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To this
equation add a partner and children, and the expectation that you will
be on the doorstep of the new branch at the appointed time, and a job for
life is suddenly endowed with some major headaches. There are no surprise
tactics here, banks have required staff to sign a mobility clause in their
contract for decades, but in practice it doesn’t do to put down roots and
then become successful in your job – these roots will often have to be
quickly pulled up and re-planted elsewhere.
This is exactly what happened to our Martins Colleague Chris Barker,
who started his career in 1954 at West Kirby Branch. From Merseyside, via Nigeria to
Colchester in Essex, Chris’s banking service unfolded, and here, with the
help of some of the faces and the places he describes, is his story in his
own words…
West
Kirby…
 When I started
in the bank in 1954 at West Kirby, Eric Wylie was my first boss and one of
the most delightful men I have ever known, a real boon for a wet-behind
the-ears 16 year old starting work. As well being a member of the Argosy Players he was a stalwart of the Operatic
Society and it was quite usual for him
to stand at the back of the office, (customers present or not), and give us all a stirring rendition of
whatever part he was playing including full vocals. There can have been no
better place to start work. We were expected to get in by 8.30am and Eric and
I used to catch the same bus from the village where we lived. Getting on at
the stop before mine he always sat in the same seat and occasionally, if I
was a bit on the drag and had to run to catch the bus, he would be waving his
arms about encouraging me to get a move on. If I did miss the bus I would
hear about it for days afterwards. Equally, he liked to catch the 4.10pm bus
home and if I hadn't finished the remittances by 4.00pm there was hell to
pay. Fortunately it didn't happen often. In the summer if we did miss that
bus we used to walk the three miles home - he was nearly as wide round as he
was tall and reckoned the exercise did him good. The customers loved him as
much as his staff did.
 West Kirby in
those days was an up-market residential area for Liverpool and it was quite
usual for some customers to arrive in their chauffeur-driven cars to collect the
housekeeping, usually on a Friday. There was one particular pair of widowed
sisters who came and he would always greet them with some pithy comment
whether there was anyone else in the banking hall or not. We never knew what
he was going to come out with, but it was usually something along the lines
of "what do you want you silly old bats? " They loved it. Another customer had won £75000 - then the
maximum - on the football pools and used to pay for all the staff to have
dinner at the local pub on balance nights. Apart from the routine jobs like
the local clearing and stoking the boiler, I did have other less usual duties
to perform. We had an elderly widower who was an alcoholic and there was an
arrangement with his family whereby I had to deliver to him one bottle of
Johnny Walker every Wednesday afternoon. Needless to say I always received a
warm welcome. I was a very keen cricketer in those days and was selected to
go and play in a match in Wakefield which necessitated taking the Saturday
morning off. The assistant manager was Paul Huddlestone and we used to have
regular discussion about the game and I was explaining to him how I had had
to turn down the opportunity because I was working and Eric must have
overheard me. Half an hour or so later I was called into his office and told
to go as long as it didn't become a regular practice. As well a being kind, Eric was also strict
and I learnt a lot from him. At one point I had bought a huge pipe and I was
called into his office and told in no uncertain terms never to speak with it
in my mouth. That was embarrassing enough, but how many other managers would
have told me the same thing, but out in the general office? I was very sad
when, after a couple of years, I had to leave West Kirby and go onto relief.
But, again, I met some wonderful new characters and some not quite so
wonderful…
 Wallasey New Brighton…
New
Brighton was one of my first postings and the manager there, Basil Williams,
used to moonlight playing the piano for the summer season shows at the Floral
Pavilion. He lived in the flat above the bank and, when working elsewhere,
would wander downstairs in his dressing gown just after nine to open the post
before retiring upstairs again until a more civilised hour.
Ellesmere
Port…
 Ellesmere Port,
although difficult to get to from where I lived, was also popular. Gerry
Vaughan was the manager and, apart from chain smoking, was out of the same
mould as Eric Wylie. If not on the counter I was deployed on the remittances
which included several hundred cheques brought in daily by a local chemical
company. These used to arrive as late as possible and the doors were even
shut at 3.30 one day before they turned up. They also had a habit of being
wrong on the paying-in slip which made finishing and balancing the
remittances a nightmare. Eventually, an arrangement was made where I went up
to their offices and helped prepare the lists which made life a bit easier
Liverpool
Toxteth…
The
last of my favourite branches was Toxteth which served Liverpool University
and the Liverpool Philharmonic. The customers there were a weird and
wonderful mixture which I found fascinating. University staff mixed with
Chinese and a dozen other nationalities’ seamen.
 Little
Sutton…
The least favourite relief destination for
me, was Little Sutton, a three-man branch equally as difficult to reach. The
manager was called "Mac" - I can't remember his proper name - and
he must have had a particularly unhappy home life as he really disliked going
home before 6.30.
This
meant that I seldom got home much before 7.30 which meant, if I was going out
somewhere, I didn't have a chance to have a meal. All the relief staff
dreaded the call to Little Sutton and various strategies were devised to
avoid this posting if possible. Eventually Little Sutton and the outer
reaches of the Liverpool suburbs proved too much for me.
Birkenhead
Borough Road…
When I was on relief at Borough Road, Birkenhead branch in
the 50s one of my jobs on a Saturday
afternoon was to go to Prenton Park, the home of Tranmere Rovers FC, when
they had a home game and collect the days takings in a shopping bag and put
them in the night safe. It wasn't a vast amount of money! I can't remember
whether I used to get bit of overtime for this. I wasn't there often and I
don't suppose I did this more than to or three times. How long this ancient
Spanish custom went on for I have no
idea.
 Upton…
 On another occasion I was on relief at Upton branch
with Peter Randle who was No 2 at the time. I had been to cricket nets on a
Monday night and had been hit in the
stomach by our demon fast bowler. I had an uncomfortable night and went to
see the doctor first thing in the morning. He directed me to the hospital
immediately for an urgent appendix operation, but there was a problem. I had
the branch keys and no means of transport. I finished up putting the keys in
an envelope and giving them to the bus conductor and fortunately was able to
ring Peter and tell him what I had done. I did hear afterwards that they had
arrived safely, but heaven knows what sort of formal warnings I might have
had.
At this point,
dear reader, it is fair to say that Chris’s career reached something of a
hiatus – a change being as good as a feast and all that, grass being greener
on the other side of the fence and so on, he did the unthinkable, and jumped
ship to work for Barclays DCO (Dominion Colonial and Overseas to you and I).
After four more years, he also achieved the impossible, as he now explains…
 
 Barclays advertised constantly for staff to join DCO
and train for a couple of years before a foreign posting and, after three
years on relief I resigned and joined DCO. I had decided that banking perhaps
was not for me, but the prospect of earning 50% more pay for two years whilst
looking for something more amenable was attractive. As it happens I did go to
Nigeria, but that is another story. I did eventually return to Martins and
am, therefore, probably the only person who worked twice for Martins and
twice for Barclays. So, in December 1958 I resigned from Martins and joined
Barclays DCO in Liverpool. I spent four years with DCO and at the end of this
period, having by then acquired a wife and baby daughter, decided that a
return to the UK was necessary. From
Nigeria I wrote to John Pickering, then Martins’ Staff Manager in Head
Office, expressing a wish to return. I imagine this must have presented him
with something of a dilemma as he had told me in no uncertain terms when I
resigned in 1958 that, under no circumstances, would I be allowed to return.
I suppose that the bank, still expanding, had a shortage of suitably
qualified staff, and he replied asking me to go and see him on our return to
England. In short, yes, they would
take me back, but this could not be in the Liverpool district as, if it got
about that a former rebel had been reinstated, this could cause unrest among
the ranks.
Leicester
Hotel Street…
  Accordingly I
was sent to Hotel Street Leicester and I was told that I would have to
complete a year there in lodgings while my wife and child stayed with my
parents-in-law on the Wirral before we would be allowed to buy a house. Fortunately I had an uncle and aunt in
Loughborough who were happy to put me up and I reported to Hotel Street on 1ST January
1963. Surprisingly I was on time as
this was during the worst winter this country had experienced for many years
with snow drifts feet high. The manager was an archetypal Yorkshireman called
Ambler Tillotson, the pro-Manager was David Fielden, first cashier Dudley
Gibson, Securities Ken Williams and
the only other member of staff whose name I can remember was Susan
Cattermole. There were others. I was put on the counter and was also in
charge of standing orders. Life there
was relatively uneventful and the only
major incident I can remember was paying a customer £50 too much one day. By
a process of elimination we worked out who it was and Mr Tillotson came with
me the following morning to see him in his shop. At first he tried to deny
that he had had the money, but Mr T soon persuaded him that it would be in
his best interests to confess and we returned to the branch with Errors in
Cash none the worse. I found it a salutary lesson in concentrating on the job
in hand rather than gossiping with the customers. He was a good manager and encouraged me
with his homespun wisdom on more than one occasion. At the end of 1963, just
after JFK's assassination, we were allowed to buy a house and 1964 was
remarkable only for the fact that we were settling in to normal UK family
life. I had taken advantage of the forced separation from my family to
concentrate on the Institute of Bankers exams and in April 1964 I was lucky
enough to complete Part 2, thus becoming an AIB (Associate of the Institute
of Bankers). The money received for passing came in very handy as we were
furnishing our house.
Midland
District Office…
 Having passed, it
was shortly afterwards that I was given notice on a Thursday to report to
Midland District Office the following Monday to work on the advances
section. Despite a certain amount of
domestic panic I did get there on time and started work on Frank Morlidge's
section with Warwick Isle. This was in January 1965. The DGM was Bill
Turnbull, the ADM Peter Gordon and the Superintendent of Branches Gordon
Parkinson. We bought a house in the
commuter suburb of Sutton Coldfield and I was back getting the train into
work again. This wasn't really a
problem except that someone pinched my bike from the station one day. I learnt a lot in DO and enjoyed the work
and especially the liaison with the various managers round the district.
Derek Dyson at Stratford-upon-Avon was a good friend with his assorted
collection of luvvies including Roy Dotrice, now well into his 80s and still
performing, Miles Tenneson at Spalding with his emphasis on agriculture and
horticulture and a Mr Evans at Shrewsbury – can't remember his Christian
name, he was known to us as Blodwen – who concentrated on cornering the
lending market in eggs and poultry for the whole of the midlands. Work was going well, but domestically it
was very different. We had a nice house in Sutton Coldfield but I think every
other person in our road worked for British Leyland and made it quite clear
that they thought we were very inferior. Fortunately we were saved by our
next door neighbours who were not BL and were kind to us as newcomers.
Colchester…
![MC900037155[1]](Shotguns%20Whiskey%20and%20Bats_files/image034.jpg) In October 1967,
when the thought of a move was beginning to come into my head, I was called into Bill Turnbull's office.
He was on the phone and said to me did I want to go to Colchester as
pro-Manager? I had heard of Colchester, but was far from sure where it was
and after a quick look at the AA book I said yes. We were despatched – kindly
we thought – for a long weekend to have a look at the town which we
immediately took to. Within a couple
of weeks, after a short interview in London DO, I started at Head Street, leaving my wife
yet again to cope alone with two small children and no car. Living in local
hotels whilst trying to get to grips with the job was difficult, particularly
as the staff had been expecting an existing member of staff of the branch to get
the appointment and I had to work at getting their confidence. It was agreed by the bank that we could all
move down to Colchester after Christmas and we stayed at the hotel I had been
living in for just over a month while we agreed to have a house built in an
outlying village. We then moved into rented accommodation for six months.
 Within a matter
of days of my starting the first announcement was made regarding a possible merger
of Martins, Lloyds and Barclays and a freeze was put on all except urgent
moves from district to district and it came to me that my escape from
Birmingham had only just come in time.
The manager at Head Street was Paul Barwell and assistant manager
Peter Blatch, both of whom were very supportive. Apart from one awkward soul – there is
always one – the staff soon got used to me as the work ethic was fully
instilled in me. It is a comfort that I am still friends with at least five
of the Head Street staff of those days in the local Pensioners' Club. In the late 60s Colchester was an old
fashioned market town although by the time I left it had turned into part of
the London commuter belt. We had a number of interesting customers. One of
the senior partners in Cazenoves, the stockbrokers, used to call regularly
with his wife. He was well over six feet tall and she was about five feet. He
would approach the counter and, regardless of who else might be present
called out “Ah, Barker – the little woman needs her housekeeping, see to it
for me, there's a good chap”. Sometimes I tried hiding, but it didn't stop
him. This amused us and didn't appear to faze any other customers. Then there
was the old farmer from one of the villages who called in on Saturday mornings.
He didn't want anything except a chat and, once he had satisfied himself on
that front, used to stand in the busy road outside the branch and direct the
traffic. His family always knew where he  was and we had a
telephone call from his wife one day asking us to go out and tell him to go home as his cattle were
out. Every branch used to have its
“character” customers in those days. Is it still the same – I doubt it.
Paul
Barwell was a very good manager and, when I had settled in, kindly let me loose
on some of the safer lending which was good experience. He had worked
tremendously hard to build up the business. The first cashier, Alan Mansfield
was a retired army major and thus not over enthusiastic about hard work, but
his social contacts were valuable. He lived on Mersea Island and invited my
wife and I to dinner one night where we started with oysters – a novelty for
both of us. He was eventually replaced by a local boy called Derek Firman who
transferred from one of the London branches and brought a few of his
metropolitan habits which sharpened us all up a bit. He lasted about two years before he left
the bank to go and be an estate agent and was replaced by Jim Lay who came to
us from the Post Office over the road.
The
branch was growing fast helped by the fact that we had a car park at the rear
of the branch approached via a passage along the side of the building. Our
burglar alarm was situated on the wall
to this passage and was well known for going off at regular intervals. After a particularly fraught interview with
the local police and the neighbours after yet another false alarm, sure
enough within 48 hours it went off again. By this time Paul Barwell had had
enough and came in with his shotgun and blew the whole thing off the wall. Then
DO finally agreed to have a new alarm fitted which meant that peace finally
descended.
 Life continued
uneventfully for a year or so and then it was finally announced that Martins
and Barclays were to merge. East Anglia is Barclays’ heartland and they had a
large branch just round the corner from us in High Street and two other
branches in other parts of the town. Our first contact with Barclays was in
the form of John Thornton, the senior local director in Ipswich who came on a
flag-waving exercise. We were somewhat bemused when he left as we had hardly
been able to understand a word he said
although his goodwill was evident. We convinced ourselves that Barclays had
taken on the job because they could see how good our staff were compared with
a lot of what they had got and we just got on with absorbing the new systems.
I later became John Thornton's aide-de-camp, as he called it, otherwise
Assistant District Manager in Ipswich LHO, and, again, he was a delightful
man to work for (I was so lucky with my various bosses) but that was a long
way ahead. In the meantime two of High Street's staff came to “integrate” us
and that was the end of Martins.
Our
thanks to Chris Barker for his memories of a whirlwind career.
Main Text
© C J Barker and Martins Bank Archive 2011.
Images ©
Barclays Group Archive and Martins Bank Archive.
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The heyday of Martins Bank is also the
time when someone who works in the industry is considered to have a job for
life.