KURUMAN
I visited this hot place twice. The first visit was with Bush Morley. As we were walking the pavement toward the branch, we passed Standard Bank and Bush chuckled and told me this story. Sometime in the past he had visited the branch and at 3.30pm sharp he walked in and asked for the manager. As he was occupied with a client, Bush sat down and casually picked up some of the advertising material close at hand. He was quite fed-up to discover that it was all advertising for Standard Bank. No sooner had he been introduced to the manager than he demanded to know why they were advertising Standard Bank there. I can just picture the manager’s quizzical expression when he said, “But sir, this IS Standard Bank”.
The branch ran a mobile agency to a village way out in the Kalahari called Van Zyls Rus. It was so far away (Some 168 Km) that the agency ran over two days and the teller had to stay overnight at the little hotel there. What amused me was the fact that he would chain his cash canister to his bed overnight for the sake of security and also while he went for his meals. Quite adequate for the times I should imagine.
One thing one is not prepared for when approaching Kuruman through a truly arid landscape, is the abundance of water which the town enjoys. To thank for this happy state of affairs is the Eye of Kuruman, a huge perennial spring which has never failed, no matter how extreme droughts were, around which the town has grown up. Calling it a spring does it no justice as it is a veritable river gushing from the earth. The town extracts all its potable water from it and although substantial, this extraction does not even dent the powerful flow. The excess water flows down a man-made channel through the town. Erven along the canal have water rights and small scale farming occurs here but despite all the human usage, the canal eventually flows into a riverbed and I suppose, disappears into the sands of the Kalahari eventually.
SISHEN (& KATHU)
The town Sishen existed because of the enormous open cast iron ore mine nearby. It was a pleasant, tree-lined town with spanking new buildings and it had a fine hotel called The Minerva. What was so sad was that it was a doomed town. The ore body extended right under the town and as the pit expanded, it would swallow up the whole town. An entirely new town was being built some distance away, called Kathu and soon Sishen would be no more.
The enormous pit employs giant earth moving trucks and excavators to move the ore to the loading area where trains of ore wagons are filled to capacity. A recent world record breaking 375 wagon, 4 Km long train had four massive diesel locomotives pulling it. Those big earth movers were so enormous that once in the pit, a small utility vehicle overtook one of the behemoths but promptly broke down right in front of the truck. The truck simply ran over the bakkie, completely flattening it and its driver and the truck driver, sitting way up in his cab, never even noticed! We tried to go on site but could not get permission, much to my disgust.
One morning while we were there, the accountant had a frantic phone call from his wife who had spotted a massive black snake in their garden and wanted it eliminated. He sped home in his car only to find that a neighbour had already dispatched the snake. He thought it would be a fine idea to show the dead snake off in the branch and he walked in holding up the serpent for all to see. The cleaner who was busy making tea suddenly spotted the awful thing and letting off a huge scream, dived through the nearest open window, did a professional shoulder roll and landed on his feet and running like a hare, disappeared into the distance. We didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.
I never audited Kathu but I had a look at the place. I was startled by a magnificent golf course with immaculate fairways and super grass greens. How was it possible, in that arid, semi-desert countryside, to maintain such a beautiful course? I was told that the town and surrounds was built on an enormous underground lake and that water was plentiful.
ALBERTINIA
We were getting a team together to start a sizeable branch and I had agreed to do this little branch just over our border, for the Western Cape team. Time was really tight so I brought in Bob Bullock and Brenton Williams with me, so we could get in and out in a week. When we started, I emphasized to the manager that his input on the credit was needed urgently. The chap didn’t take me very seriously and dawdled while I sat twiddling my thumbs and quietly fuming. My impatience eventually boiled over and I suddenly barked at him and demanded that he get cracking. It worked! Brenton, who was just starting with us was dismayed that contrary to his belief, we were tough and bullied branches mercilessly. He just wasn’t ready to be THAT ruthless.
I was very amused when towards the end of the week, one of the young girls came and asked me confidentially. “Meneer, is daardie ander Meneer se naam regtig Meneer Bobbolok?” In the years since, I’ve often jokingly called Bob that because it has such a silly ring to it.
RIVERSDALE
This was another job we did for the Western Cape. I was distinctly uneasy when during my initial chat with the manager, he kept emphasizing his marketing ability. This was always a sign to me that the man’s administration might be below standard. My fears were confirmed when I started appraising the credit – documentation and risk assessment were lagging well behind his marketing efforts. He seemed to have little idea of how to go about assessing risk so I criticized these aspects roundly. His long and flowery narratives seldom addressed risk aspects and I said so, to his obvious puzzlement. He even called in his area manager to argue the points with me. I then sat them down and for an hour, explained risk to them, in simple, everyday terms – nothing fancy, nothing technical, just plain common-sense. Both had light-bulb-above-the head moments and the area manager begged me to come and address all the managers in his cluster, in similar terms. I knew that many Afrikaans-speaking managers were having trouble with the concept, because it was never explained to them in simple, everyday terms. My simplified definition of risk was, “All the things which stop you from achieving your aim”.
EDENBURG & REDDERSBURG
I was reminded of these two tiny branches, while writing about risk at the branch above. At the time I went there, they were under the control of a single manager, as they were not far apart. I had the same problem with the young manager there. His take on the subject was that there was no risk attached to a lending which was fully secured. My retort was that he was a MANAGER not a pawnbroker ! His job was to assess our chances of getting our money repaid by assessing the strength of whatever enterprise he was lending to and when he had done that, he could take security to bolster our position.
The manager confessed that he was a bit hazy when it came to risk assessment, so we sat down and started talking about the risks attached to sheep farming. I soon discovered that he knew the subject well but did not realize that he had to talk about things like jackal proof fencing, drought etc and what the farmer planned to do should these risks materialize. I particularly emphasized veld fires and the destruction of grazing – did the farmer have a plan to cope with this exigency?
A month or two later, in windy August, I was watching TV news and heard that huge tracts of grazing had burnt down in both those districts. I couldn’t resist phoning the manager to find out what action he had taken and he had placed all the accounts affected in Category 2 so he could properly manage the “risk” which would now impact on his clients’ ability to repay. I felt so good. The guy now knew what risk was and how important it was to manage it.
BOSHOFF
This one is plain silly but I can’t resist including it. The teller, a most friendly and happy girl stopped at my table one day and seriously asked if I had heard about the hybrid animal which they had bred at the Pretoria Zoo. I was expecting something like a liger or a zonkey but nearly fell off my chair laughing when she announced, “Hulle noem dit ‘n oliebobbelikkekrokonosterfant” and before I could recover my breath, she announced that it only ate “Avocadopawpawnanas”. Yes folks, I am 76 but there’s still a big chunk of the schoolboy I was, left in here.
WALMER, PORT ELIZABETH
I was always happy to pay a visit to the old Walmer branch as it had a pleasant, hospitable staff and I had the opportunity to stay at the excellent Walmer Gardens Hotel. I’ve written about the branch elsewhere but I have just recalled one of my audits there during which I was witness to some delightful “customers” – DOGS. First was a tiny Maltese fluffball which was carried in and placed on the tellers’ counter, while the owner transacted with the teller. The little girl just ignored everyone around her and curled up and went to sleep. Her owner finished up and walked out, leaving her on the counter. She lifted her head and watched him walk out and then went back to sleep. The tellers assured me he always did this when he had other business to attend to in the shopping centre. The doggie knew the routine and was perfectly happy to wait there for him. (I also own Maltese and can attest to their intelligence)
Next was an Irish setter which used to walk in and go and stand at the enquiries counter, feet on the counter and bark for attention. The tellers and enquiries clerks often had treats and this fine fellow knew it. They would fuss over him whether they had a treat or not and satisfied, he would trot out again and continue on his rounds.
Then there was an old dog, possibly a Doberman cross who during summer would walk in and in the banking hall, scout around for the coolest spot, under the air conditioning vent, and with a huge sigh, turn around there a few times and go to sleep. People would step over him and around him but no-one would disturb him.
Then came the heavy security at branch entrances and the dogs could no longer do their rounds as before. Civilised and urbane doggies and maybe even little old ladies, are no longer welcome in the cold, regimented branches of today. Such a pity because I love dogs………..
RUSSELL ROAD, PORT ELIZABETH
This branch moved around the corner into Rink Street, before disappearing entirely. I still have fond memories of the old branch and its little upstairs pub. There were such friendly young ladies at the branch, who had no qualms about befriending one of the dreaded Inspectors. In particular I recall Colleen Knox who took pity on me and to my surprise and delight, brought me a flask of delicious homemade soup which her Mom had made. I love soup and you’d have a hard time improving on such an appreciated lunch, where I’m concerned. Colleen and I became friends thanks to her thoughtful gesture and it is a friendship which endures to this very day. I rated an invitation to her home and sampled more of her Mom’s fine cooking. In return I showed the two of them how to use a steamer to iron awkward clothes items! (I had been ironing and pressing my own clothes with a steamer for years so was an expert). It really was a pity more people didn’t extend their friendship to us in this way – life on the road was pretty lonely.
FORT BEAUFORT
I visited this branch twice. Stuck in my memory is an account by one of the young ladies on the staff of her abduction as a hostage by some bank robbers. Three robbers walked in and held up the branch, grabbed a considerable amount of cash and in order to bolster their getaway effort, grabbed this young lady as a hostage and took off up the road to Seymour at high speed. Some 20 km up the road, they stopped and transferred everything to another waiting car. Fearing the worst, the lady begged them not to kill her and one of them said, “Lady, we’re bank robbers not murderers. You’re free to take the car back to town”. Talk about gentlemanly robbers! She had never driven a car before but she was not hanging around there a minute longer in case they changed their minds so she somehow got the car going and drove it back to town. Some months later she got her driver’s licence – not many people manage to teach themselves to drive, that’s for sure. One has to admire her courage in the face of such terror and danger – she didn’t even get hysterical which might have been understandable.
I have more than a passing interest in U.F.O. lore and as you may have read elsewhere, had a sighting of my own in the early seventies. Fort Beaufort also had its moments of fame in the world press, when there were well documented sightings of UFOs by reliable witnesses, in the district. I remembered the stories vaguely from the press at the time and wondered if anyone had any more information on the incidents. I was put in touch with the curator of the little local museum who very kindly provided me with a host of newspaper clippings from the time. I still have those clippings and occasionally ponder those strange events.
Another bizarre story was told to me by Johan Nortier who at one time ran an agency out to Alice. On the way home, he was involved in a shocking collision which damn nearly wrote him off. Many weeks later when he had recovered from his injuries he went and had a look at the mangled wreck of the car. In it he spotted a grisly item – a bloody piece of bone which it was later determined had come from Johan’s shoulder. When I asked him what he had done with it, he pointed to that piece of bone then resting on his desk!
LINDLEY
I recall Lindley so well. The ladies of the branch, led by Maureen Grobbelaar, had an unusually good relationship with the pensioners from the township. On pension day, scores of little old ladies and gents would descend on the branch to deposit their meagre savings and quite remarkable was the kindness and patience those girls displayed to those old folk. They seemed to know the names of quite a few of them and even asked about their ailments and home circumstances. I was astonished and delighted. All these years later, I still feel pleasure at the reaction of those old people at being decently and sympathetically treated. What a pity such pockets of goodwill were not more widely spread across this troubled land of ours.
Arlington is a village near Lindley, where the bank had an agency. Sometime in the past the bank must have believed a town would arise at Arlington so a proper branch was opened there but whatever was anticipated never materialized so the building, which incorporated the manager’s house, was sold and the branch became an agency. I decided to sit and wait there one Monday morning, after a weekend at home in Ladybrand, to watch the teller’s security routines etc. Across the street, some massive grain elevator operators were hard at work filling up the silos and mealie dust was everywhere. After watching the teller arrive, I went in and had a look at the premises and I suddenly noticed a strange tickling sensation between my shoulder blades, while my chest was so tight I could barely breathe. I realized that I was having an asthma attack, something totally new to me and I made haste to a pharmacy in Lindley for antihistamines. That was the fastest I had ever driven in my Jetta and it was just as well I had rushed because I was really battling to breathe by the time I spoke to the pharmacist. I always carried antihistamines after that but never had another recurrence.
Lindley Hotel was a disgrace I’m afraid. I found that the wash basin in my room was blocked. The branch had some pretty drastic drain cleaner with the skull & crossbones on the label which I poured down the plughole and the next thing that happened was an evil smelling cloud of black “smoke” which came billowing out of that basin. This was at lunchtime and by the time I got back in the late afternoon, it was still bubbling fitfully. That night for supper I was offered a piece of rump steak as it was all they had but I went to bed hungry as even a steak knife made no impression on that tough meat. I sent it back virtually untouched and the manager came to see what was wrong. I sarcastically said that he shouldn’t cook tyres with so much tread still on them and I’m afraid he didn’t appreciate my caustic little joke. Well, I didn’t appreciate his crummy little hotel either and the next morning I checked out and went to stay in Petrus Steyn!
In a previous visit to Lindley, Colin Pape and I elected to stay in Clarens – a hefty but worthwhile daily trip. On a Wednesday afternoon, we were invited out to a farm where miniature horses were bred. I pictured them about the size of Shetland ponies but was startled to find that they were the size of big dogs. We were sitting having tea in the lounge when the farmer brought the tiny stallion in and there he patiently stood, while we all petted and stroked him. I have snaps of the occasion and we all look like giants next to the tiny horse.
KINGWILLIAMSTOWN
Despite my having visited this branch at least three times, I don’t recall very much about it. I did hear a story about one of my predecessors which I found amusing. Jack Simpson had completed the audit and the branch decided to give him and his team a send off with snacks and drinks. Among the snacks were tins of smoked oysters, open but with the loose lids still covering the contents for hygiene sake. Jack must have loved these delicacies (As I do too!) and when no-one was looking, he slipped a tin into his pocket, not realizing that the lid was no longer secure. Can you imagine the oily mess in his smart blazer’s pocket? Worse still how he must have felt when someone queried the huge oily patch which had formed on his pocket. I cringe at the thought of a senior auditor being caught at some petty pilfering – how do you ever live that down?
I know I had three audits at King, each one in a different building. The original building was old and hopelessly inadequate accommodation for the ever growing staff that worked there. Annexes had been tacked on over the years to no avail. Two auditors who needed tables strained the office unbearably. My next visit found the branch, with Willie van der Merwe at the helm, housed in a picturesque building which I think belonged to Protea Assurance, while the branch was being totally rebuilt. This temporary building had a bit more elbow room but was not purpose build as a bank so it had its drawbacks. A plus for me was the Kaffrarian Museum across the road which housed Huberta the Hippo (Stuffed), the famous animal that trekked all the way from Zululand to the Eastern Cape some 1600 km only to be shot by farmers near East London, despite having been declared “Royal Game”. The culprits were fined a paltry twenty five pounds.
I was also in charge of the next audit in the new premises which had been completed in the interim. Willie was understandably proud of the new office, where he had a spacious upstairs office on a mezzanine which overlooked the busy business area. I found a space up on the mezzanine as well and one morning I came in early, before the staff had arrived and I heard a senior lady, Muriel Moolman, asking for a pen so “I can sign off these darn people before the auditors get here and draw green crosses all over the attendance register”. I got up quietly and looked down on Muriel and said, “Too late Muriel, they’re already here.” I wish you could have seen that lady’s face. If you’re reading this Muriel, do let me know if I’ve made you blush again!
In charge of Forex was Ed Thackery (Sp.?) whose quiet, self effacing manner belied a keen mind. He knew his subject backwards, as so many bankers who found themselves a permanent job in this section did. I was amused when I saw some correspondence from India addressed to Mr Chackry. I couldn’t resist pulling his leg by addressing him in a faux Indian accent. His charming daughter Cherry was in charge of securities.
During my last visit there, I stayed at the revamped Grosvenor Hotel. Now people who know me probably don’t think of me as BIG – more likely COLOSSAL – so when I arrived in my room and saw the miniscule booth they called a shower, I headed back to reception to see if there was a room with a bath. There wasn’t so considerably disgruntled, I wedged myself into that claustrophobic space and “showered”. There was no bending down to soap lower regions and dropping the soap meant stopping, getting right out and picking up the soap. If you want my advice, only if you’re one of the 7 dwarfs must you patronize that hotel – the ablution facilities were designed for small people only.
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