For centuries children have been terrified by stories of the
bogeyman, of ghosts and ghouls, elves and goblins usually told to them by their
parents to scare them into obedience. For a probationary Bank Clerk at Midland
Bank, Gants Hill in 1976 the tales told by more senior staff, whether intended
to scare or not, related to a creature less mythical but no less terrible than
the bogeyman, that is to say The Inspector, or rather The Inspectors since they
always came in pairs.
The arrival of The Inspectors was preceded by weeks or even
months of gossip. Their progress was charted by rumours of their arrival at
nearby branches until one day they would announce themselves at the Enquiry counter,
having previously attempted to act nonchalantly in a near deserted Banking Hall
in an endeavour to observe any procedural failings from afar. High on the list of inspectors whose
reputation preceded them was Chopper, who it was alleged was responsible for many
disciplinary actions, demotions, sackings; the works. It was inevitable that he
would be one of The Inspectors who undertook the first inspection that I
experienced at Gants Hill. Actually I had little or no interaction with him as
I was sufficiently far down the food chain not to attract his attention,
although I do recall that whatever role I was undertaking at the time (probably
Waste[1])
came under the scrutiny of his less intimidating colleague.
Despite the belief that they were trying to trick people
into some indiscretion and get them sacked, The Inspectors were merely trying
to make sure we did our jobs by the book, or books, principally the famed
Branch Bookkeeping Manual (BBM) and Computer Instruction Manual (CIM), volumes
that most people referred to only as a last resort. One of the BBM's sections
related to the delivery of mail to the Post Office each evening. Being the
office junior and having to walk past the Post Office each evening to get to my
bus stop, taking the post was inevitably my job. Now the BBM stated that the
post should be taken in a locked leather satchel especially designed for the task
and that having used this to take the letters to the Post Office, it should be
returned to the branch together with any receipts for recorded or registered
mail, which should be stuck in the post book. Naturally this was observed in
the breach. I took the post in a carrier bag or just tucked under my arm, got the bus home and stuck any receipts in the
post book the next morning.
.jpg) |
| Never used. |
The arrival of The Inspectors prompted a frantic hunt for
the satchel, which when located was found to be in brand new, unused condition albeit
that it was covered in a layer of dust. This was a dead giveaway that it had
never been used, a state that was remedied by the manager placing it on the
floor and jumping up and down on it to give it that "lived in" look. The post satchel had been found behind the post
desk, a location that gave up one or two other goodies, including a cheque
which should have been returned unpaid to the presenting bank some months
before due to a lack of funds on the drawer's account...oops!
While The Inspectors were looking to ensure that jobs were
being done "by the book" the fact that staff often weren't doing so
(but obviously had to make out that they were), was usually because doing
things by the book was often too long winded or impractical to enable the job
to be done within given timescales. Throughout my banking career I often
thought that the best way to have taken industrial action would not have been
to go on strike, but to work strictly to rule, doing everything by the book.
That would have brought the organisation grinding to a halt within a few hours.
Back in those days, even more than today, there were jobs
that had to be done that no one questioned but which served little or no useful
purpose, as I discovered when I forgot to do one. The Dishonoured Cheque Return
was a monthly report sent to Regional Head Office (RHO), detailing cheques that
had been returned unpaid for lack of funds during the previous month. One month
the diary card that was supposed to remind me to complete this vital task went
AWOL and only turned up a few days after the report should have been sent. I
was told to compile the report as a matter of urgency and phone RHO to
apologise for its late delivery. I phoned RHO, explained the situation and was
told, "Oh, there's no hurry, we never look at them anyway." How many
other "vital" tasks were there that we undertook in those days that
were actually nothing of the sort, I wonder?
One task that was important, one which The Inspectors were
keen to ensure we discharged properly, was that procedures relating to the
bullion van's visit to the branch were observed. The bullion van would arrive
at irregular intervals to pick up excess cash or deliver more notes and coin,
and while it was parked outside someone, invariably the office junior (me) was
supposed to walk up and down and be on the lookout for suspicious behaviour,
i.e. bank robbers. If I saw any, I had a whistle to attract the attention of
the police (yeah, right) and a short, rubber truncheon that I am sure would
have stood me in good stead against a shotgun wielding thief (not). It is
difficult to imagine this sort of thing being contemplated today.
 |
| Useless |
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| Useful, but not for the purpose Midland Bank intended it. |
One day, strolling up and down outside, pretending to look
in shop windows and hiding the bulge of the truncheon about my person, I was
very mindful of the fact that the previous day there had been an armed robbery
on the other side of the road when Securicor were collecting takings from Bejam[2].
I had been cashiering that day, and despite never having previously heard a
shotgun fired, knew immediately what the noise was, as did my fellow cashier as
we slammed our till drawers closed in unison. A member of the public charged in
and said, "Quick, phone the police, Bejam are being raided!" So this
was on my mind as I sauntered up and down Cranbrook Road, vaguely aware that
across the road a council worker in a cherry picker was fiddling with a street
light, changing the bulb presumably. Now, I don't know if you have ever heard
the sound made by a bulb from a street light being dropped and imploding when
it hits the ground, but it is unnervingly like a shotgun being discharged, as I
found out when the council worker dropped the bulb. This proved that had there
been an actual raid my whistle and truncheon would have been completely superfluous
as I stood rooted to the spot.
By the time I left the bank The Inspectors had become
Auditors (at least they had in the departments I worked in) and were less
feared since most of them were well known to us. We all knew that they knew how
things worked, and audits were (in my experience) generally collaborative
rather than confrontational, but no doubt there is still someone out there
carrying Chopper's baton!
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