NOVEMBER, BY TRADITION, is the time for the annual conference of the district organising secretaries, the liaison officers between the RNLI's voluntary financial branches and guilds in the field and its headquarters at Poole. At the beginning of the month the DOSs come to Poole from Scotland, Ireland, Wales and all parts of England, to spend two or three days in discussion and an exchange of views; to meet, both in conference and individually, members of the Fund Raising Committee and the headquarters staff; to make known the feelings of their voluntary helpers and to learn at first hand how things are with the lifeboat service—what has been achieved, what is planned for the future.

For two or three days they are met together, fourteen men and women.

And then they disperse. Each goes back to his or her own district. They return to their own people to take up once again their own work of providing the backing which will enable branch and guild supporters to maintain the lifesaving flow of money on which the service depends, for it is from their combined efforts that, each year, a third of the RNLI's revenue is harvested.

Coxswain Derek Scott of The Mumbles summed it up so well: 'From the time that lady sold her flag or arranged her coffee morning to raise funds—that was when the rescue started. . .'.

Backing? That is an all-embracing term. It might mean working with the divisional inspector of lifeboats to help a station branch prepare for a Royal naming ceremony, or it might mean taking a note, in passing, from one honorary secretary to another in a neighbouring village. It might mean organising flag day supplies or display material for some special occasion, or it might mean keeping up a steady flow of stationery, posters, souvenirs. It might mean giving a talk, perhaps to a school; helping to form a new committee; attending an AGM, or a ball, or a sale of work. . . . The needs of every branch and every ladies' guild will be different.

A look at a DOS's diary is very revealing: in almost any twenty-four hours there may be five, six or even more events, scattered over perhaps four or five counties, which either the DOS or one of his or her assistants will be hoping to attend. Planning, to wring the greatest results from the most economical mileage, can get very complicated; time is always too short; and, on the homeward run, there will be a despatch case on the passenger's seat, crammed with the paper work which will have accumulated during the day . . . it will have to be dealt with at home, that night . . . or perhaps an hour or two can be snatched in the office first thing tomorrow morning. . . .

The day of a DOS. Every one will, of course, be different—and that is equally true of the days, the organising secretaries and their districts. A DOS may have a compact territory but with a dense population, such as the City of London, the West Midlands centred on Birmingham, or the Midland Shires; lines of communication are comparatively short and an assistant DOS will not be necessary. At the other extreme, the national organiser for Ireland has a vast area with a scattered population and needs the help of two assistants based in Dublin and one in Belfast.

Secretarial or clerical help, the minimum that is practical to cope with telephone messages, letters, requisitions, invoices, records, accounts and, perhaps most important of all, filing, will depend on the nature of the district office and the volume of work passing through.

On the Job So what is it really like? There is no way of finding out quite like going to see—if a DOS will take you along. As the Southern District Office, serving the six counties of Dorset, Hampshire, Wiltshire, Berkshire, Oxfordshire and the Isle of Wight, is housed in the headquarters building at Poole, would Anthony Oliver, DOS (Southern) act as guide? He would? Good.

Next question: when does a day really begin? You see, it is not always clear. Take Friday, October 22 ... that was a day which really began the night before, down at Lymington. During a social evening for branch and guild (supper, talk by Clare Francis of Trans- Atlantic fame, AGM) when the divisional inspector of lifeboats (SE), Lieut.-Commander Michael Woodroffe (DI and DOS work closely together) passed Anthony Oliver a first draft of an important letter they both have to sign.

That draft must be considered between arriving home (midnight) and getting to the office (0900).

So, back to October 22, and before Anthony arrives at his desk an amended draft is safely on the pocket memo recorder which travels everywhere with him . . . like the little black note book in his pocket and the pad of paper on his dashboard . . . however good your memory, you cannot rely on it in this job. . . .

While that second draft is typed, Anthony gets down to the day's mail; that must be cleared before he sets out again, leaving Marylou Lousvet, sheet anchor of the Southern Office, and secretary Diana Rogers to take care of everything that may crop up in his absence. At this time of the year there is much financial work to be done; branch and guild annual accounts will be coming in thick and fast.

The end of the day's journeying will be West Dorset, early evening. What else can be done on the way? Wimborne? Beaminster? A few telephone calls: 3 o'clock? 5? That will be convenient? Good—I'll be there. Next the car is loaded with everything that can be delivered en route: 1977 calendars for branch and guild officers, a number of whom will be met before the day is out, Christmas cards, souvenirs, collecting boxes. . . . To take as much as possible saves time; even more important, it saves the considerable cost of packing and postage.

The day is already passing far too quickly . .. just time to get to Wimborne before the banks shut, to see Mr Norris at the National Westminster. He has offered the RNLI space in a charity Christmas card shop to be run for a week by the local Christian Aid committee.

Three boxes of cards are unloaded from the boot. Does Mr Norris know of anyone who might be interested in helping form a committee in the town? Perhaps he would audit the accounts? Yes? Well, that's a start. . . .

On the road again, Beaminster next stop to call on Miss Douglas, honorary secretary of the branch, and her mother.

Made it by the appointed hour, 5 o'clock —wonderful! After that journey you would like to wash ? A cup of tea ? What about some sandwiches to keep you going? How thoughtful! Soon, round a log fire, business is under way. Goods change hands: unsold Christmas cards coming back; tea towels to boost the branch's souvenir stock are passed over.

Miss Douglas is pleased,' they are the ones with blue sea ('People will always buy blue. Selling is fascinating . . . such an insight into life . . .'). Anthony so sorry no one can attend Beaminster's AGM; both he and Gifford Rosling, who, as ADOS, is mostly concerned with Dorset, Hampshire and South Wiltshire, have overflowing engagements for that day. . . .

Back in the car, Bridport bound. It's dark now and teeming with rain. Park in a little lane and, converging with other figures materialising from thedarkness, run for a lighted porch.

Representative officers from Dorchester, Lyme Regis, Weymouth and Bridport are meeting to discuss a combined South and West Dorset Ball planned for Friday, April 15—perhaps the first of a series, each in a different town. Up to Colfox School to view the halls. Chairman of Bridport's entertainments subcommittee, Vivian May, conducts an exploratory meeting, everybody grouped round on what will be the dance floor: What band? The food? Should wine be bought now to save expense? Tombola? No. A wheel of chance? Ideas are thrown 'on to the table'—and some are left there . . . there will be another meeting soon . . , it's early days yet. . . .

Eric Pickering, honorary secretary Bridport, gathers up DOS. A snack in a pub before starting back? He will lead the way. 9 o'clock. The two cars pull up outside the Travellers Rest on the Dorchester Road; mechanical collecting boxes are transferred from one boot to the other. Then out of the darkness into a tiny, wayside inn—and there, in the entrance, is an illuminated display cabinet full of RNLI souvenirs. That is Eric's handiwork, to meet the enthusiasm of the landlord and his wife, Leon and Betty Wanstall; even the bar is heaped up with RNLI Christmas cards and gifts and they have raised £300 for the lifeboat service already this year. Obviously home ground. A bite to eat, going through requisitions and invoices the while, then the landlord and his wife pull up chairs as photographs of Weymouth naming ceremony are passed around.

Eric Pickering and Betty Wanstall were both there. . . .

It's getting late, but at least it has stopped raining and there is very little traffic. A fast drive . . . home at midnight, for the second night running.

Chris is waiting with a cup of coffee ready. Any messages ? There are usually one or two, for, in maintaining good communications between DOS and his assistants, all, perhaps, on the move, and the base office, the family plays a vital part. Indeed they have their own integral role in the life of the district, sharing alike in the work and thepleasure, and they would not have it otherwise.

Christine Oliver has been an active RNLI supporter most of her life. The daughter of the late Syd Ford, a shore helper at Shoreham, she herself acted as a messenger at that station and, at only sixteen, became honorary secretary of a guild. When her parents received a framed letter of thanks from the Institution, her name was linked with theirs. After their marriage, Chris and Anthony acted as joint honorary secretaries of the Basingstoke branch, covering an area, in those days, stretching from Overton to Blackwater—but that, of course, was before Anthony joined the Institution as a full-time member of staff.

So Chris knows all about it, and is well accustomed to the good times, and the bad. There was the day of Weymouth naming ceremony:actually shining (even if it did rain later), . . . I turn up at the quayside, dressed for work. . . . Within a matter of seconds I find myself cleaning brass and running round trying to find "the penknife" or "the drawing pins" for the various crew members strategically perched on top of flag poles or hanging on to a "too long piece of rope" . . . great fun, really, with everyone working so well together. . . .' A week or two later, in the autumn rains, a Steam Rally at Stourpaine: ' We stepped out of the car into a sea of mud. I had never seen quite so much mud before . . . installed behind a counter to sell souvenirs, one's feet just stuck to the ground. . . . We tried our best but few people were around and those that were had their attention firmly set on keeping upright. . . . Eventually came time to pack up. Everything seemed sticky and muddy, especially the children . . . but lifeboatmen have to put up with much worse. . . .' But let's look at another day—or will it turn out to be two? November 4: An hour getting ready, loading the car, before heading up country. First stop Wimborne again, to pick up cards unsold in charity shop (those will be useful before the day is out, for sure), then 'all stations north' to Henley: Whitchurch, to drop 1977 calendar in at house of chairman of Overton, Whitchurch and District branch, recently formed in a regrouping of village branches to make sure that no ground is left 'uncovered'; Overton, for a few words with Mrs Barker, honorary secretary. Learn that landlord of The White Hart, while in the maritime section of the army at Marchwood, helped raise money for Hampshire Rose ... backtrack for an unscheduled stop—and lunch (excellent)—at that hostelry . . . DOS introduces himself . . . a new contact made. . . .

Kingsclere next, to drop off mechanical collecting box at C. S.

Mortimer and Son, corn and coal merchant of Swan Street (the quiet of former days, bins of corn and meals, barrels of dog biscuits). Box received with pleasure and set on counter with others. . . . 'The children will love that boat. . . .' No branch in this village . . .

would Mrs Mortimer be interested in joining a committee ? Down Swan Street, turn right . . . Mrs Baldwin, flag day organiser in Kingsclere, is at home.

Was the date, in September, a good one? (It is the DOS who applies to district councils for permission to hold all the flag days in his area.) In passing, turn in at Silchester House in hope of picking up box of writing paper waiting for collection. Mrs Oldland not at home? Never mind, next time I'm this way . . . DOS recalls summer ball held at this beautiful old house last July . . . 'a super evening', and £1,000 was raised. . . .

Glances at watch become more frequent . . . time is running out and some way to go yet. Pull up outside house of Mrs Grimsey, honorary secretary, Mortimer and District branch, near Reading. No one at home.

Calendars and box of mugs tucked away in garage, explanatory note pushed through letterbox. This branch was only formed a year ago—the hard way— round the doorsteps: 'Good afternoon, I'm from the RNLI. We are trying to form a branch in this area and understand that you are interested in sailing.

. . .' Since then it has raised over £300.

It is getting cold . . . showers merging into steady rain . . . car lights coming on . . . through the outskirts of Reading, with the first of the evening rush hour traffic, to Tilehurst. Rendezvous with Les Hopper, the ADOS mostly concerned with North Wiltshire, Oxfordshire and Berkshire. Les, his wife, Jackie, and three small children, Matthew, Mark and little Tasha, bright as a button, form a welcoming committee.

(Back in Dorset, Anthony's daughter, Anne, will be getting down to her homework, while his son, Paul, is, tonight, being sworn in as a Cub Sea Scout . . . Chris will be there but not, as so often happens, Anthony.) A pile of notes and reports change hands as DOS and ADOS bring each other up to date.

Off again. It's quite dark now.

Another brief stop, at Mrs Brightwell's, Reading branch honorary secretary.

Nobody at home. Note written by light of car and slipped through front door . . . box of blank posters and menu cards for dance, and calendars, on back doorstep . . . your notepaper has been ordered. . . .

Now Pangbourne—Colonel Godfrey Pease, chairman. Settle round fire andMrs Pease kindly brings in tea. So much to talk over . . . most exciting, affiliation of branch with Weymouth station: there has already been a very happy branch outing to Weymouth and a photo of Arun lifeboat Tony Vandervell, signed by all members of crew, is to be presented to the branch and hung in Swan Inn, the pub which raises most money in Pangbourne. All sorts of plans already for direct help.

Norman Clive's raffle brought in £852 . . . he's planning another, more ambitious. Can Pangbourne have a publicity ILB for 1977 flag day? And keep it ten days for the Silver Jubilee River Pageant ? Yes, of course it could be fetched . . . someone would have a trailer. Now then, Christmas cards: how long will it take to get that order given two days ago? After previous delays . . . Ah, ha! but of course you shall have them . . . yes, right now . . .

they're out in the car. Supplies are low at Poole, but this request can be met at once from those picked up this morning in Wimborne. It just needs a little careful bookwork. Brilliant! On that happy note, a glass of sherry and detailed directions for next leg of journey.

Plunge into dark country lanes with only just time to make the next appointment . . . right, bear left, over a cross roads, left again, then right... ah, there it is—Badgemore Club where, at 7.45 p.m., Henley branch will beholding its first AGM since the formation of a new committee last year.

The Shoreline Bar? Up those stairs . . . you'll see a notice . . . into a cosy room, a bar at one end, lifeboat pictures round the walls, chairs set out in rows.

It is here that once a month, on the first Tuesday, a Shoreline members' evening is held; it is not just for local people, all members are welcome. Time for a few words with Tony Hobbs, chairman, and then the business of the evening begins. . . .

After welcoming assembled gathering, chairman gives his report, recordingspecial appreciation to retired chairman, Richard Gothard . . . committee a pleasure to work with . . . trying to make special efforts enjoyable—and so far they have been fun . . . sausage and mash supper, fetes, a film evening, cinema organ recital, river trips. . . . On to accounts, presented by Mr Hobbs in absence of honorary treasurer, John Chalcraft, just out of hospital. Total for year nearly £6,000. Lyn and Pat David, at Marsh Lock . . . a fantastic record . . . they have been responsible for most of £1,870.48 credited to branch for Shoreline membership, collected £700 in lifeboat box, organised a mile of money . . . 'Lyn hands in money by the bucketful, the barrow load!' Congratulations from the floor on 'nil' expenses ... absorbed by 'Dicky and his generosity' and that coffee morning....

DOS says a few words . . . a very big thank you from RNLI HQ . . . and to Mr Chalcraft, who kept the flag flying from 1949 until the new committee was formed . . . news of progressof lifeboat service as a whole. Then DOS takes chair for elections. Chairman, honorary treasurer and honorary secretary all re-elected. One vacant office, vice chairman . . . Lyn David, unanimously.

Any other business . . . can we have jumble, produce, cakes, anything for bazaar? Would DOS lay on steady hand machine ? What is the date of 1977 flag day? Meeting breaks up into informal conversation. DOS fetches Christmas cards (more from Wimborne), posters, souvenirs from car. . . . What? It's nearly 11 ? A quick dash to reach overnight rooms before hotel doors are locked.

Another day. And a beautiful one: autumn sunshine, leaves turning, the river blue. Back into Henley for a friendly call on Richard Gothard . . .

an hour with John Chalcraft to talk over accounts. Down for a last chat with the chairman at his riverside boathouse . . . all the Thames elegance of balconies, varnished wood office walls, pictures of bygone regattas. . . .

The morning is gone before Marsh Lock is reached . . . mustn't miss that famous lock. It is a picture . . . and such a profitable one for the RNLI. Inside the lock-keeper's house . . . the passage piled with boxes of jumble . . . handmade toys, ready for the bazaar, everywhere . . . hobby horses, snowmen, owls, dolls, jacks-in-the-box . . . that is Pat and Lyn's hobby. They even sell fallers (from a committee member's tree) at Ip a time to boats passing through, and logs cut up from driftwood.

Sandwiches and tea ... now we can settle down and talk....

Time goes much too quickly . . .

must break away . . . have to get to Fordingbridge. DOS had hoped to be present in time for the draw. Diversion in Reading . . . heavy traffic . . . we'll never make it by 4 o'clock.. . .

4.10 ... into car park . . . run down street to little double-fronted shop in town centre which has been open for RNLI business since 8.30 a.m. Mrs Jean Carpenter, chairman, has started on raffle draw, with help of a very little girl and a very old man, but DOS is just in time to pick out one ticket . . .

honour is saved! There are boxes of groceries and fruit, pheasants, dolls, bottles . . . all sorts of things for the lucky winners.

Join in demolition. Stalls packed up, flags and bunting taken down. Tables removed, floor swept. DOS collects tombola barrel, 'Fred' the cardboard lifeboatman, spare Christmas cards and diaries, RNLI draperies . . . it is all removed to car.

Home now . . . a little more slowly; the pressure is off. Turn into drive by six, remembering that in any one of the other thirteen districts the DOS may still be on the road home after perhaps a couple of nights away . . . or just setting out, projector in boot, to give a lecture . . . staying late at the office desk, clearing up accumulated work . . .

dressing for an annual dinner . . .

slinging on an anorak to go and join a darts team. . . .

And, at the end of the day? What has been achieved? There is deepening friendship with crewmembers and their wives, and with like-minded people in towns and villages up and down the country; there is unceasing pressure; there are times of celebration; there is a mounting pile of paper work; and—yes —there is undoubtedly satisfaction, the satisfaction of helping, in a direct and practical way, the saving of life at sea. . . .

But it's getting late and the family is waiting for tea. Then the car must be unloaded—it's just as full as when we set out. There will be reports to write, letters to answer, those complicated Christmas card transactions to sort out and numerous notes to transform into action; and tomorrow, a sale of work and a firework display. . . . It's Saturday? Well, that's just another day, isn't it?.