COLESBERG
I
I audited Colesberg branch a number of times and even relieved as accountant there in my younger days. The Merino Inn at the edge of town had the finest Karroo lamb on its menu daily and that was all that I ate. Lovely. A regular visitor to the branch was dear old M.W. Theunissen, the lovable but totally scatterbrained relief manager who had married late in life and had retired to Colesberg. I’m afraid his behavior in branches had become a little too eccentric for many customers, so Head Office simply retired him early. He would come in and stand at enquiries and call me loudly to the interview box. “Ou Lyle, kom hier, het jy gehoor …….”. The staff would just shake their heads and sigh. But I loved talking to him. His eccentricity stemmed not from a lack of brains but rather from a surfeit of them. He had a phenomenal memory and could recall R18 (Bad debt) registers from all the branches in great detail. Years after he had retired he still felt obliged to pursue these defaulting debtors and expected me to pass on his “intelligence” about them, to the branches concerned. Sometimes he would stop in the middle of a sentence and stare at me wonderingly with his pale blue eyes. Then he’d say, “So Lyle, is jy nou ‘n INSPEKTEUR ?”. In his eyes I must have still seemed like a junior clerk. I would answer, “Nee Oom Theunie, ek is ‘n Interne Ouditeur” and that seemed to mollify him a bit. How I wish I had a miniature recording machine because those chats were priceless. He was “Koster” in the big DR church and drove the town mad with his enthusiastic bell ringing on a Sunday. He had to be told to ease off a bit…..
JOHANNESBURG
I happened to be in Head Office collecting the tools of my new trade and Vincent Henderson Assistant Chief Inspector, decided I should pop down into Johannesburg branch where a large Reef team was busy with an audit. I was told to observe what was going on and help if I could. Roy Wands took me around to the chaps who were there but I now only remember him and Joe Wright. Roy and Joe were sitting alongside each other, wading through mountains of printouts but I was eventually bored to tears. At one stage, Roy jabbed me in the ribs and pointed at Joe next to him. Joe had perfected the art of sleeping on the job. His pen was poised over the printout while his left hand supported his head but he was indisputably asleep. Roy said, “Watch this” and called out, “Hey Joe, take a look at this please”. Without so many as a twitch, Joe’s pen started moving and seconds later he turned round and said, “Did you speak Roy?” Joe retired as an Inspector’s Clerk and was a mover in SASBO and a thoroughly nice man. And a master of the surreptitious KIP!
ZEERUST
Bush Morley and I tackled this place which seemed to me to be hotazel. We discovered the local bughouse was air conditioned so we spent evenings there, no matter what the heck was showing. The branch building had undergone improvements just before we arrived and the accountant proudly showed us his immaculate bookroom, with its steel shelving and neatly labeled boxes containing vouchers and whatnot. They must have put a lot of work into that and we commented favourably. Imagine our shock when just a few days later, there was an unearthly rumble and crash from the direction of the bookroom. Flip, the accountant had forgotten to screw in reinforcing corners into the shelves and the whole lot just folded up and dumped that whole pile of cardboard and paper in an untidy jumble on the floor. If anyone had been inside at the time, they would definitely have been hurt if not killed. Virtually every single box had burst open and had spilled its contents on the floor. You could not even get in there. Frankly, if I had been Flip, I would have resigned right there and then!
KOSTER
When I was told I had to join Japie Cronje at Koster, I was puzzled because I had no idea where it was. I thought it might be down in the Cape somewhere but that turned out to be Klawer I was thinking about. I eventually arrived there and Japie and I checked into the hotel which was slap bang next to the train station. Long trains with 4 or 5 diesel locos growling menacingly up front, would storm through that little station at all hours of the night. It was the main line to Botswana and Zimbabwe. I slept badly there as it was long before I discovered the wonders of silicone earplugs.
Japie and I were busy one day when an important looking man walked in, walked through the manager’s office and into the office where we were sitting. “Ek is Willem Boshoff” he said and shook our hands heartily. Turned out he was known as “Die miljoener van Koster” because he owned something like 40 farms and firmly believed the bank we were auditing was his as well. He peremptorily sent one of the girls in the office to buy some treats for tea and strolled around behind the counter as if he was boss of the place. When the treats arrived he made sure we’d had our share and proudly accepted our thanks as his undisputed due. We were taken aback and not a little relieved when he eventually left.
This was quite normal we were told – no-one dared thwart Oom Willem as he was big friends with one of the Bank’s Directors and wielded him mercilessly like a sword to always get his way. The branch told of a long-haired male teller who came to relieve at the branch. Oom Willem spotted him right away and said warningly, “Boetie jy moet jou hare laat sny”. Next time he came in and got as the front door, when he spotted that the lad had ignored him and was still sporting his locks. Willem got into his car and drove to Head Office where he demanded they remove the teller from “His” branch or he would move all his accounts. The long-haired chap left the branch the same day.
While we were there, Willem was to receive his gold pen for having banked with Barclays for more than 50 years. Japie was roped in to do the presentation at the manager’s house. Willem and some family members attended. Afterwards he regaled us with his life story. During the twenties, he arrived at the hugely rich alluvial diamond diggings at Bakerville near Lichtenburg. He was young and could run like a hare so when the big diamond rush of 1927 took place, he was contracted by prospectors to run and stake their claims in the most promising areas. He walked out of there with some six thousand pounds in his pocket and promptly bought his first Koster farm. He was definitely a go-getter and went from strength to strength, buying farm after farm. Rumours abounded about his life but I don’t dare repeat them here. Suffice to say he was a larger-than-life, colourful man who let nothing get in his way. And yet he was oddly touched by the fact that the bank had honoured him with a tawdry gold pen…….
LADY GREY
I audited this little branch on a couple of occasions but what I really remember about the place is that in my brief stay on Eastern Cape relief staff, I stood in for manager at the branch. The branch was in a building which belonged to local shopkeepers, the Stone Brothers and one of the brothers was inspector Shorty Stone. All through December, Shorty and his wife Beryl were visiting there and periodically would pop in for business. We knew he was on leave so we weren’t the slightest bit alarmed by his presence. I was still nursing a New Year’s Day hangover on the 2nd when Beryl walked in and shouted ”Surprise, surprise”. Shorty trailed in after her carrying his bags and I jokingly said. “On your way Mr Stone? I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re going.” With a smile he said, “No I don’t mind telling you. I’m coming HERE!” That was a huge shock. I survived the inspection which wasn’t really “mine” at all and towards the end, was having a few beers with Shorty. I wasn’t very happy on relief staff and Shorty suggested I consider coming to Inspection department. He mentioned my interest in my staff report and before I knew it, I was ordered to come up to Johannesburg to be briefed and to collect my bag and manual. I never ran into Shorty or Beryl again.
STRAND
This was another Western Cape branch for which I volunteered. Francois Booysen accompanied me and we soon had the ball rolling. The audit was going well and we had good accommodation at the Gordon’s Bay Hotel. I had a desk right by the tellers’ cubicles. To my amazement, one of the tellers had a R6 000 shortage but the circumstances were suspicious. To cut a long story short, she was seen going to the ladies’ toilets carrying a small bundle and when she came out, she was no longer carrying it. A quick search of the loo found the bundle of notes, stashed in a window where it would have been easy to reach from outside the building. She was simply going to pick up the notes up after work and walk off with them. A simple and flawed plan but the sheer audacity of trying to steal right under an Auditor’s nose, was most unusual. I couldn’t decide if she had nerves of steel or was simply damn stupid.
VEREENIGING
The branch was really busy. This was a heavily industrialized town and the foreign exchange department ladies worked like Trojans. Several of the ladies were Portuguese, including the Head of Forex, Maria Ramos. Now if that name sounds familiar it’s because she has been in the top echelons of the South African financial industry for many years – she has headed the Railways and ABSA, to name just two very hot seats which she has occupied. Please forgive me if I seem to be fawning when I say that Maria was by far the hardest working, brightest bank clerk I encountered in my travels. She was simply brilliant - firm with staff but likeable nevertheless, totally unflappable and fully au fait with all aspects of foreign exchange and exchange control. I felt like a real country bumpkin testing the quality of her and her department’s work – she knew a helluva lot more than I did and knew it but she was always so nice and patient with me that I was actually relieved when I could not put a finger on anything that was off course in her work. I recall saying to her that if I ever had to start a branch and had a choice of staff, most would be Portuguese girls and Maria would be in charge! Yes, I really liked that lady and could not fault Trevor marrying her. She even taught me a smattering of Portuguese words.
WAKKERSTROOM
I’m quite ashamed to admit that I remember NOTHING about this long defunct branch. The fact that I was “hungover” all the time I was there might have a lot to do with that. The Utaga Inn in those days belonged to a Mr Smit. Smittie was a hail-fellow-well-met kind of person who loved snooker and pool. The hotel rooms were grubby and spartan but a remarkable table compensated. Myself and Willie Ackerman sat down for our first meal at a table so laden with bottles and jars of various condiments, that there was hardly any room for anything else. There was everything imaginable – tomato sauce, HP sauce, Worcestershire sauce, pickles (Several different kinds) piccalilli, chutney, relish etc – you name it, they had it. I asked for a menu and was told there was none so I asked what they had. “Sop” said the waiter. I didn’t want that and asked what else there was. “Kos” he said and we told him to bring it. Boy, they didn’t stint – two huge plates of beautifully cooked “Boerekos” were placed before us. That was some of the very best grub I encountered in my years on the road.
After supper we drifted into the snooker room and before we knew it, we were embroiled in some tense pool games and losing money hand over fist! The drinks kept coming well into the night and that rogue Smittie cleaned us out as he was a pool sharp par excellence. This happened every night but luckily I was there for only a week so I survived but it should come as no big surprise that I don’t even remember the flippin’ branch!
PAULPIETERSBURG
I accompanied Wally Brown for the audit of this branch in the North of Natal. Wally knew the manager so we sat chatting for quite a while before the accountant was called in. Ivan came in all smiles as his inspection was not really due for months yet and asked where we were headed. He was absolutely dumfounded when Wally told him that we were there to do his branch. Gee, that guy was upset. He demanded to know why we were so early and did Head Office suspect them of something. Inspections were always a shock but I think that one had to have been the biggest shock ever. It went well though but Ivan was skittish all the way through.
Wally & his wife Corlia and I stayed at the Dumbe Hotel (If my memory serves me well). At dinner one night, Wally and tucked into the roast pork which Corlia avoided. By bedtime, both Wally and I were sick as dogs and neither of us made it to work the next day. I never ate pork anywhere after that. I thought it best to heed the Biblical warning against it.
VILJOENSKROON
In the far West Free State, amidst maize and wheatfields, lies Viljoenskroon. As gold has enriched people elsewhere, maize has made a number of people very wealthy here. As I approached the town I was immediately drawn to what looked for the all world like an oasis somewhere in the Sahara. There was an all white, sprawling building which could have fitted into the movie “Beau Geste” and a whole host of full-sized palm trees. As soon as could, I asked about it and was told that the wealthy owner had Arabic ancestry and wanted his home to reflect this. Copying the middle-eastern architecture wasn’t a problem but finding palm trees for the oasis effect was. So no trouble to the fellow, He hired a horticulturist and set him the task of buying up all of the biggest palm trees in town, digging them up and transporting them to his property. I don’t know how many he bought but apparently some quite brisk business was done in palm trees for a while.
There were also wealthy Jewish people who banked with us in Viljoenskroon. Two quite elderly sisters were due to leave for Israel for an extended stay and they wanted to keep their precious items safe in the bank vault while they were away. The manager was quite agreeable until he discovered they actually wanted to RENT the whole strongroom and have sole control over it. It took a lot of salesmanship and diplomacy to convince the old dears that the bank was quite safe.
I can’t help thinking that if the same situation were to arise in South Africa today, there would be plenty of “oy veys” emanating from Viljoenskroon upon their return from Israel.
VENTERSBURG & WINBURG
I have grouped these two tiny, neighbouring branches for an odd reason. Both were reputed to be haunted.
Peter de Villiers and I used to pop into the branch after supper and check overdraft sheets, at Ventersburg. The staff looked at us rather oddly and then it came out that in years gone by, a manager had committed suicide by shooting himself right there in the office and his restless spirit was said to still linger there. I have had no reason ever to believe in ghosts but I wasn’t at all happy in that office at night. It was imagination of course …….
I was on my own at Winburg branch when my uncle, whose father had been manager of the branch before the war, popped in to say hello. While we were standing there talking, he pointed to the little old fashioned strongroom and told me that it was reputed to be haunted by the ghost of a teller who had gone into the room and shot himself with the bank’s firearm. This had taken place during the thirties and that rumour must have died out over the years and there had been no sign of recent apparitions as far as anyone knew. Once again, imagination …
Actually, just after the war, we lived in Winburg for a while and the house we lived in had “presences”. My old Granny who lived with us reported an annual “meeting” in her bedroom of old Boers – nothing to be seen, just the sound of a rowdy meeting! I never saw a thing …… at least, I don’t recall anything…
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