MOLTENO
Molteno is one of the coldest places in South Africa. Although on average, Sutherland is the coldest town, a weather station near Molteno on the farm Buffelsfontein holds the record for the lowest recorded temperature in South Africa. It plummeted to -20.1 C. I recall visiting Dirk Botha when he was manager there in May and as I drove into town, it started snowing. Luckily Dirk had a fabulous anthracite stove going and after Erica his wife had served a hearty, warming supper, Dirk and I settled down to address the level of a bottle of Viceroy brandy which I had brought along and to reminisce about the times we had had in Sterkspruit. Not even Molteno’s extreme cold could dampen our enthusiasm, much to Erica’s disgust.
Dirk was eventually transferred to Port Elizabeth and after serving in several local branches, he retired there. In later years his failing health persuaded them to move back to Molteno where he died. His wife still resides in the old age home there, while their daughter is married to a local farmer.
My next visit to the town was to perform an audit. I found a lady in charge (Her name escapes me unfortunately) and if I recall correctly, she had a good audit.
Molteno is known as the town where the much loved OUMA RUSKS are made. Another surprising product of Molteno is the rock band SOUTHERN GYPSEY QUEEN. A fellow I used to know and who was a manager in the bank, Allen Wilson, gave up his banking career to answer a calling and go preaching. He established himself in Molteno and when his children started growing up, they formed the band. I have some of their music and can testify that they were pretty good. I have no idea if they still exist but their CDs are worth looking for if you like rock music.
OLIFANTSHOEK
In 1978 Bush and I had spent two thirds of the year away from home non-stop, in Namibia. We were looking forward to coming home and having to do branches close to our base. Forlorn hope! Bush let fly with some choice obscenities and heaped curses on our boss’ head because our further tour left us just as far from home as before what with Olifantshoek, Sishen and Kuruman. I had never really got to like the beer in Namibia (except the Maibok variety) and arriving in Olifantshoek after a particularly hot and boring trip from Namibia, my first thought was to renew my acquaintance with a good old Castle. It tasted sublime and I considerably cheered up after a couple. Olifantshoek wasn’t an exciting place but it had Castle and that was enough for the time being.
If you happen to Google what there is to do in Olifantshoek, you’ll find that even travel writers could find nothing exciting to do in the place. I can wholeheartedly confirm that assertion. The only thing I recall about the actual audit was while drowsing my way through P. & L. vouchers I came across a Municipal account for the branch. The word “SOMESTING POWER” caught my eye as I scanned the account – the Municipal printer had misspelt “DOMESTIC POWER”. I wonder if anyone noticed the mistake back at the Town Hall. Perhaps they just decided to let it be rather than waste money on reprinting a whole batch of account books.
POYNTON’S BUILDING, PRETORIA
This branch was in a building across the road from the place where, during the “struggle” years, a powerful car bomb exploded, taking the lives of 19 people (Including the bombers – the bomb went off prematurely) and injuring scores more.
I remember the job we had checking the collection of gold jewelry the branch was holding as security for a prominent Indian client. I’ve never seen anything like that vast treasure trove since – it would have dwarfed the stock of any major jewelers. It’s so ironic that throughout history, mankind has sweated and suffered endlessly to extract the magic metal from the earth, only to promptly bury it all again in strongrooms and safes across the world. We are a bloody crazy species, aren’t we ??
REITZ
I walked into Reitz branch where an old school acquaintance was manager. Tommy Bartleman was a few standards behind me at school in Ladybrand and when he introduced me to the staff, he announced that I had bullied him at school and he expected I would be doing exactly the same during my audit. The branch staff looked a bit apprehensive but I laughed and denied that I had ever been anything other than civil and kind to him and had no intention of departing from this policy.
The accountant was a Mrs Matthysen. My Dad was a Road Inspector and he had road construction and maintenance crews under his control. There was a bulldozer operator named Matthysen who operated a giant D8 Caterpillar in the road building unit, that Dad often spoke about. He was one of those lucky individuals who simply loved his job and his machine and it showed when he was working. He used to sit straight and proud atop that big machine and touch those controls with just the right amount of force, like a conductor directing an orchestra. No extravagance or flamboyance – just pure expertise. He loved all Caterpillar machines and even went so far as to get a special Caterpillar cap from the factory in U.S.A. which he always wore with pride. “A King on his throne” was my dad’s description of the man.
It turned out that the accountant was married to one of Matthysen’s sons. I was able to let him know how much my Dad, had admired his late Dad. I think the news was very well received by the whole family.
As it happens the entire audit went well – another pat on the back for the Matthysen family, amongst others.
NIGEL
Out on the far East Rand, beyond Springs, lies Nigel. Bush Morley and I had just finished Springs and were sent there. I didn’t even have to look for accommodation as I was already staying in Dunnottar which is midway between the two towns.
I was surprised, as we walked in, to see a young teller on the counter who I had last seen in Jones Street, Kimberley. Her name was Judy Rodriguez, a miniscule Portuguese lady, whose head and shoulders had barely topped the counter in Kimberley. She was cute so I remembered her but the Nigel Judy was a good foot taller than the Judy I knew and I hesitantly asked if she WAS Judy Rodriguez. She smiled and said, “Of course I am Mr Lyle”. I said, “But you were not so tall when I last saw you” and she laughed delightedly and showed me she was standing on a substantial platform! I just HAD to check her cash and renew the acquaintance – such a sweet, shy kid.
MARGATE
I went to Margate with Dave Sharp. I couldn’t have been there very long because apart from the fact that we stayed at St Michaels on Sea, I remember nothing about that audit. One would think that such a sought after holiday destination would have made a favourable impression on me yet it didn’t! The South Coast was just too hot and humid for my liking.
PORT ALFRED
Before I joined audit, I was on Relief Staff and I did a spell of relief at Port Alfred. I had to relieve the accountant who had just had a poor Inspection and needed time to correct all the exceptions. I enjoyed my little seaside “holiday” and was quite sorry to leave again.
Prior to that, I had been to Port Alfred during an army camp, where I participated in a big exercise named “Enterprise”. The object of the exercise was to test the readiness of the participating regiments to protect the coast from an attack from the sea. As far as I could see, it was an unmitigated disaster but then I was just a lowly corporal. In the middle of the maneuver, one of our armoured cars overturned on a slope and the crew commander was crushed by the turret. Half the regiment had to fly back to Bloemfontein because his family required a military funeral for which a slow-marching squad had to be present. Rather took the wind out of our sails. I spent some time atop the Great Fish Point lighthouse watching passing shipping with the powerful telescope on the lighthouse. We were supposed to be “guarding” the coast. That was a pleasant interlude but it became less so when our food supplies did not reach us for a few days and all I had to eat was “dog” biscuits and condensed milk. We were really very hungry by the time the cooks found us and dog biscuits had started tasting quite wonderful. The climax of the exercise came when a squad of Navy divers was dropped off a lonely beach by minesweepers with the aim of “destroying” our armoured vehicles by marking chalk crosses n them and it was our job to stop and apprehend them. This took place at night and huge flares kept going up and illuminating the beach yet we saw nary a single one of those divers. ALL our vehicles had been “destroyed” as we discovered when the sun came up. How the divers got by the troops who were looking for them only the divers knew. I could only hope the senior officers learned something from the experience because I sure as hell didn’t!
Oh gosh, that had nothing to do with the bank did it? Never mind –that’s what my memory gave me when I thought about Port Alfred.
ADELAIDE
I spent a couple of weeks in Adelaide, when I was on Relief Staff and bunked down in Midgeley's Hotel, just across the road from the bank. One afternoon I was relaxing in my room after work when a burst of loud singing came from the room next to mine. I could hear a Ge Korsten recording was being played and the chap in the room was singing along with it. He seemed to be doing quite a good job so I didn’t feel inclined to complain about the noise. In any event, I thought I’d have a Castle before supper and while I was in the bar, I noticed the lounge filling up with well-dressed couples. I asked a waiter what the occasion was and he revealed that Ge Korsten was performing in the Town Hall that evening and that the town was giving him this reception in the hotel. It was a good thing I didn’t decide to knock on the bloke’s door. Imagine me sarcastically asking him to pipe down and, “Who do you think you are? Ge Korsten”?
Many years later I returned to Adelaide to conduct an audit and once again looked for accommodation at the old Tucker’s Hotel. The room was fine but their casual approach to meal hours and meals generally, was not to my liking. I expected supper by 7 but by 8 the dining room was still unattended. Seems they liked to wait for the company reps to drink their fill before finding out what they wanted for supper. I booked out the next day and moved to a country hotel called the Yellowwood Hotel halfway to Fort Beaufort. Imagine my surprise when the owner of the Midgeleys, a young Spilken fellow, came across and demanded to know from me why I wasn’t supporting his hotel, which was a customer of the bank. I told him that his hotel’s meal hours were crazy and that my new hotel accommodated all my needs perfectly. He was really quite shirty and hinted that he would take it up with Head Office. If he ever did I don’t know but I was not in any kind of mood for that kind of blackmail and was ready for a proper scrap if he wanted one. He left the branch in a huff and you might say I didn’t give a stuff!
BEDFORD
Bedford is only some 20 odd Km from Adelaide but somewhat smaller. It is an old town with lots of interesting architecture and pretty gardens – well, at least it was the last time I saw it. The bank occupied part of the rambling hotel building and I actually had a bedroom above the bank. That was something unique in my experience. Technically I could never be late for work because I was always in the building!
BEREA ROAD, DURBAN
In the company of Mr Roberts, we had quite a dramatic start to the audit of Berea Road branch. We were actually still busy in Florida Road branch, when the accountant there assigned a young girl to open the incoming courier mail. All our private and official mail also came in via the same system but she was not aware of this and simply opened EVERYTHING in the pile of mail. Unfortunately she also opened a “Private and Confidential” envelope containing Roberts’ movement advice. As luck would have it, the pile of opened mail lay on the accountant’s desk, Robert’s memo uppermost. This indicated that he was to take his team to Berea Road next. He happened to walk by and caught sight of the memo and promptly exploded in an unprecedented rage. He blew up the accountant and then accused the young girl of deliberately opening his mail. We were outside but we could hear him carrying on inside.
He made us drop whatever we were doing and rush off to Berea Road. Before leaving he threatened dire consequences to anyone phoning Berea Road. We walked into Berea Road at mid-morning – something quite unheard of back then, in order to preserve the surprise element. By golly, they WERE surprised too, but we had to sit around all day and twiddle our thumbs as we obviously could not check the tellers’ cash or treasury until closing time. It was all rather silly really but that surprise element was something sacred to the old inspectors!
The next day we all trouped back to Florida Road to carry on with our audit and I never went back to Berea Road again. Probably the shortest visit to a branch that I ever had!
Comments