Danny tries to get back, and a Tale of Two Rats
We had spread our wings, now was the time to get back in the cage. I stayed with the Ministry of Labour till June '48, then transferred on promotion to the newly formed Ministry of National Insurance and found myself running a Pensions section. I would be with them for only nine months, but in that time happened on my patch the only thing which is now worth putting on paper, for it was a bizarre story.
A worker at a market garden died of Weil's disease. This is an infection transmitted by rats, and it was admitted that there were rats on the employer's premises. But this chap had a garden of his own, and there were rats there too. The question arose: whose rat was to blame ?
You might think this an academic distinction. Not to the grieving widow, it wasn't ! If his own rat were the culprit, she'd get only the standard State widow's pension. But if it could be pinned on the firm's rat, it would be an Industrial Injuries pension, and that was a good deal more generous. The Civil Service loves a conundrum like this.
Short of putting the rat on the witness stand, we had to decide on the balance of probabilities. I opted for the firm's rat. My superior overruled me. The widow appealed (at my instigation) * to Tribunal - and won ! Amazingly, the Department wanted to take it further (I suppose they were afraid of A Dangerous Precedent Being Established), and it looked as if it might finish in the House of Lords. * (rather naughty of me, but there you go).
Eventually, however, the file (which now probably needed a wheelbarrow to carry it round Whitehall) landed on the desk of a mandarin with common sense (there are one or two still). He put a stop to the nonsense; our widow got her Industrial Injuries pension.
All this dragged on for months. Originally, I had suggested that the lesser rate of pension be put in issue immediately, and the arrears paid later if the decision went in the widow's favour. The Civil Service doesn't work that way. Until the case was decided, she got nothing at all and had to fall back on the not-so-tender mercy of the (then) Assistance Board. They were still imbued with the ethos of the old Poor Law, and I don't suppose she got kindly treatment. ("Do you have a piano ?......You do?....... Come back to us when you have no piano !")
The prospect of spending the next thirty-plus years stirring this kind of paperwork round lost whatever charm it might have had for me. Would the RAF have me back ? It was worth a try.
I'd already tried to get a foothold back in the Service. No. 611 (Wesl Lancashire) Auxiliaries had Spitfire XIVs at Woodvale, quite handy for me, but they were up to Establishment - or so their Adjutant said. ("Don't call us, we'll call you !") I had better luck with the RAFVR; they were reconstituted in '47, I think, and I joined them as a Flying Officer (with my old number), at their HQ in Fazackerley (L'pool). But they had no training whatever organised up to the time I left.
Surprisingly, I got a reply from the RAF. And so, on a dark November afternoon I waited with two or three others in a room in the old Adastral House in Holborn. I wasn't too hopeful. The buzz was that they'd already got their quota for the month or whatever, and were just going through the motions. My turn came. I squared my shoulders and went in.
Goodnight, again,
Danny42C.
Nothing venture, nothing gain.
Last edited by Danny42C; 14th Jan 2015 at 01:53.
Reason: "AcAdemic", not "AcEdemic" of course !