|
 My
first working branch of Martins Bank was in Whitehall, and was known as Cocks
Biddulph Branch where, prior to circa 1919 Messrs Cocks and Lord Biddulph had
looked after the finances of the Rich and Famous. Next-door to the Whitehall Theatre, where Brian Rix was
losing his trousers nightly it was, for me, the perfect place to start my
career in banking. At that time Martins was expanding, taking on staff they
might not otherwise have engaged. I rather think that my main qualification
was a long forgotten certificate from Pitman's College, for Book-keeping.
I entered the front door at 9am on that
November Monday morning, after identifying myself to the Bank Messenger who
answered, and directly in front of me was the counter with two
serious-looking cashiers, unloading cash boxes into drawers, and I was taken
behind the scenes to meet the Chief Clerk, Mr Clarke. I don't know what I was expecting, frock-coats, cravats,
anything but a pleasant gentleman in a grey suit who immediately put me at my
ease.
 He
took me to meet the Manager, Mr Clemow, another very pleasant gentleman and
then I was shown the kind of work I was expected to do as a beginner - filing
away cheques, credit-slips and dividend vouchers, not to mention piles of
internal vouchers issued and initialled by the various departmental heads.
With many rich and famous families on the books there was bound to be some
confusion but nothing had ever prepared me for the many Family Trustee
accounts, where often the only indication as to which account they might
apply was the order of the names on a dividend voucher. Thus: "A...,
B.... C.... & D..." would be a reasonable title but, the next
voucher might have "A. . . , B. . . , D. . . , & C. . . " , a
different account entirely and if, for some reason a trustee's name was
changed, filing could get very complicated.
Bank Customer statements followed, with
items like dividend vouchers being carefully marked off against their entries
in the ledgers, a sometimes irritating business as they were often mis-filed
and I soon learned the value of being precise in this matter as any
late-night work, in those days, got a payment entitlement of ‘Tea-money' . This amounted to just a few shillings and
was rarely paid out for most of the year, junior staff being ejected early.
 Once
I had got the hang of the filing I found myself embroiled in the
'Remittances' . This was the listing, in Bank order, of cheques paid in by
customers during the day. These were sent off each day to the 'Clearing
House', (somewhere in the City), where they would be swapped for Martins
cheques. I therefore had to become
familiar with the adding machine, which had many uses, one of which was quite
new to me. It was called a Swing Carriage and, by moving a lever could list
and total a column of figures and at the same time the serial number of the
cheque would also be listed without adding
it to the total. At this time, all
branches of clearing banks in the British Isles had code numbers, of four or
more digits. Non-clearing banks had six digits which mostly began with a
seven. Non-clearing banks had accounts with the Clearing Banks and their
cheques took longer, via the Clearing System, to reach their destination.
Clearing Bank cheques would arrive at the branch on
which they were drawn within three days, Non-Clearing Bank cheques a couple
of days later. Having got the hang of these
systems I was then introduced to the ledgers, (the Bank’s copy of customers’
statements) and the payment of the
clearing - the huge piles of customer's cheques which came from the Clearing
House every day.
 At
first, the cheques would be listed, single column, on the adding machine,
then the amounts of the cheques, in words were read off; This would provide
for the return of any cheque on which the words and figures differed. This
required vigilance as there were customers who might do this deliberately. Dates would then be checked and any more than three
months old also returned, but there were never very many in this category,
except in early February of each New Year. Customers
always took great care to put the New Year date in for the whole of January
but, on the first of Feb, OH dear! After that, no further trouble. Next came the payee's name and the appropriate
endorsement on the reverse of the cheque and finally, as if that were not
enough, the cancellation of the signature, in red ink, confirming that it had
been examined by the Clerk and found to be genuine.
After that, overdrawn accounts, with the
day's clearing items to be referred to the Managers and, if there was no
satisfactory explanation from the customer, the cheque would be bounced. This might happen because, cheques paid in either
yesterday, or today, had not yet had time to reach their destination bank and
the entry at the head of the cheque might read, "Effects not Cleared,
Please Represent". Sometimes a customer
might decide that he was not satisfied as to the transaction for which the
cheque had been issued and he might instruct us and the heading would read
"Orders Not to Pay". By far the worst heading was, of course, "Refer to
Drawer".
One problem soon became apparent at this
stage; Having now got a Bank Account for the first time in my life, I had
chosen a particular signature which I considered easy to recognise and, the
better written, more difficult to forge. Clever me! Unfortunately, a new customer had opened an account, the
newly-appointed head-master of a quite famous school no less, and his
signature was so identical to mine that, at first glance it was
indistinguishable. As a result errors
began to accumulate and, worse still, statements had to be re-typed. This could not be allowed to continue, ‘bread and butter’
is there to be looked after and, alas for my clever signature, it had to be changed, and everyone breathed
a sigh of relief. Accuracy in all things was very important to the daily
routine. Errors had to be found no matter how long it took. This was very
much underlined by our new Assistant Manager, Mr Norman Birkbeck Butterworth,
who's question "Are you sure?" whilst most irritating, probably
brought greater care to my daily routine. I wonder what he would make of
today's work? Things have changed since
those days; Computers I suppose…
An Inspector’s Tale (and other stories)…
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.
Safe Custody…
After a while I was moved on to the
Securities Section and worked under the guidance of Mr Reginald Kant, who
taught me a very great deal about Stocks and Shares, Government Bonds and the
like. Also I learned something of the how and why people bought this share
and sold that one, or how they should think of investing money at all, which
was becoming bewildering in view of the rapidly developing, and complicated
Taxation system. This was to get much worse in the years to come. To facilitate the work of the Securities
Section we had the use of Direct-line telephones to one or two Stock-brokers
in the City and we received regular daily reports on how the Stock Market was
behaving. We received a great many
orders from customers every day and we were also responsible for the
safe-custody of share-certificates, the collection of dividends, documents
both legal and private and boxes containing
all sorts of mystery objects.
The Securities Department was sandwiched
between the Loans Section and the Foreign department and behind us were the
typists and the postal section which also handled the Standing Orders. The postal section consisted of a very long shelf upon
which would be put the sealed envelopes, graded by size and ready for
stamping and I was much intrigued when, at the end of the day, these would be
passed through a black box and emerge ready-stamped for posting. From time to
time this box would be carried off to the Post Office where, presumably, the
bill was settled. I suppose such devices were/are in common usage but I have
never seen another so maybe it was rather special.
 I recall the shelf of
envelopes most vividly because, on one occasion, Mr Clemow emerged from his
office, carrying papers and, as he passed this long line of envelopes he
suddenly reached out and took one which he handed to the clerk saying “The
address is wrong”. The clerk
scowled disbelievingly but, on checking, found that Mr C. was correct I! I
know there had to be a trick to it, but how? I suspect Sleight of Hand, but I
am not sure. As I have already
described, the Section I now worked in lay between the Foreign and Loans
Departments, and behind us was an old Strong Room which, at night, housed all
the Safe Custody and Security ledgers, along with the Foreign records,
Customer ledgers and Statements. Next to this were the typists who were kept
pretty busy most of the time.
Securities had numerous standing
instructions, one of which was to immediately buy, for  certain
customers, a complete set of any new National Savings Certificate issued by
the Government, and I began to learn how wealthy people avoided rather than
evaded paying taxes where they could – Stocks and
Shares, The Dollar Premium, which was designed to discourage U.K. investors
from buying foreign shares but which, in the end, caused gamblers to deal on
the fluctuation of the Premium itself – Nothing ever really works for long,
sooner or later someone gets around it.
As customers gave orders to buy this or
that share, or stock, Reggie would explain the motive behind the purchase
which might be just a simple gamble, or a complicated way of reducing the tax
bill or, dare it be said, insider knowledge. I did become aware of one wealthy lady who bought shares
from time to time and that the Company Board of Directors of her latest
purchase had one member, newly appointed, who was also a Board Member of all
her other share holdings, and that the shares would, thereafter, begin to
rise in price. A very useful observation for those with cash to spare.
I became fascinated by one Company, a
Scottish Distillery, those shares were usually quoted in a few shillings for
most of the year, reaching their lowest by late September, the time to buy.
With bated breath I would watch, (and pray), until the end of December or
early January when I sold, after their price had doubled (or more), just
before they announced their Annual results. Everyone told me I was nuts but I
did that for three consecutive years and it paid for our summer holidays.
Alas, it got taken over in the end.
One of the duties of the Securities Clerks was to file way – and retrieve for sale – share certificates in the Strong
Room. Among these were American type Bearer share certificates which
might have the name of the customer or, more
usually, a Nominee Company which made life a
lot easier when collecting dividends etc.
 There were also seeming mountains of
Bearer Bonds which entitled the Bearer to regular dividend payments on
presentation of one, or more, of the attached dividend vouchers. The size of postage stamps, these had to be
carefully detached from the Bond and equally carefully, sent off for
collection. At this time all such
shares had, by law, to be held by a Bank and it became the Holding Bank’s job
to collect all such payments. It always
struck me that enormous sums of money had been totally wasted in investing in
Mexican Railways, Brazilian ventures, or on loans to East European Royal
Houses. I suppose even the wealthy can be Suckers at times. As most of these latter certificates bore
the signature of one 19th Century Czar Nicholas or other and the
latest dividend vouchers usually bore a date in 1917, there was little to be
done with them except, in a quiet moment, to admire the beautifully
illuminated graphics and wonder if such Bonds might be better used as wal1
decorations…
What Larks!
 We
not only had some hilarious lunch hours at this office, we also had some
amusing coffee breaks when, in small groups, we would troop out into
Whitehall, up to the traffic lights at Trafalgar Sq, cross over and walk back
down to the Lyons Tea shop. Here we had a gentle ten-minute break and
returned much refreshed. Not that Lyons was
exactly an inspiration; I recall, one day watching a young woman behind the
counter preparing bread rolls for lunch-time. She had them all laid out in
neat rows, each with lettuce, tomato and/or cucumber already inserted; Then
she picked up a plate of ham slices to complete the feast Now we have ail
worked through a large pile of papers at some time and, 1 am sure, licked a
thumb in order to speed up the process. This is exactly what that young woman
did. No one would believe me when I
told them what I saw, but I never touched a Lyons Salad after that.
At the traffic lights where we crossed
Whitehall there is a statue of Charles I, and I always felt much sympathy for
the sad little group who would assemble in late winter on the anniversary of
his execution. It was at this place
where, one spring morning, as  we were headed for Lyons and
the road was being worked over by a gang of navvies, one of our staff, a
rather sweet, but very well-endowed, lass was lagging behind and started to
run to catch up which caused a considerable wave of excitement to ripple
through her blouse, and the navvies, one of whom was heard to shout, “Hey
Charlie! Look at them bleedin’ great udders”. This was in the days when
navvies wore tight-fitting belts to keep their trousers at waist level.
 Branch customers were instantly
recognisable by their names, if nothing else. At Whitehall branch they were
composed of the Good and the Famous but, somehow, we lost one completely. The strong-room, where the cash and securities were kept,
was a modern affair, built inside the original strongroom of many years ago.
The outer area was the place where all the customers private boxes were held
and I remember on one occasion we disturbed one box and found that the bottom
had rusted away leaving the contents exposed -an old Admiral’s hat we
thought. No indication as to whose it might have been, a complete mystery,
despite research. (Hornblower’s perhaps?).
Bullion…
 A
great treat which came my way on an irregular basis was a trip out in the
Bank Bullion Van. This was crewed by a driver, a couple of messengers, a
junior clerk and a Clerk in Charge. (Shades of Alec Guinness?). The van was loaded in the City and notes and coin were
delivered and collected to and from branches in town and the suburbs. Obviously great care was taken in handling the bullion
which was mostly packed for each branch, but coin was very bulky and any
surplus was picked up and/or delivered along with notes.
The greatest care had to be taken when
parking the van as, on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, a £100 bag of silver was dropped in the gutter over a drain where it burst, with fearful, if hilarious consequences. The nearest to a moment of excitement on my journeys came
one day in the West End when the messengers recognised a very famous boxer,
Randolph Turpin, walking in Piccadilly; They whistled and cheered him and
were disappointed that he only looked somewhat taken aback, until I pointed
out that the van we were in was black and had only a very small, barred
window in the side so we could be mistaken for a load of prisoners on the way
to jail!! Lunch was a problem on these
journeys and on one occasion we stopped at a pub and two or three of us, by
turns, went together to have a meat pie and a pint. As we entered the, seemingly empty, pub a back door
opened and, as if from nowhere, the head of a large Great Dane appeared on
the counter accompanied by a very loud Woof! As the Landlady appeared I found
myself almost paralysed and quite alone for a few moments. Bank staff are not
the stuff of heroes.
 The time came when it was decided that I
should learn the trade of a cashier, and I was duly given training by the two
gents at the counter, each keeping a fatherly eye upon my efforts. No
problems until one day I was allowed to take the pay-in of a very important
account. As this always involved
cheques there could be no trouble; But not this day , there was an unusual
item (for this firm) of ten pounds in cash only there were eleven one
pound notes handed across. Try as 1 might 1 could not make the gent concerned
take back the extra single pound. He maintained that the amount “could not be
wrong”. Eventually Mr Clarke whispered to me, “We can’t upset such
an important customer, so it will have to go down as your error!!! Shortly after this
I expressed a desire to move to another branch, to gain more experience. This
was in discussion with Mr Clarke who thought it best if I said nothing to
anyone else and some weeks later I left Cocks Biddulph for a spell on Relief…
Lamb to the slaughter…
 I
left cocks Biddulph forever and was sent out as a Relief Cashier in order to
learn more of the mental and physical requirements for the front-line meeting
with the customer. It was decided that my
first spell was to be at the Oxford Circus Branch, which seemed to be
situated in the windows of a large Store. I was to learn that this Store was
part of an Empire, known as “Great Universal Stores”, or Gussie's for short).
I had to take over a till of considerable
proportions and, by the time I had done this, it was approaching ten o’clock
and, to my innocent amusement, customers were banging on the windows and
doors. Little did I know what was about to happen. As one of the messengers was preparing to open up, the
Chief Clerk asked me if I was ready and did I have a list of people to whom I
should NOT pay out any money without reference? Yes I was ready (a lamb to
the slaughter) and no, I had no such list. "I'll get you one", he
promised. The messenger approached the doors
cautiously, put his foot against them as he warily unlocked, and fled; And all Hell broke loose. The "Smart Crowd" soon spotted the new,
innocent, face and I was mobbed for the next half-hour, when the Chief Clerk
returned with a long list and was rather upset on learning that I had already
paid out to most of them. How I got through that week without jumping off the
Thames Embankment I will never know.
The taming of the customer…
 From Oxford Circus I was moved on to another branch with
quieter conditions, where I could learn the trade properly, in Holborn.
As at Cocks Biddulph branch, I was treated calmly, helpfully
and pleasantly by all the staff so that I was soon able to recover what
little confidence I had remaining. Life here was much easier and the customers were pleasant
to serve except in one case. One morning I had the curious feeling that the
office had emptied; No chief cashier, no chief clerk, no staff at all as the
door opened and a gentleman I had never seen before entered. To my “Good
Morning” he returned a glare, made a sarcastic remark about the office and
the lack of speed with which I did my work. and coldly left. Whilst I had been dealing with him I had heard gentle
tip-toeing behind the screen at the back of the counter and gathered that the
staff were returning from whatever impromptu meeting they had attended.
As the door closed behind the customer I turned and
saw the faces of all the staff, from manager to junior, peering over the top
of the back-screen, and the Chief Clerk smiled at me and said how well I had
done. I was then told that the gent who had
just left was considered a very unpleasant character and that everyone at the
office had had a rough deal from him at one time or another. I resolved that
I would "get on" with him before I moved to another office or bust,
and I was wished "The best of luck". It turned out that the Gent in question had a son who was as
aggressive as his dad and, try as I might, I could get no change out of
either until one beautiful Monday morning I greeted Junior with a remark
about how good it would be for my Allotment. His eyes widened and we found we
had something in common and so I became, if not a friend, at least someone to
whom he would be pleasant. He must have said
something to Dad because, thereafter, he too was more pleasant. The staff
were totally gob-smacked. After I left
Holborn branch I learned that Father and Son got rather cross and changed
their bank altogether.
Baby
talk…
 I visited many branches in the London area at this time and met
a host of curious people, places and customers.
I was learning a lot, at a time when my wife was
having our second child and we were preparing to move into a house in
Orpington, on the direct orders of the London Office. This turned out to be a
good move as travel to London could be made to any of the main Southern
termini and there was relatively easy access to the county of Kent, of which
more later. All this time I had been
studying for the Institute of Bankers Exams, at a night-class in Tooting
Broadway. With another member of the staff I would, after class make my way
homewards, stopping for a half-pint in a Pub which had an amateur Music Hall
show on the nights we stopped by. More
usually I caught a tram for part of the journey home and one night met a
rather dejected, exhausted couple nursing a small infant, which seemed full
of the joys of life. They told me how the little blighter would sleep all day
and woke up after 9pm and I asked them if the baby had, by any chance, been
born in the South London Hospital, where my eldest had arrived. Oh, yes! So I
told them how I had visited the hospital late one night to see my wife and
eldest, who was in a separate room. There, in the late evening/early morning,
the nurses were playing with the babes who were having a lovely time of it. I
told the couple that the only way to restore junior's clock was to be cruel
and keep him awake all next day until he had to sleep at night. It worked,
for the following week, there they were, looking out for me to say thank you.
So I had learned something.
A
singular convenience…
 Back in London, I continued to visit branches all over, some of
them little more than tobacconist kiosks in size, with a staff of four as a
rule, two men two girls. From the West End to Wimbledon, out to Bedford, down
to Maidstone, or perhaps Brighton, I was on the go, sometimes two or three
Branches in a week. One
very small office was at Sevenoaks. Although it was well outside the town, it
had been built, I was told, beside the station for the convenience of the
local Lord of the Manor in the 19th century. It had an all male staff of
three and I often had to go home with the
key to the strong-room, although not the combination. (Well, not always) .
The latter was hardly necessary as, if it didn't work you gave the door a good wallop and 'Hey presto”! At
Sevenoaks there was only one “little boys’/girls’ room” and to my knowledge there was only ever one young lady
who worked there, briefly. Thus, when the law made
it essential that office toilets should be clearly marked “Ladies” or “Gents” , the single nameplate,
when it duly arrived, was put in place with great ceremony and, with equal
ceremony, duly Christened…
Ladies in Waiting…
 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.
 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.
 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!
 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…
Two foaming pints, and a blue tit…
 In
South East London, right on the border of Kent, there was a branch which gave
me a new insight into Banking with Martins. The branch was in London, but
across the road was the county of Kent, and it was here, for the first time,
that I made use of the alarm bell. It came about
thus; It was after two-o-clock, on a warm day and I said to the Chief Clerk,
I am very thirst1 and a pint would be more than welcome. 'Well, in that case, kick the alarm bell” , he replied
and, after he had egged me further, I did so. As
a result, the landlord of the Pub over the road, which was in Kent, (where
closing time was 2.30pm), emerged with two foaming pints of ale. This was the
only use they could think of for the alarm bell at that time. Great! Some
years later, I returned to that same branch and found all the staff in a
state of utter terror. They were expecting an armed bank raid at any time
and, although my arrival was expected, they were not keen to open the door.
 I do
not think the anticipated raid took place but, the stress factor of such an
event should, in my opinion, be taken into account when robbers are sentenced
for the crime. I remember one cashier
who was attacked on his way to the sub-branch in Chislehurst, on two separate
occasions. He was not hurt but after the second event, Staff Department
advised him to have a heart check-up and I seem to recall that it revealed a
problem. Out on the boundary of Kent/London,
(at that time), was the little village of Farnborough, close-by to Orpington
where I have lived for many years. In the middle of the High Street was a
Branch which had been built for the purpose, probably in the 19th century.
On the face of it, a quiet place, but with quite a
lot of small businesses and, shops around, and under the management of Mr
Bennett. Here was an instance of how Martins
Bank took care of its staff, for Mr B. had a heart problem and this was the
ideal place for him, quiet, and with no travel problems as he lived in the
flat ‘over the shop’. Mr Bennett was a
quiet man, but with the thoroughness of Mr Butterworth at Cocks Biddulph. It
was when the day’s work was done and we locked up, that his care
for detail became more than somewhat pronounced. Having watched us lock up doors, (including the Safe), he
would then test each lock and, with the safe door he would grasp the brass
handle, put his foot against the wall and heave. Outside, we would watch as he locked the front door and
then peered in at the windows before going in again and checking anything
that might have been overlooked. This
performance took place at the end of each working day and produced many a
stifled giggle from the staff who ought to have become used to it. Some years
later I met up with one of those staff who told the tale of how some wit had
loosened the brass handle of the Safe door with the result that Mr Bennett,
after his nightly heave, fell across the room slamming into the wall. I
understand he made no complaint about this but then, care was his watch-word,
and who knows what might have happened as the door opened next morning.
 At
one West End office there seemed to be a lot of Oriental ladies about and on one stormy, rainy day one such came
in and commented on the weather and I
sympathised, it was indeed a typical English Summer. “What is a typical
English Summer?” she asked and I replied “Three warm days and a
thunderstorm”. That was the first time I learned that the Chinese could look
anything but inscrutable. I had finished my
Call-up Service in 1948 and, during that time I had been subjected, as had we
all, to the inevitable rude, crude jokes, stories and recitations, some of
which still hung around in the back of my mind. One such came back to me at about this time when a
Chinese maiden, it may have been the same one, came into the office. After
she had conducted her business she then asked me if “this new postage stamp,
was a printing error, and if it might be very valuable?” The General Post Office had begun to print stamps for
collectors some time before this and, instead of the usual Queen’s
Head in various colours and values, today it was a series on British Birds,
and the stamp she showed me was of a Blue Tit hanging upside-down from a
branch of a tree. My past experiences of
Military Entertainment now caught up with me. and this, considering who was
asking, caused me some distress as I tried to keep a straight face. A fellow
cashier, seeing the state I was
in came to my aid and was at once overtaken by the same problem. The Chief
Clerk quickly cottoned on that “summat was up" and came to join us, at
which point I left the counter where I met the Manager who was to become
similarly embroiled. I don't think my lapse
of concentration that day earned me any Brownie Points but I did learn a
lesson which stood me in good stead thereafter, I must confess, however, that
I am still a slow leaner…
 M
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