isham research

This turned up one morning from Switzerland, around the time Swissair went bust. My translation follows - for those who speak German, the original is MUCH better.

Once upon a time there were seven dwarves, who lived among the seven hills. Day after day they searched their mine for gold. Each was respectable, a good worker and respected the others. If one became tired, he took a rest, without any of the others grumbling. If one of them needed something, the others were generous to a fault. In the evening, after the day's work was done, they ate their bread together and went to bed. On the seventh day they rested.

But one day one of them said that they didn't really know how much was being done, and he started to count the nuggets that they brought out of the mine each day. And while he was so occupied with this counting, the others just took over his work. Soon he was so obsessed with counting that he laid his pick down for ever. After a while the mumbling among the friends about doing his work for him grew. He was shocked, and defended himself - the counting was essential so that they would know what they had achieved and he began to tell the others all about it in full detail. And because he couldn't make himself heard while they were hacking and hammering, they had to lay down their tools and sit around the table to listen to him. This was the first ever "meeting". The other dwarves saw all the fine paper and the symbols, but shook their heads because they couldn't understand it. It wasn't long before the "controller" (his new name for himself) requested that the dwarves - working day in, day out - show him on paper how much gold they were each bringing out of the mountain. And while he couldn't understand why the quantity varied so much from day to day, he asked one of the dwarves to lead the others so the rewards were distributed properly. This dwarf then called himself a "manager" and laid his shovel down as well.

After only a short while, then, only five of them were working - but with the same goals, of course, as the original seven. Morale sank, but what could they do? As the manager heard their complaints, he thought very long and hard and came up with "teamwork". Each would only do a part of the work - the part for which he was best suited as a specialist. But - the work became no easier, and when one of them was ill the other's didn't know how to do his work. Taylorism was created.

When the manager saw that his colleagues were unhappy, he promoted one of them to "foreman" so as to encourage the others. So the manager no longer needed to leave his warm stove. Unfortunately, the foreman who now passed on the rhythm also laid down his shovel and went with the manager more and more often to meetings. So only four were now working.

Morale sank further, and with it the amount of gold mined. As the angry dwarves arrived at the door of his office, the manager promised to help and organised a little trip in the cart so the dwarves could spread out and relax. So that the gold production wouldn't be affected, this was organised for the weekend. And so that this could be booked as a business trip, the manager held a long presentation full of foreign-sounding words that he'd heard from another manager who was letting down another bunch of dwarves in another mine and didn't understand them either. These were the first ever Anglicisms.

One day an open dispute broke out. The dwarves threw down their little shovels and stamped their little feet and made little fists. The manager was shocked and promised to find the dwarves some help. He called this "outsourcing". So some other dwarves turned up - foreigners, who didn't really fit in. And because they were so different, one of the original dwarves was named as their foreman, reporting to the manager. So only three were left working.

Because each of them tackled their work in a different way and because two different groups of workers were involved, two departments were necessary and a regular traffic began between them under the strict eye of the controller. He called them "cost centres". Each saw what the other was doing and jealously guarded its assets. The grumbling became louder and louder.

The two dwarves who were still working messed up more than they achieved. The manager and the controller were at a loss to explain this, so they engaged a "consultant". He strode through the mine with his nose held high and without a clue about what was going on, and then explained to the astounded managers that the reason for the dwarves' poor performance was simply that they were holding their shovels incorrectly. Then he took all the money he could find and disappeared as fast as he had come.

During all this the controller decided that the external dwarves were costing more than the profit they produced and were also taking work from the internal dwarves. So he fired them. The foreman who had managed the external dwarves then became a second controller, so only one last dwarf was working in the mine.

Yeah, and in the free time he scraped together from his hardworked, scattered overtime hours he got to know Snowhite, who offered her services around the district. She gave him syphilis, from which he died painfully. The company went bankrupt, the manager, foremen and controller voted each other generous golden handshakes and shot off abroad where they were safe from being sued for fraud. And this depressing - but true - fairy tale is over.

And if you think it really was a fairy story, read the history of Swissair.

Contact Phil Payne by email or use mobile/SMS 07833 654800