The corporate world is full of business excellence initiatives, which stress the importance of cost-effective, efficient and well-controlled processes and the need for their continuous improvement. Strategies, objectives and Key Performance Indicators to measure the progress of planned activities are carefully defined after much deliberation.

“What cannot be described cannot be measured,” and “What cannot be measured cannot be managed,” are touted shamelessly about as the all-conquering mantras of corporate performance assessment and management.  Processes are charted and documented; the documentation updated and reams of performance graphics produced. Processes are honed and refined ceaselessly. There is – hopefully – continuous improvement, and this becomes a crippling obsession, however, praiseworthy it certainly is, in itself! The executants are thoroughly schooled, trained, indoctrinated and brainwashed into detailed awareness and knowledge of the required deliverables, with rewards and penalties linked to their job performance.

There are, however, redeeming stories in this dismal tale of blind and ultimately self-seeking achievement. These are incidents of reckless heroism, which, while not too common, are often highly inspiring to the human spirit. These are the occasions when the processes used, while still subservient to the result hoped for, were far more memorable, for the glorious sacrifices and tremendous efforts made to achieve them, than the joy and triumph of the ultimate success achieved.

One such situation, belonging to the realm of fiction, is unforgettably portrayed in the most stirring terms of the poem, ‘How They Brought the Good News From Ghent to Aix’, written by the great Victorian poet – Robert Browning. Sources reveal that the poem, for all its rich detail, does not portray a true historical event.

Note the title of the poem. It is all about a process… Three horsemen, silently and grimly, set out from Ghent (Belgium) at midnight, galloping furiously south-east on horseback, to deliver some news to the neighboring town of Aix. A close-knit team of six – the men (Joris, Dirck and the poem’s narrator) and their fiery steeds.

(Browning does not tell us what the news is, except that the men must deliver the news by a given time next morning, in order to save Aix from some disastrous consequences. Neither the news, nor the precise nature of these consequences is important to the reader. The poem is truly exciting, rising to the level of Browning’s greatness as a poet.)

Into the frantic ride, Dirck’s horse, quite overcome with the exertion, collapses, leaving Joris and the narrator to continue. And, later, just when the pair have begun to sight Aix, and so are full of hope to achieve their target, Joris’s charger caves in and dies on the spot. Only the narrator and his horse – Roland – are left… the future of Aix is now in their hands. One can do no better than quote Browning at this point:

“And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight

 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,

 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,

 And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim.

 Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,

 Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;

 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

 Till at length into Aix, Roland galloped and stood.”

 They made it! They made it! Oh, unbounded jubilation, transcendent joy! Everybody is celebrating wildly!

“And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,

 As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine.”

Oh, for such a horse! And what a process!

(You could read the whole poem online at:

http://www.englishverse.com/poems/how_they_brought_the_good_news_from_ghent_to_aix  )