The Moving Times Of Caroline Proudly

Hockett Manor

There was no need to sort out anything really. A month's written notice to the landlady of Shield Street and a similar one to my work, a goodbye and forwarding address for my flat mates and a detour via Rose Cottage, to drop off my belongings, was all it took. Logistically it was a breeze. All that was then required was my presence in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Moretonshire.

Once you had left the main road that connected the two nearest towns you were on your own. The small turning off the main road led to numerous little villages to the left and to the right. The actual route to Hockett Manor meant that you followed signposts to all sorts of weird and wonderful places, but never actually saw them. As you neared civilisation, you had to turn off and miss it until finally you came to an isolated cottage and were forced to go to the right and down a long narrow road. Hockett Manor was at the end of it. There was no village of that name. The huge manor and its large estate were Hockett. In the past, the place had been a police training camp. As a result, there was an indoor pool, gym, tennis courts, classrooms and dorms. They were all low and set back from the main house, which was a vacant stately home in beautifully maintained gardens. At the front of the house, the garden sloped off until it met a moat filled with carp. Behind the house, and off to one side, there was flat lawn and next to it was a large modern hall which was the canteen.

Betty, a local woman in her early 40's, was the cook and a mother figure of Hockett Manor. She knew everything and missed nothing. I was the latecomer who had to slot in to the almost 100% male orientated and tight knit community. After my first lunch at Hockett Manor, I was clearing my things away when Betty pulled me off to one side and said that if I had time, she would like to have a chat with me. She waited until everyone had left the canteen and came back over to me. 'Look at that. Spoilt little brats...It's time for me to go ballistic again!' she explained as she gestured to the items that had been left on the tables. 'Those other two girls haven't got the balls. They think they have, but believe me, they haven't. They won't be here for long, mark my words...You on the other hand, you stand a chance. It won't be easy ...they'll probably try to rip you apart...they are nice lads individually, but together...well, together they're nasty bastards...'

Her warning shook my confidence completely and the effect was evident from my anxious expression. As she got up to leave, she turned to me again, 'You'll be fine, more than fine. Just remember this chat...and it's none of my business, but I couldn't help but notice those bruises when you walked in. If you want to talk, you know where I am.'

Although it was none of her business, I thought it was better not to allow Betty to draw any of her own conclusions. Betty laughed when, with embarrassment, I told her the truth. That the bruises were as a result of a sort of 'farewell to London' night that ended with me coming out of a pub down by the river in a very, very drunken state and with an insatiable desire to go swimming in the Thames. I did remember falling backwards off the wall and smashing my head, before I had a second attempt to get over. My friends had been forced to physically restrain me, to prevent me from going through with my ridiculous idea!

Life at Hockett Manor already had a routine in place before I arrived. There was as much physical and mental torture as there was hard work. The need to call every part of the globe meant long and unsociable hours. Whether you had worked through the night or not, there was no way out of doing anything that Psycho Harry had planned. No one was privy to what he had in mind or when it would occur. You had to just wait and, on his orders, get on with it. One of his activities, which we all assumed was his favourite as a result of its frequency, was to wake us all up at 5am by banging two saucepans together and then send us on a 5-mile run. I had worked out Harry's mentality during the assessment day. It was nothing about success, and everything about attitude.

I always completed the distance and never complained. Completely unfit, I walked most of the way and was always last back. The other two girls let themselves down badly by moaning and turning back halfway through. A week when it had been forecast to be cold and wet, Harry arranged a surprise canoeing trip. Shorts and t-shirts were obligatory and, apart from one jumper per person for the trip back home in the minibus, nothing else was allowed. Afterwards, cold and wet, there were tears from the two other girls and despite the fact it was completely understandable, such signs of 'weakness' were not tolerated.

The boys who had held the girls in high esteem, for having the guts as woman to go to 'boot camp', quickly lost all respect for them. The fact that I was too proud meant that I had no intention of being 'weak' in front of the boys, which must have made it worse for the other two girls. The situation that Betty had foreseen started to occur. The boys grouped together and made life hell for one of the girls and finally voted her out. The same happened to the other one and so I was left with 17 lads.

Betty pulled me aside, once again, to benefit from her pearls of wisdom. 'You'll be next I'm afraid. Watch your back...Just go on the way you are...whatever, first sign of any trouble, you stamp it out immediately. Stamp it out once and for all...you'll be fine if you do that.' It wasn't long before her prediction became a reality. There was something brewing. I knew that there were 'meetings' and I had a fairly good idea what the topic on the agenda was, but there was nothing I couldn't do. 'Boot camp' was all about empowerment, about democracy. The combination of the two created the nasty voting system that had disposed of the other two girls. The democratic aspect revolved around the most power team members 'convincing' as many of the rest as possible that action was needed 'for the good of the cause'. When enough positive votes had been promised to form a majority, the motion was carried.

Harry selected three team leaders, of whom I was one. It made my position worse. I was the latecomer, a girl and there was some obvious resentment from some of the team who thought that they should have been chosen. Where possible, I initiated the ideas that came from the team and in our morning meetings, I took copious notes about who had proposed what, which ideas I was going to try and justification of my own ideas. The original was for me and, although he thought my scheme was excessive, Harry was provided with a copy.

My team became more and more uncooperative and even decided to have a problem with the things they had proposed. One morning meeting finished in a huge row where one of my team had a moment of weakness. He screamed at me, 'We only need a few more votes! You're practically out of here...'

I wasn't that surprised, and I put all of my energy into working harder and longer. The pressure continued to mount, and the tension grew. As hard as I tried to show 'no weakness' I knew I was near breaking point and was sure they knew it too.

One day when Catherine, the Managing Director of the company that we had been recruited for, had come up from London to Hockett Manor there was an incident. It was staged. I realised afterwards. The normal racket of the call centre was all but silent and only I seemed to be making calls. I was updating the notes on the call that I had just completed when I heard one of the lads blatantly call one of my clients. When he had put down the phone, I went over to confirm who he had been talking to. With that confirmed I went ballistic. Catherine intervened and broke up the row just as it was about to get physical on my part.

I announced that I wanted an instant meeting, on the spot, with everyone in attendance. 'Everyone, all of you, Catherine, Harry and Betty. Let's face it. In this 'democratic environment', even a witch hunt should be fair. Apparently, there are only a few more promised votes needed before I get kicked out...I'm sick of your pathetic little meetings and schemes...you want a vote, we will have a vote. I can't see why there shouldn't be any objections to a secret ballot.'

The results spared me but only just. I had stamped it out and, although it smouldered on for a week or two, the boys gave up on me. Ben was the next victim. Luckily before it had manifested into something too big we started to come to the end of our time at 'boot camp'.