NEWCASTLE
I joined Trevor Evans for the audit of this branch. He was an abrupt, abrasive character, often quite rude and undiplomatic when addressing someone and I really did not take to him. He had some odd habits such as tanning himself to a crisp in the sun at every opportunity. He would don a miniscule speedo down at the Municipal swimming pool and spend hours utterly ruining his already leathery skin. He tried to get me to join him but I’m not a sunworshipper and refused. He then said straight out that I was an unhealthy white colour, like a slug and should spend more time in the sun! I was just plain offended. He revealed that at home, his property was fully surrounded by a high wall and he and his wife both went around stark naked. He said that he had on occasion forgotten that he was unclothed and had answered the door to very taken aback callers. He used to keep in touch with his wife by means of audio cassettes while he was on the road. When his “letters from home” arrived, he would take early lunch in order to “read” his mail. I had to go to his room for something one evening and discovered that he had screwed a massive cuphook into his ceiling, from which hung a throwing fish net which he was busy making. Seems he was a keen fisherman with a boat when he was at home in Redhouse near Port Elizabeth. He was in his trusty red speedo and was quite ridiculously inebriated. The bottle of cane standing on his table had obviously taken quite a beating and he wasn’t even finished yet! Where he was morose and taciturn at the office, he was as friendly and loquacious after hours – guess hangovers were behind his glum daytime character. He retired not long after that Newcastle audit and I heard that he had developed inoperable back trouble that so pained him that he committed suicide.
When I was a little guy growing up in Trompsburg, we lived right across the road from Barclays Bank. The manager, Mr Uys, lived in a house next to the bank while his daughter Anne, was a teller in the branch. Anne befriended my parents and doted on my sister and me. After a few years, Anne went off to Europe on a tour, met a German fellow, Hans Jende and married him. My folks were surprised as they had gained the impression that Anne preferred to “bat for the other team” but the truth probably was she swung both ways. Anyway, walking into Newcastle brought Anne back into my life, as this was where she was working now. She had divorced Jende and was sharing a house with another lady. Anne really was delighted to see me as I was to see her. I think she was taken aback to see what her pale, sickly little boy had become since she last saw me as I caught her staring wonderingly at me at times. Admittedly, at 6’ 3” I now towered above her and wasn’t sickly at all anymore. Dear old Anne, I was very fond of her and enjoyed being reunited with her for the term of the audit.
Eric Schwikkard was the accountant while Dave Harris was the Assistant Manager – both chaps were very good at their jobs. Regrettably, neither of them is still with us. Eric had a closed circuit TV monitor standing on his table, next to which I sat. The camera was focused on the banking hall and enabled him to watch for bottlenecks on the counter. It also enabled him to check for “lookers” in the queues and “perv” happily without the lady being aware. I enthusiastically joined him in this harmless pastime and was quite sorry when we eventually completed the audit. There were lots of comely lasses in Newcastle and being able to admire them surreptitiously without arousing their suspicions, was fun.
I was a junior clerk at nearby Memel and Newcastle was the nearest substantial town to us. I remember returning to work from an army camp and arriving in Newcastle by train. Walking to a garage at the edge of town, I hoped to be able to hitchhike up to Memel. It was damn cold and I had had little sleep on the train and was really depressed. Then I noticed an automatic coffee dispensing machine and the thought of some coffee really perked me up no end. Imagine my chagrin when, after putting my very last ten cent piece into the infernal machine, it enthusiastically dispensed lovely hot coffee …… but no cup! I stood there and watched my precious coffee dribble out under the machine You can say that I have plumbed the depths of despair.
DANIELSKUIL
This small town was nothing much to write home about. About the only reason I could find for its existence was that it was quite close to Lime Acres, a mining village which grew up around the Finsch Diamond mine and the PPC Lime factory. The Finsch Mine is the second largest diamond mine in the country by production and consistently produces high quality diamonds. The bank had an agency at Lime Acres which I visited and I was impressed with the huge mining operation there. I see Danielskuil is only an agency now (Presumably to Postmasburg?) so I have no idea if the bank is still represented at the mine.
BRANDFORT
I believe the town has been renamed after Winnie Mandela, who spent a number of years in the township under an apartheid era banning order. She banked with us and from what the branch told me, she expected everyone to bow and scrape to her and drop everything to serve her! Well, luckily she didn’t show up with her entourage while I was busy there so I was spared her ridiculous behavior.
DEALESVILLE
Boshoff and Dealesville branches were both run by the same manager. I’ll remember the Dealesville branch for one thing: It was here that I finally decided to ask my wife to marry me! I somehow couldn’t keep it to myself and soon the branch girls wanted ALL the details. (What is it about marriage that gets all females so excited??) I went back to Port Elizabeth for the week-end, popped the question, was accepted and on Monday I was back at work. The girls were like a gaggle of geese around me. I pretended to be glum and said I had been rejected but I fooled no-one – I think my happiness showed despite my feigned gloom! I remember little else about the place and I see the bank no longer has a branch there.
GLENWOOD, DURBAN
For once this branch was within walking distance of my hotel. It was a quiet little suburban branch, in a shopping centre and I went there with Mr Roberts. While we were there, Roberts was called to attend a course which sought to explain a new audit theory termed “Statistical Sampling”. The external auditors of the bank wanted us to come into line with them and adopt their “scientific” method. John Holding was the Chief Inspector at the time and he was keen for us to at least try the method. What was ludicrous was they presented the idea and how it was to be implemented to the Senior Inspectors but we clerks who were to implement it, weren’t trained or enlightened at all. Roberts came in, dumped his course literature on my table, told us to implement and walked off chuckling to himself.
After some feverish rooting around in the instructions, we decided we knew what to do … sort of! I elected to examine the Deposit Accounts, first using the normal way and looking at everything. Took me about half a morning. Then I did the same job the statistical sampling way and the job took a week! Note well : A SAMPLE check took a week!! Roberts was totally scornful about the whole thing, especially when I opined that audits would take ten times longer to complete if this was introduced. Every entry had to be trailed through the books and this is where the time went. Roberts was hugely amused when I told him I was doing “audit trails” and took to calling me “Jungle Jim” and “how are things on the audit trail?” I decided then and there that I would not stay in audit if this was to be the future methodology.
To cut a long story short, despite John Holding constant urging the seniors to ensure that this was implemented fully, this just never was. John Holding had come from training and had never been an auditor, so while he might have had a lot of theoretical knowledge of the subject, he had never been at the coalface. I think the seniors at the time were seasoned “inspectors” who had effectively defined the job methodologies from hard-won experience. Not for them the theoretical fiddle-faddle from the fellows with degrees. It was a quiet, bloodless rebellion but a rebellion nevertheless and I was hugely relieved.
Wilf Roberts was a true stoic – he would NEVER admit to pain or indeed, discomfort of any kind. Glenwood was situated a good few kilometers from the Astra Hotel where he stayed and although there was a regular bus service which would bring him quite close to the branch, he ignored it and chose to walk to work, despite the chunk of wartime shrapnel in his leg. We didn’t dare ask if he was in pain but we could tell if he was because he became as bad tempered as an ornery bull if he was and we would have to tread lightly around him.
MUSGRAVE ROAD, DURBAN
This was a suburban branch situated up on the Berea, in a cool, leafy area. The audit is an odd blank in my memory and the only significant thing I recall about it is that it was the first branch I encountered which had a lady manager. Her name was Gita Brodie and a more charming and likeable person you would never meet. She was amazingly modest about her achievements and although I was very much junior to her, she never made me feel as if she was “talking down’ to me. I asked her on one occasion if she had settled into her role yet and she said she loved the branch but wished she could change the curtains in her office. That was definitely not an observation which a typical male manager would make so no matter how competent they are female managers ARE different and I say vive la difference!
PRETORIA
I think it was in 1975 that I was included in the “squad” sent to audit Pretoria branch. I say squad because we assembled at a nearby hotel and then walked to the branch. As we were walking along I noticed we all were wearing dark suits (Six or more of us) and we looked for all like an army squad on parade as we marched down the street. I was still raw to the job and relished walking through those front doors into the banking hall with its semi circle of teller’s counters. A quick glance showed all tellers’ eyes were on us. Some looked apprehensive while the more experienced ones smiled knowingly. We didn’t scare EVERYONE! As years went by, the novelty of a branch’s terrified reaction wore off and became a tiresome nuisance. I didn’t really enjoy being a flipping ogre!
Rob Lear from Natal was with us and soon Rob and I discovered we had identical suits. He remarked on the fact after seeing mine and I decided to avoid wearing the suit to save us looking like twins sons from different mothers! He made a similar decision but as time wore on, I decided that Rob was not going to wear his suit so I donned mine and I’m damned if Rob didn’t do the same. We needn’t have worried because no-one noticed anyway.
I realized my wardrobe needed some upgrading and I went looking for the men’s clothing emporium called “Grant McKenzies” as Dave Sharp had mentioned that he sometimes shopped there, as did our boss, Ivan Rudman. Both were very “sharp dressed” men and worth emulating. I’ve always hated buying clothes as my size dramatically limits my range of choice so I wanted to find something decent so as to not have to buy again too soon. The shop was everything it was claimed to be and soon I was shown a charcoal pinstripe which looked so grand on me that I just had to have it. It was made of amazing British cloth and could have been tailor made for me. I was struck dumb when I saw the pricetag – it was hundreds of Rand more expensive than I could afford but my mind was made up. Firstcard Budget Account came to my rescue and the suit was mine. Over the years I was forced to buy more suits, as my waistline steadily expanded but I never found one again which was the equal of that pinstripe. When I retired in 2000, I swore I’d never wear a suit (Or a tie) again and in fact, I don’t even own one anymore. My wardrobe now could easily be confused with that of a penniless beggar and could easily fit into a tiny suitcase with ease and that’s the way I like it, even though my wife doesn’t!
I recall being down in the dungeons checking endless stocks of traveller’s cheques when Mike de Villiers wearily said, “My goodness ladies, you’ve got traveller’s cheques for Africa”. Up piped the little custodian : “Yes Mr de Villiers and we have them for many other countries as well!” How Mike kept from laughing I don’t know.
Mike’s big buddy, Wilf Roberts was auditing West End, Pretoria at the same time as we were at Pretoria branch. He was staying at the Union Hotel and invited us round for a drink. He was waiting for us with a face like thunder, when we got there. He was angry, very angry. Mike queried his bad mood and it transpired that the manager, a fellow Roberts despised had been standing at his desk flexing the little wooden ruler which Roberts had had since his schooldays (Still in inches). Wilf exclaimed, “Put that down Mr X, you’re going to break it.” Probably meaning to tease Roberts. Mr X said “Shall I break it Mr Roberts? Shall I break it?” and promptly snapped the ancient bit of wood in half. Wilf was nearly in tears as he moaned, “He BROKE it Mike. He BROKE the ruler I’ve had since my schooldays”. Nico Koen who was with us grinned broadly and was about to start laughing when Mike kicked his shins under the table, warning him to be serious. That little plank had some special meaning for Mr Roberts and his worst enemy breaking it was a declaration of war. I’m surprised Wilf did not take Mr X out the same way he had a German machine-gun nest during the war!
DE AAR
I never audited the branch as such but went there to investigate a woman who was fiddling various customer savings accounts. I had to travel all the way from Virginia to get to that railway junction. The branch had already carried out its own investigation which left me to verify what they had found , take statements and write a report. Throughout the special, the young cleaner insisted on addressing me as “Inspekteur” which considerably amused me. I was quite taken with the title, like “Inspector Lyle from Scotland Yard” investigates. I didn’t have the heart to correct him.
I decided to head for Sedgefield and Sonja for the week-end instead of returning directly to Virginia. On the way I ran into a vast swarm of locusts. I slowed down but still kept going but within minutes, my car’s temperature gauge went through the roof. Dead insects had blocked up my radiator and caused the car to overheat. I stopped and cleared the smelly mess from the front of my car and eventually proceeded much more carefully. Took Sonja and myself hours to rid the car of squashed and reeking locusts, once I arrived in Sedgefield. Those swarms really have to be seen to be believed. If you ever encounter one, take it slowly, really slowly or else you’ll be very sorry.
WELKOM
Bush Morley and I took on Welkom way back in the seventies and I can’t remember much about that audit at all, not even where we stayed. I do recall Bush and me stopping at a roadhouse for something to eat before starting the branch. The roadhouse had a huge flock of birds flapping around, hoping for scraps and Bush remarked that the birds looked remarkably like seagulls. I said, “Well, they ARE seagulls”. Bush was immediately indignant and scoffed at the idea of seagulls so far from the sea. I explained that a breeding pair had either escaped from captivity or had been experimentally planted on the extensive pans near Welkom, into which the mines pumped waste water. The pans had been seeded with fish so the gulls adapted and multiplied in an environment where food was available. What tickled Bush was the fact that the birds hung around at the roadhouse and subsisted mainly on slap CHIPS, thrown to them by patrons. What the hell – if you can eat fish you can eat chips too I guess!
A later audit found me working with Mike de Villiers and John & Elizma Bell and we stayed at the Dagbreek Hotel. This is the hotel where I ordered All Bran at breakfast and while I sat waiting for the cold milk to arrive, I happened to look at the bowl and found that All Bran energetically churning away. Boy, that sight made my skin crawl –weevils were having a field day in that bowl. What made it even more horrifying was the fact that I had had All Bran the previous morning and had not noticed anything untoward ……….
On this occasion, Willie Arendtz was manager at the branch and midway through the audit, he invited us to have a drink with him at his favourite watering hole. I declined as I had quit drinking so Elizma and I were alone at supper. The next morning she arrived at the table with a face like thunder. Without even greeting me, she angrily exclaimed, “Weet jy hoe laat het daai man van my by die huis gekom gisteraand? DRIE UUR !!!” Turns out after the drinks at the pub, Willie took them home with him and then the drinking began in earnest. Willie was notorious for his ability to absorb liquor without apparent ill effect but neither Mike nor John was in the same league. The two of them looked bloody awful, when they eventually surfaced and to add to their misery, they also had to endure Elizma’s piercing harangue while nursing their throbbing heads.
Willie received a good staff report from Mike but objected to Mike saying that he was a “jovial character”. I’m still mystified by his objection – he agreed that he was jovial but said he was not a “character” and Mike had to remove the offending word. He certainly devalued himself completely in my eyes with that bit of petty egotism.
Back then, Welkom was an impressive town. Unlike most towns, it was properly planned and laid out in a logical pattern. It was famous for not having any robots as all major intersections of streets were huge, easy to negotiate circles. One thing one had to learn when driving there was to make sure of being in the right lane for exiting the circle – locals did not tolerate mistakes and hooted angrily at the slightest infringement of the rules. Miners are a touchy lot and I heard about traffic offenders being followed to their destinations and being thumped by a miner who had been cut off!
The branch was hellishly busy and long queues were the norm rather than the exception. I was standing looking at a queue at the tellers one day and noticed a familiar face : Clive Scott, the actor who played Ted the dim miner in the TV soap, The Villagers. He didn’t look half as dimwitted as he did on the box and in fact looked damn angry about having to queue so long.
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