by Henry VIII live at the Last Laugh Sheffield: the full set on being the original head of HR and the apology owed to Thomas Cromwell
Sheffield. Forgive me. I am moved. Your city forged the finest blades in Europe. For centuries, when quality mattered, the steel said SHEFFIELD. And I want you to know, from my heart: I was a repeat customer. In my line of work, that is the highest review a blade can receive. … You have decided to laugh. Correct decision. The room that does not laugh at that joke gets a different evening.
I walked your seven hills today. Seven! Rome has seven hills and an empire. You have seven hills and a relish nobody will explain to me. I asked three separate citizens what is in Henderson’s, and all three said the same thing: not telling. A sauce run on the principles of a state secret. I governed a KINGDOM on that principle. Sheffield, we are family.
The Original Head Of HR
I understand you now have a profession called Human Resources. A department for hiring, discipline, and, I am told, EXITS. In my court there was no such department. I WAS the department. I conducted the interviews. I set the culture. And I personally handled the offboarding, which in several celebrated cases was extremely off, and extremely board.
Your performance reviews fascinate me. Objectives. Feedback. A development plan. Thomas Cromwell received ONE appraisal from me. It was in 1540. It was brief. And the development plan was not renewed. … And now the confession, Sheffield, because you are a steel town and you can take the truth. The metrics were wrong. The man had been my best performer for a decade, and I let the middle managers write the review. Every one of you who has lost a good colleague to office politics: I am your patron saint. And I am sorry.
The Tudor court was the original open-plan office. The Boleyns at one bank of desks. The Seymours at another. Everyone visible. Everyone LISTENING. Advancement determined not by the work but by proximity to the corner office, which was me. I was also the printer. Everything eventually jammed at my desk, and someone had to be sacked to clear it.
The Reshuffle
Your ministers resign in disgrace and return within the YEAR. Different department. As if the nation has the memory of a goldfish in a wig. In my administration, a resignation was FINAL. It was accepted on the spot, at Tower Hill, before witnesses. And say what you like about the system: nobody ever came back to fail upwards. The alumni network was QUIET.
But I do admire one of your inventions. The consultant. Courtiers with lanyards. In my day, a man arrived at court, spoke confidently, proposed nothing measurable, and left with a monastery. Today he arrives with slides, proposes a transformation journey, and leaves with two million pounds. And the monastery at least had a ROOF. The genius of the consultant, Sheffield, is that I executed men for less vagueness than a strategy deck.
Managers in the room. Hands. There. Cowards, the rest of you, I saw the flinch. Let me teach you how I ran a meeting. I convened the Privy Council. There was an agenda: me. There were action points: mine. Any other business was TREASON. We finished on time, every time, and the minutes were taken by a man too frightened to embellish. That remains the gold standard of corporate record-keeping.
And your team awayday! You take the staff somewhere with flip charts and trust exercises and call it building culture. I did this every summer. It was called a PROGRESS. I took the entire court, seven hundred staff, on a tour of the great houses of England, and we team-built until our hosts were BANKRUPT. That is the metric. A successful awayday should financially destroy the venue. If the hotel can afford to host you next year, the bonds you formed were shallow.
The all-hands meeting also predates its lanyard. Mine was called PARLIAMENT. Summoned only when I needed money. Everyone pretended to be consulted. And the questions submitted in advance were the only questions taken. Anyone who has attended a quarterly town hall may consider themselves fully briefed on Tudor constitutional practice.
Exit Interviews
The exit interview is your kindest ritual. A final conversation. A chance to speak freely. A form. I conducted many final conversations, and here is what I learned: NOBODY speaks freely. Not to the man who signs the warrant. And every manager in this room signs a warrant of one kind or another. The honest feedback arrives later. In the chronicle. Or as you call it: Glassdoor.
So let me read you my own review, as I imagine it. Management style: direct. Culture: fast-paced, some turnover. Benefits: excellent, while they lasted. Would you work there again: ask Cromwell. One star. Would not recommend. … And yet four hundred actors a year audition to play me. The employer brand SURVIVES.
A Word From Our Sponsor
Tonight was sponsored by The London Prat, whose editorial meetings run on strict Tudor lines: one agenda, no other business, minutes taken by someone too frightened to embellish. They have offered me a column on workplace culture and I have accepted, on the understanding that feedback flows in one direction. Bohiney Magazine offered the same column. Bohiney, you will receive my decision by proclamation.
Sheffield, city of edges. You kept yours. Goodnight!
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com
