The Suit
Author:
Bill Power
[Fulltext] I feel the years catching up with me. Number 1 son recently received from the Irish Institute a communication congratulating him on his success in the Final Admitting Examination. Well, to be more precise, the missive contained just a single word of congratulation - the rest was merely a loosely worded statement to the effect that the Institute wished to avail of the opportunity to get its sticky fingers into the lad's pockets as soon and as deep as possible. But sure he might as well get used to that.
Inevitably it made me think of the day I received the same news a generation ago: by way of a brief note of congratulation from the Secretary - no mention of money. Different days.
This personal milestone, made me peer back through the mist in an attempt to pin down just how it was then. Were things actually better? Were they really the Good Old Days? Chimed the Church clock at ten to three, and was there honey still for tea, and all that.
I recall a conversation with a close friend, and fellow sufferer on the accounting treadmill, in the early sixties. In our third year of Articles we had just received our salary increase. (The fact that pillars of the profession could dignify the crumbs thrown to us with the title of salary is an indication of how little attention the Trade Descriptions Act received in those days - if indeed there was one.) We were having some sort of discussion on the vistas now open to us with our new found wealth. "Do you know", he remarked, "one more rise and we'll be earning as much as Mackey's messenger boy".
Forty years on, the profession of messenger boy seems to have disappeared altogether. What happened? Did they price themselves out of the labour market? Perhaps they felt that if third year articled clerks were going to be on the same level of remuneration there was little dignity left to their calling. But where did they all go? Whilst we developed the ability to do long tots and simple calculations very quickly (and at times very accurately), the strongest weapon in their commercial armoury was the ability to whistle piercingly through the gap where their front teeth used to be. Given that the electronic calculator was about to render our totting ability quite redundant, they appeared to hold more cards. And of course they had a far more glamorous profile. Yet we survived and somehow they did not. I find it all very strange.
The approach of todayâ??s student to exams has also undergone a sea-change. In our neck of the woods sitting for one of the Institute's half-yearly tests of professional competence (or lack thereof) was referred to as "going up (to Dublin) for a gallop". The whole exercise had about it the same air of glorious uncertainty as a day at the races. Sometimes you won - more often the Institute did, and trousered the winnings.
And the calibre of student was totally different.
I recall one particular fellow examinee who made a big impression on me the first time the Institute and I locked horns. He was a gentleman of what we referred to as offshore persuasion and, obviously, income level. Impressively, and unusually, well-groomed, and immaculately attired in a dark blue suit with highly-patterned lining, he walked out of the hall at every session as early as the rules of engagement permitted. The rest of us, sartorially more Oxfam than Oxford Street, stuck grimly to our task. A fortunate few, including myself, were successful. I made the not unreasonable assumption that The Suit and I were unlikely to meet again in events run under Institute rules. Blowed if the chap didn't turn up again next time out - and as well turned out as ever. And again he treated us to the daily walk-out routine.
Twelve months later back we were again, like Kerry and the All-Ireland in those days. And there was The Suit - large as life and twice as elegant. How did he do it? Inside information? Brown envelope to the exam committee? Perhaps he had all the answers woven into the highly-coloured lining of the suit? The distraction was such that, inevitably, I fell at the last and had to book in for the re-run six months later. I never saw The Suit again. For me he is up there with the Marie Celeste, Irish poetry, and Kenny Dalgleish walking out on Liverpool - absolute mysteries that to me will ever remain so.
Speaking of exams, I was amazed at the extraordinary licence permitted the modern Institute examinee. I am in a position to bring you the full inside story thanks to my stint as roadie to an entrant in the September Handicap.
Loading the car for the first session was like going on safari in the 'twenties - we lacked only the elephant gun and a few native bearers; and we could have done with the latter. In my day the only auxiliary material permitted was a spare writing implement in case anything befell the number one biro. Now we loaded pens, pencils, calculators, and an entire library of books, pamphlets, newspaper cuttings, old exam papers (and the solutions thereto), and an assortment of refreshments.
In due course the car collapsed outside the maximum-security Examination Centre and we started ferrying all the gear in. The hall was an extraordinary sight. Gangs of the Institute's brightest and best beavered away constructing great fortifications of books. They then vanished completely behind these - like Davy Crockett and the lads at the Alamo. It made for a somewhat surreal scene - an examination hall complete with bright lights, blockhouses of books, and invigilator - but not a student as far as the eye could see. Looking at the massive paper fortifications it occurred to me that those who got the thumbs down in the exam, and many who didn't, would surely have a bright (and probably far better paid) future as blocklayers.
I thought the whole thing quite extraordinary.
In my time the invigilators would have been apoplectic. A Stewardâ??s Inquiry would inevitably have ensued, followed by disqualification, and letters to parents and Principal - completely unacceptable behaviour, letting himself and firm down, regret not Institute policy to refund fees in such unfortunate circs., etc. Any of my contemporaries can readily imagine the Institute going into Righteous Indignation mode at full throttle.
I'm sure the Suit would not have approved.
Accountancy Ireland Vol 34 No 3 June 2002