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 Posh
Nosh…
As
I got to know the staff I was to learn that the office in which I worked had
once been a private Bank, Messrs Cocks Biddulph & Company. Martin’s
Private Bank had taken-over Cocks Biddulph. and had itself been later taken
over by the Bank of Liverpool which gave it a rather complicated name – The
Bank of Liverpool and Martins Limited – which was later shortened to Martins
Bank, but the Head Office was still in Liverpool. A measure of the importance of Cocks
Biddulph as a private bank, is the story of how a former Chief Cashier had
been on holiday with his family who returned to find his home burgled: “I
will tell Lord Biddulph (the manager at that time), when I get back”, he thought to himself. So on monday morning, when Lord Biddulph
asked the Cashier how he had enjoyed his holiday and the sad tale was told to
Lord Biddulph looked rather puzzled, "And where were the Servants
at the time?" he enquired…
Lunch below stairs…
Our
lunch break would sometimes be taken in the old Board Room, upstairs, an Historical
Treasure which is now lost, I fear. It held a collection of very impressive
banking history. One of the great treasures, to me, was a selection of
cuttings on the wall in one corner of the room. These were from newspapers
dating back to the 18th century and one had an account of a naval action by a
British Man-of-War off the Pacific coast of South America, an almost exact
account as described in a Hornblower novel I was reading at the time.
Occasionally we would lunch in far more entertaining circumstances . The Messengers, with whom we were not supposed to
fraternise, had a small room below stairs where they had a mini-snooker
table, and where we had a lot of fun.
At other times we would sit together to play Cribbage, a game I
thought I knew quite well, and here I learned how to count in Cockney /thus ,
'A Dinky-do, a Boiler-door, a Tom-Mix,  a
Cottage-gate5 , up to a ' Round-Brown-Dozen ' . This was to
come in very useful some years later,, when I introduced both game, and the
slang, to friends on Rock-hounding trips in Cumbria. But that is another
story. One bit of mischief we got up to, was a bet or two on the Gee-gees.
One of our lads, (known as "Dick" Barton), a keen follower of the
turf, would collect our sixpences (five altogether), and we would decide on a
horse running at, say Pontefract and he would put the cash on 'to win!. We always backed horses with Irish names, preferably with
a lead name of 'Bally' , which may explain my support for the TV series
‘Ballykissangel’.
An Inspector’s tale…
 I
was always a little astonished when Accountants appeared in the Office, to
check the balances for a particular date (End of the Year stuff),but much more
fun were the surprise visits by the Bank's Inspectors. Generally considered
"a pain", their job was to check all the figures to see that
everything was properly done and count the cash down to the last farthing. I
remember being much taken with the story, related by one of these gentlemen
to us junior staff in the Board Room. It was an almost heart-rending tale of
a clerk who, back in the early thirties, had forged a customer's signature
and stolen a sum of money. When it was discovered, he confessed and was
forgiven his sin by a generous employer. The teller of this story then sat back
and looked at each one of us intently. Was he expecting a confession? Had
there been some hanky-panky of which we were not aware?? Silence! Eventually
I asked "How much did he steal?" "Five pounds" came the
solemn reply. "You mean, " I gasped, "he risked a steady job
and a pension for a mere five pounds?" "Well" asked the
Inspector, fixing me with a gimlet eye, "what would YOU consider worth
the risk?" I thought for a moment; "If I were not married and an
expectant father I would give consideration to the opportunity taken by Alec
Guinness in the film 'The Lavender Hill Mob' where he played the part of a
Bullion Van clerk for the Bank of England (£250,000)", for which I got a deserved raspberry and the
session ended. I was to learn a great deal about the Bullion Van in the not
too distant future. That was not the end of the Inspector's Tale as the
forgiven thief was dumb enough to try his luck again and he was not given
another chance.
 I had discussed my plans for our wedding and had been advised
by the Manager Mr. Clemow that the Bank did not approve of a marriage before
the age of 24. He then told me that I should, when a
family was on the way, apply for a Staff Housing Loan. The Bank was most
generous to staff in this respect, and he also
advised me to ask for a little more than the house price, as there were
always little extras involved when buying a house, if it was only the garden.
A little later, there were some changes at
top-level in Head Office at Liverpool, and Mr Clemow told me that things had
now changed and to forget what he had said about Staff Loans. He was to
retire shortly after this.
Don’t go home
at 5, it’s only a break for tea…
 On
one occasion I was given a great treat, having to visit one of the Lady
customers who wanted a cheque cashed. Off I went, in a taxi, to her flat
where this Grand Dame, solemnly handed me her cheque and I gave her the cash.
She then offered me a glass of very fine sherry which was much appreciated. The run-up to my first Christmas was one I would never
forget. I was told that we would be working late and, sure enough we did, but
nothing like I had expected. New Year's Eve I was told, would be The latest
of the lot but, at five o'clock most of the staff were putting on their coats
and leaving, and so did I. Next morning there was all sorts of a to do,
'Where did you get to last night?' about summed it up so I said, "Well,
everyone was going home at five, so I went too!" Innocent that I was. In the month of
June, when the half year figures had to be produced, one could always count
on a first week of rain, while any odd holiday was taken. From then to the
end of the month the weather was glorious, with brilliant sunsets as you
worked, sometimes to II". By July 4th, the rain would have begun again,
without fail as weeks became available.
No longer applies, the computer has taken care of
that and people are out to enjoy Wimbledon Fortnight. Sods Law.
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