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This is part six in our adaptation the
memoirs of Richard (Mich) Michaud, whose time with Martins Bank was eventful,
to say the least. In this episode we
meet several kinds of lady – ones who can’t add up, ladies of the night AND
the day, and ladies on the take, and ladies rolling in cash. We learn a
sobering statistic about the life-expectancy of the bank manager, and the
office junior’s maths skills are found wanting. We also learn how to tell a
Lady apart from a “lady” which is a skill Mich learns in the seemingly
elegant surroundings of London’s Curzon Street. And here’s a problem – in the days before
the cash machine and cheque guarantee cards, you do all your banking at your
own branch – so just how do you get at your cash whilst on holiday somewhere
else in the country? And what if you want to withdraw enough to
by a new car?
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 Inevitably, I was sent to the Clearing Department on one
or two occasions and saw what
problems the Bank had with ‘differences’ in the daily Clearing sent out to
Branches. One popular customer in the Midlands made up cheques where the
figure two was written in such a manner that it looked like a four. Then there was the lovely girl who had charge of the Post
book, (always the job for the new Junior), and the irate reaction of an
Inspector when he found that the balance and cash/stamps did not agree.
I got the (to me tiresome) job of checking the
figures and I found that the girl had a problem with her times tables. It did
not help matters that she multiplied 8 x 2d and made it 1s.6d. It took me
hours to correct her sums, and She was supposed to have a high-grade Schools
Certificate for Maths on leaving school.
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 One
new branch in Kent I visited
several times, had a very smart lay-out. Unfortunately
the business did not match as it seemed just about every rogue in the County
had an account there. I felt extremely sorry for the manager who had merely
followed orders from Head Office to “Get out on the Golf Course” in order to
pick up business. Not a good idea. But then,
this was not the only branch with a number of rogues who needed watching.
Some years later I was at a branch in the same region, and had slipped out to
the Local for a quick lunch when I was approached by a charming fellow who
offered me a split if I would arrange for him to draw some money without the
knowledge of the manager. Another Branch
where I learned a great deal about the business was in Curzon Street, which
had a quite elegant exterior in keeping with the area. The manager was very meticulous and always there when all
the other staff had left, frequently until 10pm I believe. He was then aged
59 and due for retirement fairly soon and I once asked him what he was going
to do when the moment came, as he seemed to have no other interest than the
job. He looked at me with slightly glazed eyes and said, “Good
God! I’ve never thought about it”. I often think
about him as, on a visit to Staff Department, I was told by a clerk that a
review had shown that the average life-expectancy of a manager after
retirement was one month. This seemed unbelievable but later observation
showed it as a very distinct prospect.
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 My
visits to Curzon Street, London, were in the days before the Street Offences
Act put a stop to ladies of the night propositioning office workers, on their
way to the station, with their “Would you like to come home with me?”
question as they straightened up from their chosen lamp-post or doorway.
Running the gauntlet of these creatures was a nightly business but it didn’t
stop there.
Some had opened deposit accounts at the branch and
I learned later that our busy, conscientious manager was totally unaware of
this. When he found out he at once indignantly demanded that such accounts
should be closed. After a while he
discovered that he could not tell which Lady, or “lady” should be asked to
close her account because they all looked “much the same” to him! In those days the term “Body Language” was not in general use but,
even so, I never understood how he could miss. He presumably went home at night and must
have run the gauntlet too. Little did he
know that the club/cafe just round the corner was not up to his standards
either, and that the owner’s girls had
opened up accounts as well. One of these clever-clogs actually tried a little swindle
by depositing a small sum and withdrawing it next day until one day she
caught an unwary cashier, (not me), who paid out her usual against a nil
balance, and she then disappeared.
About par for the course, I suppose…
The
outside decor of Curzon Street made an excellent background for use by
professional photographers and it was quite common to see models pouting and posing
outside and sometimes, like the manager, we could not tell t'other from
which! Shepherds Market was just along the road, a quaint little group of
building and passageways, where you could get a jolly good pub-lunch cheaply,
provided you were prepared to sit at crowded tables and put up with the
pandemonium.
I like to carry a camera about with me and, one
day, as I was going home, I paused
to look along the market passageways. As usual on the corner of each block,
leaning, hands against the wail, were the “Ladies”, all of whom had their heads turned away looking at
some kerfuffle at the far end. I thought, – what a great picture – “Ladies”
in Waiting! As I frantically hauled
out my camera, the “Ladies”, as if their heads were on a string, turned and looked
at me and, as one, straightened up and stepped toward me. I fled!
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 In
those days the Bank Card was still little more than an idea and making
arrangements for a customer to withdraw cash at a holiday resort in the country
or coast was very common. However, identifying a complete stranger who
required a large sum of money in a hurry involved risks. One day a rather generously-built lady came to the
counter and told us that she was passing through and had seen a Bentley which
she 'Just had to have'. Her account was at our Blackpool branch and she
certainly had a Gracie Fields accent, so the Chief Clerk rang that office and
spoke to their Chief Clerk. 'Can you describe her?' he asked. 'Describe her?'
our man replied looking her dead in the eye. 'Weil she is young, slim and attractive. At that she hooted with laughter and
the Chief Clerk at the other end heard and said,
“Oh yes, that! s her!” If only life were always so simple. Before the lady left she told me she had had to leave her
little house in the South of France because it was too hot there. Even the
orange trees in her garden were suffering, she said, the fruit were little
larger than walnuts this year. What it is to be poorly rich.
Customers
often provided comic relief, either in the way they worked their accounts or
the way they treated the people they met. I recall
the two American Ladies who came in to change their Dollars for Sterling.
When I quoted the rate they were quite upset as, the day before they had been
quoted a different rate and, no matter how hard I tried to explain that they
were better off with today's rate, they wanted that of the day before. So I
gave them what they wanted and they went away happy…
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EDITOR’S NOTE – Mich’s statistics regarding the life expectancy of
Martins’ Managers rings true. In
building the staff database, we have found many examples of those who died
whilst still in service, and those who died just after retirement. The list of those who had to retire through
ill-health is also long. A huge irony –
and this reminds us of the ways in which we have all changed since the 1960s –
is the retirement gift of choice for Managers who leave early through
ill-health: A cigarette lighter, smoking accessories, a cigarette box, etc.,
etc..
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