House, clerk Harry Boatman swings into action, opens the doors, checks in the goods, signs for them, enters them neatly in his log, informs the appropriate department and makes sure nothing gets lost until they are safely taken away to their destination.

There is a touch of military precision about the whole procedure which dates back to the days when Harry Boatman used to be a ‘regular’ in the Army – just after the start of this century. In fact, he joined the Royal Regiment of Artillery, R.H. & R.F.A., in 1905 at the age of 20, though his military career came to an abrupt end one day in October, 1914, at Strazelle [Strazeele, in northern France near the Belgian border – Ed] where he was wounded in action. Shrapnel had torn through his body and – while he was bandaged up to stop the flow of blood – a shell burst under the shield of a gun close by, ripping off the majority of his fingers as well as part of his right car.

Totally disabled, he was discharged from the Army after a spell in hospital and almost immediately joined the Civil Service as messenger and caretaker, serving among others such distinguished establishments as No. 10 Downing Street and The Treasury.

He retired from the Civil Service in 1950, aged 65, after 35 years, but only a few years later he was back at work, first with the NAAFI Bakeries and then, since 1956, with Associated-Rediffusion. At 77 he is probably the oldest member on the permanent staff of the company, and he is certainly one of the happiest. Married, with two sons and two daughters and he is not sure how many grandchildren, he lives with his wife in Merton.

Like most soldiers he treasures his memories and is justly proud of his gleaming row of medals, one of which (the DCM for distinguished conduct in the field) brings him a steady 6d. [2½p in decimal, 46p in today’s money, allowing for inflation] a day for life. He has also been awarded the BEM, and the Imperial Service Medal besides other service medals.

But Harry Boatman does not dwell in the past – he has his feet firmly planted in the present, enjoys his job and takes to it with the kind of enthusiasm that puts many a blasé youngster to shame. Maybe he only has a couple of fingers left to write with but his log book is immaculate and he would never dream of leaving his post unless there was someone to relieve him. For one thing, a driver might get into trouble for parking – which is now no longer allowed outside Television House.

Harry is a remarkably fit man. His secret? He firmly believes that there is nothing which ages a man more than the knowledge that he is no longer needed and since he is still very much in demand he feels on top of the world. Besides, being concerned in such a new and exciting 20th century venture as television, obviously helps to keep him young and active. I wondered what his wife thought of his extended working life. Would she not prefer to have him at home. ‘I am a nuisance at home’, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “my wife is glad to have me out of the way.’

Inevitably I had to enquire when he thought he would finally retire.

It was quite a joke to him.

‘When I die,’ he said without hesitation.

However, I can confidently predict that there won’t be a vacancy at the Associated-Rediffusion goods entrance in Television House for a long time to come.