An important anniversary today

I had lunch today at Fields, Sidmouth's department store. Their café upstairs was packed. Why this should be so, on a cloudy, windy and rather chilly Wednesday in March wasn't clear. You'd think people would prefer to stay at home in the warm. But then most of those lunchers were obviously in their eighties, and I should think that Wednesday was their customary day to go into town, meet up, and have a light lunch before browsing in Fields or any of the many other nice shops in Sidmouth. For it really is a great place to shop, and a very congenial little town indeed. And I'm not having a go against elderly people locked into a pleasant habit, come rain or shine. I'm getting that way myself, and I'm still only seventy!

As I say, the café was packed. I was asked if I minded joining a couple at a table, if they agreed. I didn't mind one bit, and nor did they. We immediately fell into conversation. They had only just - the day before - sold their home in Sidmouth, and were now looking for a new one. Originally from Yorkshire, they had lived in various places around the country. Before Sidmouth, it had been Par in Cornwall. Next it might be Bude, also in Cornwall, an attractive Atlantic resort I loved to visit every time I came west, as it was only an hour from North Devon - but with the drawback that it was remote from the big hospitals at Plymouth or Exeter, something of concern if you were getting on in years. Also in the running was a return to Yorkshire - specifically Northallerton, an old market town at the foot of the North Yorkshire Moors. The draw there was to be close to family. I would bet on that being the chosen destination. 

So far as I could judge, both husband and wife were a little older than me, mid-seventies say, and still energetic enough for a big house move. Anyway, I felt comfortable enough to remark that most lunchers present (though by implication not me, and not them) were well into their eighties, making us distinctly young. They agreed; and shortly afterwards the husband let on that he had retired thirteen years ago, which suggested he might be seventy three. I responded by saying I'd retired eighteen years ago. Did he like retirement? Oh yes. It had taken him a couple of years to get completely used to it, but he'd never want to go back to work now. I said - by now munching through a baked potato and salad, and slurping a coffee - that I'd never missed working once I'd left, and it helped that I'd had two interests to turn to straight away, which both got me out of the house: photography (I indicated LXV) and caravanning, and I explained how I got into that. 

Afterwards I noticed an anniversary in the diary app on my phone. 22nd March 2005 - the date of the letter that told me my application for Approved Early Retirement had been successful. This had been the particular early retirement scheme that had suddenly been made available, following an announcement by the then Chancellor of the Exchequer Gordon Brown that two financial departments, the Inland Revenue (my department) and Customs & Excise, were going to merge to form HMRC. And that 12,500 staff would be surplus to requirements in the new setup, and would have to go. That was the pledge. Hence the scheme. The Labour government of the day was sure that discontent with pay and conditions, especially in the Inland Revenue, was such that the target of 12,500 early retirees would easily be met, and would probably be over-subscribed. 

This is what I said in the months after I left. It comes from an essay I wrote later in 2005 called The Pension:

When Tony Blair’s Labour government came to power in 1997 everyone wondered what the effect on the Civil Service might be. It soon became clear that the economies of the previous government were not going to be undone by New Labour. Few policies of any kind were undone. On the other hand, Labour had a mandate to improve public services. That ought at least to rule out further staff cuts. It suggested a period of stability. People continued to sit tight and watch events.  

The years went by, and it seemed that the government had embarked on a rolling programme of restructuring its departments, to eliminate unnecessary accommodation and save rents; restructuring the work, so that people worked more efficiently for the same pay; and imposing a freeze on recruitment. All this saved costs, yet preserved jobs. But inevitably costs rose and further economies were looked for. At length an announcement was made in 2004 by Gordon Brown, then the Chancellor of the Exchequer, that the Inland Revenue and HM Customs & Excise would merge in 2005. And that in consequence as many as 12,500 of their staff would be surplus to requirements, and must leave by the end of 2006. The unions were aghast. But, on reflection, how could numbers be reduced? There were to be no redundancies. If you were not going to force people to leave, you’d have to make them an offer so good that they couldn’t refuse. But how paid for? No special funding would be provided. So my opinion was (and colleagues agreed) that there couldn't be another retirement deal. We braced ourselves for less congenial measures to get rid of people, such as a programme of transfers, shifting staff around, making their working lives worse. This would encourage the required ‘natural wastage’ - people getting out to avoid inconvenient daily travel, or an unwanted change of duties.    

But then in early 2005 - completely out of the blue - an early retirement deal was suddenly offered to those over 50. Approved Early Retirement it was called. This included me. As a deal, it wasn’t universally attractive. If you were in a low grade, or had not built up many years of reckonable service, your pension would be small; and there was no lump sum unless you had stayed with the old 1970 pension scheme. I had opted for the new scheme in 2001, which gave me more pension, but no lump sum. Even so, the arithmetic came out well for me, and I immediately applied for early retirement on the basis offered.  

Another colleague, older than me, with a wife in the Revenue who would also be able to go - and both in the old pension scheme - stood to do exceptionally well out of it, and they applied too. But for others the decision was more difficult. Generally the pension would be too small for their needs. Most had family responsibilities, children still at university, or soon to go. Some male colleagues had younger wives who did not want to retire, so that they would be kicking their heels at home, with nothing in particular to do. They feared boredom. And some other people said the scheme was not nearly good enough for them; they thought that another would follow, a better deal altogether, and they preferred to wait for it. This seemed like looking a gift horse in the mouth. But belief in a succession of ever-better schemes was common. It was thought that if the government were serious about reducing staff numbers, they were bound to offer more and more in the way of inducements until they got the numbers they wanted. So it was almost foolish to accept the first deal, which was just to test the water. How wrong this view turned out to be!    

And yet it seemed obvious that any Inspector who applied stood only a slim chance of success. The staff most needed for the new HMRC were the experienced investigators, people like me in fact. Clerical staff were not needed so much, and in some areas would indeed be surplus to requirements. Clearly the cuts would fall first on the junior grades. And they were the lowest-paid, the cheapest to retire. In the light of this, people like myself - Inspectors with experience, on relatively high salaries - seemed unlikely to be released. Inspectors more senior to me especially so. The government wanted droves of clerical people to respond instead. It became known that London Region expected 1,000 applications for its area, and it published a pecking order in case the scheme were over-subscribed. I and my investigating colleagues were depressingly low down on the list. But, undaunted, we made our applications, sometimes in the face of dry comments from senior management that we were wasting our time, as we would never be allowed to go. 

It did not turn out as expected. There were 600 people in my office at Croydon, but only 18 there applied, most of them Inspectors. It was a similar picture elsewhere. The clerical people just could not afford to give up work, or did not want to.  

After a month of anxious waiting we 18 had our applications approved, amid whoops of joy. There was an immediate party atmosphere for not just a day, but for all my remaining time there. A feeling that the strain was off. Even those too young to apply, or who had refrained from applying, seemed full of goodwill and smiles. Amazed senior managers congratulated us on our wonderful luck. Even accountants (if we told them) more often than not offered their best wishes for the future, and regret at the severing of a good working relationship. I thought I detected some dark mutterings on other floors, among lower grade staff who had fallen victim to work restructuring. And I remember one accountant who made sour remarks about my wanting to shut down a case before I went, putting his client under pressure to agree to some settlement proposals. But these grumblings were not typical. On the whole we 18 were the darlings of all who knew us. Even senior managers could find comfort in losing us. Although awkward in some ways, our departure created a perfect opportunity to renegotiate targets reluctantly agreed with London Region.  

It was all a fantastic piece of good luck. Common sense told me to accept it. But I could not help feeling that, for me, the luck was not deserved. I had not been a star investigator, just someone who had stuck it out for thirty-five years, had no family to support, and could afford to apply. I had not ‘earned’ this reward. But I was making a basic mistake. Approval to retire was not a reward at all. It was just incidental to the government’s wish to reduce the staff figures. As long as somebody - anybody - accepted the deal, that wish was on its way to being fulfilled. Gordon Brown, Chancellor of the Exchequer, would have thanked me. But it would be thanks for making the government’s job easier at Question Time, not thanks for the work I did over all those years. My personal past performance, poor or perfection itself, was completely irrelevant.   

I heard in September 2005 that this particular early retirement scheme had turned out to be the only one that senior staff could freely apply for. It had been a unique chance. I didn’t feel smug at the news, just glad that I hadn’t hesitated for a minute. And glad that I hadn’t tried to be clever, or greedy, waiting for a better deal. 

So I wrote later in 2005, after months without the grind of the daily commute, and without any responsibilities at work. I wrote like this to work through a sense of having undeserved good luck. That downbeat feeling didn't last long. I soon grew to appreciate this new phase in my life. But it wouldn't be a long life unless I stayed off the couch and away from the TV, and pursued interests that would keep me on my feet. The fact that eighteen years later I remain in good health, and not too overweight, is surely some evidence that I have stuck to that intention. 

The actual retirement date was 31st May 2005, but my last working day was a week before, as I had some annual leave in hand. My last act? To sign some penalty notices on a group of companies. That done, it was down to the pub, and later a very thoughtful journey home from East Croydon station. It would have been even more thoughtful, had I had an inkling then of the events to come in the next few years, and how life would turn out, not all of it good. Still, here we are in 2023, still alive and kicking, and still able to enjoy lunch in Sidmouth (and some shopping to follow). I'm not complaining!

The date on the letter approving my retirement, 22nd March 2005, fixed the date in the month that my Civil Service Pension is due. Always on the 22nd.