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For some time George seemed to study a piece of paper on his desk and then suddenly he looked up. ‘Gerald, I want you to organise an outing,’ he said.
    ‘An outing!’ his son said, hardly able to disguise the incredulity in his voice.
    ‘That’s right. I think it’ll take their minds off trade unions and pay rises and God knows what else. A nice summer trip to Southend. Lay on a barrel of ale and some sandwiches, and a meal at the other end.’ George smiled to himself as he felt in the pocket of his waistcoat for his pipe. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘we’ll reap the benefits in the long run, I feel sure. By the way, Gerald, order the charabancs from Thomas Tilling. I know one of their directors and we should get a nice discount.’
    Gerald tried not to show his scorn. Outings for workers, he thought, trying to come to terms with the idea. Beer and a meal as well. We might as well put their wages up and give them the bloody afternoons off!
    ‘I think it would be good if one of us put in an appearance on the day, Gerald,’ George continued. ‘Would you be prepared to do that? You know, do a short speech before they sit down to eat and keep an eye on things. Well? Will you do it?’
    ‘If you insist, Father,’ Gerald said curtly. He was cross with his father’s stupidity and he rose quickly to leave. ‘I have to go. We were having a problem with one of the machines downstairs.’
    ‘Of course, son,’ his father said, leaning back in his chair. ‘I’ll see you later to finalise the details.’
    Gerald closed the door behind him. George Armitage leaned forward on his desk and breathed heavily as he gazed around his large office. Now the initial excitement of the idea of an outing had worn off the long hours of the day seemed to pass very slowly and the room in which he spent so much time seemed to have become more and more empty.
     
    A few days later the news spread around the Armitage factory that there was to be an outing in the summer, and for a time the grumbles about the low wages diminished. One or two workers were sceptical though.
    ‘I’ll believe it when we’re on that charabanc,’ Mary Baker remarked to her friend as they walked out through the factory gates one Friday evening.
    Joyce Spinks giggled. ‘Won’t it be luvverly. I ’ope that Johnny Sandford goes. ’E’s really nice.’
    Mary grinned. ‘You’d better be careful. Johnny Sandford’s got a reputation.’
    ‘I don’t care,’ her friend replied. ‘’E could put ’is shoes under my bed any night!’
    Just outside the factory they saw Kate Morgan talking to one of the young lads. Mary nudged her friend. ‘Look at ’er chattin’ ’im up. She’s old enough ter be ’is muvver.’
    Joyce pulled a face. ‘She’d ’ave anyfing in trousers. If we do ’ave a day out she better keep ’er eyes orf o’ Johnny. I’m bookin’ ’im.’
    ‘Are yer linin’ ’im up fer the outin’, Kate?’ Mary called out.
    Kate Morgan walked over smiling. ‘What outin’? I’ll believe it when it ’appens.’
    ‘That’s just what I was sayin’ ter Joyce,’ Mary said, nodding. ‘If they do row the boat out are you gonna go?’
    ‘’Course I will,’ Kate replied. ‘All that free beer an’ all those fellas. I might find meself a chap.’
    ‘What about yer baby?’ Joyce asked, a touch of hostility creeping into her voice.
    ‘Connie’s no trouble,’ Kate answered, quickly. ‘She’s good as gold wiv me sister. Anyway, I’m not lettin’ a kid tie me down. I’ve seen enough of it round ’ere. I’m gonna enjoy myself while I can.’
    The two friends started off along the street and Kate veered off towards the tenement block. ‘If yer can’t be good be careful,’ she called out, smiling.
    ‘An’ if yer can’t be careful remember the date,’ Mary countered, when Kate was out of earshot.
    They reached Mary’s house and stopped by the front door. ‘What shall we do ternight?’ Joyce said.
    ‘We could go up the