MISS PRIVATE SECRETARY

New Zealand Listener, Volume 4, Issue 89, 7 March 1941, Page 41

MISS PRIVATE SECRETARY

HE is a brunette with laughing blue eyes. She wears hornrimmed spectacles With an air. Spectacles-even horn-rimmed ones — were associated with blue stockings and spinsters till Michael Arlen made his "Lily Christine" wear them romantically. She has short curly hair which always looks as though the wind has just blown through it-attractively so. She has a slim, pliable ‘figure. She is tanned to a nice. golden: brown-and she successfully exploits the new stockingless mode. _. Meet Miss Private Secretary! | Now there are private secretaries and ‘private secretaries. The private secretary ‘of a decade back was usually a formidable female in long skirts, steel-rimmed spectacles, a: netted bun-and: she ‘wore a bristling air of authority. But private secretaries have changed with the: times. The old type is no more. JIn-her place is the modern, up-to-date ‘secretary, ‘intelligent, alert — and attractive. She powders and she uses lipstick-and she» is a very good secretary’ indeed. She. brings loyalty and intelligent co-operation to her work. Her employer knows she is» not only a good workman but a trusted confidante-and often a sound adviser. Miss Private Secretary looked’ at me uncertainly when I suggested an interview. "Surely you wouldn't find me: interesting? My job is not exactly a glamorous one," "All jobs are glamorous," I said. "It’s just the wey you look at them, Then there’s you, the real you behind your job. Do you still deny the glamorous side?" _ She was not so sure. She began to talk about her work-her everyday job of living. Something emerged from it; a sturdy, resolute, unconsciously gallant figure who made a brave show at this business of living. Her Day Begins Whir-r-r! The alarm goes off with a noisy clatter. Miss Private Secretary, who has been to a party the night before and didn’t get to bed till one o’clock, reaches out sleepily and switches it off. Grumbling a little at the hardness of life, she reluctantly parts with her warm bedclothes. There is a tirkle of crockery outside her door. Miss Private Secretary lives in an apartment house, morning tray provided. It appears. Hot tea, toast and marmalade. She nibbles at it while she dresses. She is awake now-and the world looks a bit brighter. . . Clock hands creeping around, .. Can’t decide what to wear. . . A ladder in her new stocking, darn it! Day is warm-she’ll try out her new silk frock... There is an undertone

of footsteps throughout the house. Other busy, work-a-day ants going forth to their jobs. Miss Private Secretary gives a final dab of powder to her nose, snatches up purse and gloves and is off, Correspondence Two minutes early! Gosh, that could have been two extra minutes in bed. Never mind, she’d make up for it. Have an early night for a change. There is a private letter for her amongst the voluminous business correspondence. Her Number One Beau. Suggests seeing a picture to-night. Thoughtfully Miss Private Secretary reaches for the morning paper and looks up the theatre pro-

grammes, Can’t choose between Laurence Olivier and Paul Muni. Will decide later. Like a cog that has slipped into place, the business machine gets into motion. Correspondence to be opened and distributed. Her chief’s own pile of letters make an impressive pile on his desk. Miss Private Secretary has already swiftly memorised their contents, and her mind is busy with facts and figures, 10.30- and that costing work still ahead of her. The life of the office flows on about her, but Miss Private Secretary is lost in the intricacies of F.O.B., landing costs, cartage and selling figures. The rich world of commerce opens out before her eyes, and her finger is on the pulse of it, feeling its organised flow and rhythm. 11.30-Abruptly her brain snaps off to a new compartment. The morning correspondence is awaiting her on the dictaphone. For the next hour she is busy on the machine. She takes a couple of phone calls, argues with an irate client, manages to pacify him, and returns to her typewriter. Lunch-And After Lunch-time. Tommy, the office boy, takes her order for sandwiches and a meat pie. The girls have made tea in the staff room. She talks, laughs and dreams a little through the lunch hour,

At 2 o’clock she is back at work again. Stock records to be checked. Two of the branch managers have come in with a -grievance, and the chief refers them to her. She talks, argues, conciliates, and sends them away satisfied. Privately she thinks men make a> great ado about nothing. The phone is busy during the afternoon. In the chief’s absence, she takes messages, gives information, and makes appoirttments. Still a few letters to finish off. She hurries against the hands of the clock, "Nothing Really Exciting" Five o’clock. Miss Private Secretary, with the satisfaction of good work behind her, wonders what she is going to have for dinner as she dons hat and coat. So ends her day. She smiles at me now with a little air of depression. "You see? There’s nothing really very exciting about it." "But you wouldn’t be without it?" "No. I don’t think I would. It’s really interesting work--particularly when we are busy-something doing all the time. I like that. There are days that seem all too short-and others, of course, that drag. A philosopher would put that down to his liver. But it’s part of a business person’s life. We take the good with the bad, and we .don’t think we are really so badly off." "What do you think the most important essentials in your own job?" "Well, I suppose capability should come first, but I think even before that I would place absolute reliability and trust. You see, you have all the business secrets of the firm in your keeping -and the confidence of your employer. If you can’t respect them, then nothing else is much worth while." "Tell. me," I said suddenly, "what are you going to have for dinner? That rather rounds off your day, doesn’t it?" "It gives it meaning," she laughed. "I’m starving. I’ve been dreaming for the past hour of grilled steak, but as I’ve missed the butcher’s shop it’ll have to be fish." I left her in earnest search of filleted terakihi!