AN OFFICE WORKER WRITING IN THE DAILY MIRROR, October 25, 1940

Since no.45 has been bombed and we lost our window glass and a lot of tiles, things have been happening in our offiffice that would have seemed impossible a few months ago.

The fact is, we have all become human during working hours. Seeing the old fifirm, which has stood up to fifinancial and other batterings for 100 years, knocked about by Hitler’s bombs has knocked us offff of our habit-perch and made us human beings.

Take the senior partner, Mr P. For 20 years he’d been a sort of High Priest, never speaking to any of the staffff, except Mr F, the head clerk.

And it was only when you heard him clear his throat that you suspected he had vocal cords.

But since the bombing of no.45 we have been delighted to hear that falsetto voice of his. Again, we have become aware of his face, for there is never a morning now that he doesn’t smile.

‘Did you have a good night?’ and ‘Wasn’t so bad last night, was it?’ are two phrases that sound like music in our ears after wondering for 20 years just what mysterious species of humanity he belonged to.

Then there’s old Tubby F, with his ginger moustache. All that shouting of his has vanished since he helped Helen, the offiffice beauty, to nail up cardboard at the glassless windows.

Perhaps it’s due to his catching her in his arms when the ladder overbalanced that took the bully out of him.

Indeed, the entire offiffice threw discretion to the winds and burst into a crescendo of laughter that must have made the fifirm’s founder turn in his grave…”