Ramshorn Republic. Martin McMahon

28 are you on the road have you got the stuff for the bank?” It was the base controller.

      This morning it was Pat. Every morning at about ten to nine I'd get the same call regardless of who the controller was. The deliveries I carried were ‘set calls’ to be completed by nine. I was under strict orders to get them delivered. If I had any problems or hold ups I was to contact the controller immediately and he'd send someone else to do it.

      “28 here, I'm on my way Pat”.

      Fifteen minutes and two deliveries later I rolled down the lane and parked up outside the base at Hollis Street. Pat took what mail he wanted and entered the ones I was to deliver onto the computer in front of him.

      “Here” Pat said as he handed me a single sheet of A4 paper “fill that out and get it back to me by Friday” he instructed.

      I read the title at the top ‘Security Clearance’.

      “What's this? Why are you looking for it now?”

      Pat knew what I meant. I'd been working for Securicor for over three years and now they wanted me to sign a form allowing them to check if I had a criminal record.

      “You're missing the point” Pat insisted “you were checked out when you started”.

      “Who checked me out, I never gave permission for that?”

      Pat clammed up.

      “I'm not signing it Pat, it's not on”. I looked at a handful of couriers already filling out the security clearance forms.

      “Don't sign it” I warned “they've no right to access your records. If they're not going to recognise our rights as employees, then we don't have to fill out this shit”. I handed the form back to Pat. “Not a chance” I said.

      One of the couriers hesitated briefly before handing the uncompleted form to Pat. The others quickly followed suit.

      For the rest of that day my radio stayed silent. Punishment came in various forms from Securicor. The silent treatment was a great favourite. When guys are paid by the piece, it’s particularly devastating to give them no work. Then there was the ‘shite work’, deliveries that were time intensive and laborious. Everyone hated the ‘shite work’ but as the sign said ‘The base controllers decision is final’ and if you refused then Securicor management would invariably invoke another more permanent punishment and fire your ass without notice.

      Late that afternoon I telephoned the Scope Section of the Department of Social Community and Family Affairs. I was ready to do battle. I'd gone to the government publications office and bought a copy of the Social Welfare Consolidation Acts. It cost me twenty quid but it was worth it. In it, the responsibilities of the Scope Section were clearly outlined. I was going to demand an ‘Insurability Decision’. This is the only means available to an individual who believes that they are misclassified as self-employed to challenge the classification. In essence a civil servant decides whether you're employed or self-employed based on all known precedents and case law.

      On the other end of the line a man identified himself as Fintan Farrelly, Deciding Officer. Fintan was a Higher Executive Officer in the Department. His demeanour was a welcome improvement on the run-around-pass-the-buck merchants I'd dealt with to this point.

      “Yes” he informed me, he could make an Insurability Decision.

      He explained the procedure clearly and told me to put my request in writing.

      I decided to work on a letter to Scope during the coming weekend. It had been years since I'd sat down to construct a letter. I didn't know how to describe or convey the issues I wanted to communicate. Never the less I was committed to requesting a decision. I figured that the lack of contract was the most serious obstacle to overcome. The senior Business Manager at Securicor, Sean Moran, solved the problem for me. Sean was the top dog in Hollis Street and had been since the day I started. Next in line was the Operations Manager, Alan Somers. These two were responsible for the day to day running of the operation and were, to that point, the only Securicor management I knew or had dealings with.

      At one fifteen in the afternoon, Sean handed me a plain white envelope. Most of the other couriers in the base had already received one. I sat down with my sandwiches and opened the letter. I wanted to jump up and down, but I didn’t. I showed no reaction at all. From the corner of my eye I could see Moran staring at me through the hatch. I didn't look up. He mumbled something to Somers and they both guffawed. ‘Too late to laugh now’ I thought. Moran had just made the biggest blunder he could have in the circumstances and better still, he was completely unaware of his transgression. A few minutes later I walked out of the base and out of sight of Sean and Alan. I retrieved the letter from the inside of my jacket and pulled two sheets of paper out of the envelope. One was the ‘security clearance’ form from earlier in the week, but it was the second page that increased my chances of success immeasurably. It was a letter to all Securicor Omega Sameday Couriers and it was signed by Sean. In it he threatened to reprimand any courier who did not adhere to the start/finish times as dictated by Securicor. He threatened not to pay bonuses. He also instructed how work was to be done and demanded direct accountability from couriers to Securicor. He also mentioned new uniforms.

      This was better than any contract. There it was in black and white. Control, direction and dismissal. These are the three fundamental indicators of an ‘employer/employee’ relationship and I knew it. That weekend I wrote my letter to scope.