In 1980 I was posted as a major to the Ministry of Defence Procurement
Executive Quality Assurance Department at Chislehurst. Mainly staffed by
civilian engineers the odd officer from the Navy, Army or Air Force were
dotted here and there to make up the numbers. No doubt I was odd enough to
fit the job spec. beautifully. Our main purpose in life was to visit Defence
Contractors working on systems in our particular area of expertise. The
visit had three objectives: to ensure that the work was being carried out in
accordance with MoD QA requirements, to drink as much coffee as was offered
and to get taken out for a decent lunch. The visit was deemed a success if
two out of three of the objectives were met.

We were organised into Branches and had our own secretarial staff to do the
hard work like filling in our travel expense claims and typing the
occasional letter. One of our secretaries was a divorced lady in her mid
forties with a 16 year old son. She lived on a shoe-string budget and money
was tight, so much so that although he was mad keen on motor-cycling he had
to satisfy his desire for knowledge by buying second-hand motor-cycling
magazines from junk shops and car boot sales.

One morning she asked me if I thought a large bank note he had found in a
magazine between two pages which had been glued together was real. It
purported to be Columbian or Bolivian (I forget exactly which) and was very
fancy but the ridiculous number of zeros after the 5 clearly indicated that
it was expensive play-money. But it had a quality feel and just to put her
mind at rest I went down to a bank in Bromley. "Oh yes" they said, "it is
real and is worth about £450 - how do you want the cash?" I took it back and
she was naturally over the moon - now he could get himself a second-hand
moped.

Next morning she arrived with two more bank notes he had found in the same
magazine and went home £900 richer. Altogether that must have been worth
£3000 in today's money and no doubt sonny-Jim got a new moped and leathers
out of it.

What fascinates me is the story which must have gone before that. You can
just imagine a penny-pinching (and possibly two-timing) hubby arriving home
to the loyal little woman who he keeps on a miserably inadequate
housekeeping budget while he squirrels the cash away. "Darling" she says, "I
have a lucky day. A church or school were collecting junk for a jumble sale
and I have managed to get rid of all those ornaments of Mother's that you
hate and those old motor-cycling magazines you had in your study. Oh dear,
you have gone quite white - have you had a bad day?"

I just wish I could have been a fly on the wall!