the chichester chronicles
by susan shepeard castelli

Dear friends,

Time for an update. The lambs are gambolling in Chichester. The gentle forest floors are periwinkle blue as one after another bluebell blooms. Cherry trees drip double pink petals and the sun has been shining for two
days straight! I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing an English spring and I am relishing it, especially after winter. Of course, the little boys and girls who so eagerly in shorts and t-shirts fled the classrooms for February’s frosty playing fields are now carrying individual fans to lessons and complaining about the intense heat. There is some kind of mixed-up view of temperature over here. At the most it is around 70 degrees (Fahrenheit) today. I’d like to see them handle August in Florida!

Of all the wonderful things that Britain does better than anywhere else, efficiency and service do not number among them, as Britons will be the first to admit. While I have experienced a few instances of less than speedy and thorough service in my four months living here, nothing bothered me enough to write home about, shall we say, until this week.

On Monday evening, May 8th, loaded down with papers to mark, I stumbled through my front door and found a notice that a company called Businesspost had attempted to deliver what I knew was an important contract from Florida. Not unduly worried, I just thought I’d tick the box that granted approval for the delivery man to slip the letter through the mail slot the next day. However, there was no box to tick on the little card. Instead I was presented with a map of Portsmouth, a city more miles away than I am prepared to venture yet, and an address, with the admonition that the letter must be retrieved within four days (these would be school days, of course, and not ones I could skip!) or it would be returned to
its sender, my former Headmaster who was anticipating my signature on the contract by May 12th after which date the contract would become invalid. Panic!

Thankfully, the card listed a phone number which I could ring, but, of course, not after 6PM, the time I had walked through the door. So, the next day, during a break and armed with the card, I phoned from my classroom. A lovely and soft English lady’s voice informed me that the number I had dialed was not receiving incoming calls. Puzzled, I again checked the number and re-dialed. The same lady’s voice now informed me that the number I had dialed was not a working phone number.

Since I was making these fruitless attempts to contact Businesspost from my mobile at approximately a pound a minute, I was not pleased. Right, I thought. One more time. I rang and the same horrid woman’s voice came on announcing that the number was not receiving incoming calls. What on earth was the staff at Businesspost doing? Were they napping? Had they left a silver tray out on the stoop for the cards of those trying to reach them? I mean, come on. This was a business with an address and a map even!

Not one to give up easily, I threw caution, and I figured most likely at that point about ten pounds, to the wind, took a deep breath, and phoned information. I know this can be risky. This time I got a real person. She diligently checked the number and the address and told me that there is no Businesspost in Portsmouth. I challenged her by reading all the streets on the card’s little map. She could DRIVE there I told her. Resolute but polite she offered me the phone number of Businesspost in Southampton, a place even further along the south coast of England and one to which I certainly had neither time nor inclination to drive. I rang the number she gave me. A gentleman answered. I explained that I had not received my letter in Chichester. “Oh,” he said, “you need our
Portsmouth branch.” I remained patient and told him I had tried the Portsmouth branch number on the card.
He replied, “That number doesn’t work. This is the number you want.” And he gave me another number to dial. I know it was naughty of me, but I just couldn’t resist saying to him that, in my opinion, having a number which doesn’t work prominently displayed on a business card is not exactly helpful. He agreed with me. That is what I love about these charming people. It is hard to get annoyed with them. Almost.

I dialed the new number. I bet you are way ahead of me. It was the voice of the pleasant lady from the first call about thirty minutes earlier saying: “This number is not receiving incoming calls.” I don’t mean to digress, but aren’t all phone calls one makes to another telephone classified as “incoming”? I have to say I hung up on her with a firm punch of my finger. She won’t mess with me again!

Having at that point a heavy financial investment in the issue, I rang the Southampton Businesspost again and told yet another person my sad tale. Her advice was to contact Fed Ex who apparently and completely misguidedly had entrusted my letter to Businesspost, a company (supposedly) in Portsmouth. I wasn’t about to give up the fight. In tiny print at the bottom of the card was an e-mail address for this most inappropriately named company. I determined to write them a suitably sarcastic letter and in my best American manner demand my letter along with some sort of recompense for my wasted time and money. I composed a doozey and with a wicked chuckle pressed SEND. You got it in one go. No such e-mail address exists.

Yet, it is a grand country whose occasional inefficiencies are more than compensated for by those lambs and bluebells. I seriously love the place.

As ever,
Susan

After 24 years of teaching in the USA, Susan Shepeard Castelli decided to move to the country she first fell in love with in 1972. She landed in a small prep school in lovely West Sussex and has been charmed by English boys and girls who start each day saying to the Headmaster, “Good morning, Sir!” Read that with the best Oliver Twist imitation you can manage and you’ll have it!