Dear LPG readers,

One day not so long ago I decided that I should sort through one of the many boxes of memorabilia that are lying around in my spare room.  I am sure that I am not the only person who has collections of such boxes in a spare room or a shed at the back of the garden.  Every now and then I make a positive decision to go through some of it and it is surprising just how much of mine comprises paper. This is where I made a start but I did not get far before one bit of paper got me thinking.  The fifth bit of paper from the top of the box was the retirement card I was presented with on the very last day that I commuted to work…

All my working life, I have worked in offices and over the years I have often been a part of someone else’s leaving celebrations.  Some colleagues would be leaving to move on to a better job, there would be the ones leaving to start a family, some would be emigrating and some retiring but back then the reason was never as important as making sure that all the leaving rituals were all observed. 

It would all start with the announcement, which would include the day of departure, and then someone would be put in charge of organising the office ‘whip round’ while discussions as to what his or her colleagues felt would be a fitting leaving present would be whispered all-round the office.   Then, the retirement card would be secretly passed around the office by one worker who was in charge of making sure that the person leaving was not aware until the big reveal.  I have to admit to often having found myself agonising about the right words and the appropriate message to write in it along with my name in that card. Finally, the big day would come around and we would all prepare for the official party followed by the unofficial evening do at the pub. 

I had worked in the same office for just over a decade when it was time for my final leaving do.  I had so many plans ready for when retirement happened to me and I thought that the pandemic with its enforced lockdown and working from home experiences was a good training ground for how things would be after my work exit.

I always considered other peoples ‘leaving dos’ par for the course.  Lots of other peoples last day at work just meant an excuse for cake and the manager’s speech about what a good worker the person leaving had been, followed by a few anecdotes about the funny things that they will always be remembered for.  

But it is really different when it happens to you.   Revisiting that card compels me to go through each and every signature included, the ones that remind me of the then close friends that I have now completely lost touch with, those people who annoyed me so much that, at the time, I could not wait to get away fast enough from and I even found myself doing my best to decipher those writings that have either faded or were always illegible.  

Even though I keep in touch with a few of my old colleagues from that employment, and a few from earlier ones, I now recognise them more by voice than image, but the discovery of that retirement card and all the signatures inside took up so much time to reminisce about that, in the end I just put the other four bits of paper back on top of it in the box having made precisely no headway with my hoarding limitation plans on the day… 

I wonder how many boxes in spare rooms around the world tell a similar story and evoke a similar reaction when disturbed? 

LA, Forest HIll