UNIONDALE
The branch was in a quaint old building, which, because it was on a steep slope, was on two levels. The manager’s house was also in the same building. The actual office was unbearably cramped and in summer when I went there, also stiflingly hot. It was odd because there was an air conditioner going full blast if the office but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the temperature. Then I realized why – the strongroom, bookroom and stationery rooms were in the basement downstairs and all the cold air was going straight down those stairs. I made one of my best decisions ever – I elected to work down in the basement where the cleaner normally worked. It was quiet and blissfully cool down there, so much so that in the lunch hour I would open out a couple of boxes on the floor and using coin bags from the stationery room as a pillow, would have that most civilized of pastimes, a siesta!
A door through the back wall of the branch led into the house which the manager occupied. A former manager told me that he awoke one night to hear heavy footsteps coming down the passageway, which stopped right outside his bedroom door. Thinking that they were being burgled, he crept up to the door and flung it open to be confronted by ……. nothing! It was the only time while he was living in that house that he had had such an unnerving experience but he was adamant that it was a pair of hobnailed boots that he had heard. Perhaps earlier or later occupants of the house are reading this now and can relate or debunk a haunting. Please drop us a line if you stayed there.
UITENHAGE
My first visit to Uitenhage happened in 1980. I was in Tsumeb when Johannesburg ordered me to assist Charles Bailey at Uitenhage. That was in that era of fuel shortages when we had drastic speed restrictions and no petrol over week-ends or at night. I left Tsumeb on a Thursday and only arrived at Uitenhage on the following Wednesday! It was my longest single trip – nearly 2500 Km.
The manager of Uitenhage was Pollie Pollard, a real character but a sound manager. We’re all guilty of a bout of colourful language in heated moments I think but Pollie’s conversations were peppered with profanities all the time, irrespective of who his audience might be. He would have made a sailor blush to put it mildly and I cringed when he potty-mouthed in front of the ladies in his office. Off colour jokes abounded when he was about but I guess they had grown used to him because nobody even flinched. He had a good command of written English but his correspondence with Local Head Office, while not profane, was pretty eccentric at times too but I think they were all used to him and didn’t take offence.
The office was well run and was fortunate in having a solid core of people who took pride in their work. For example, the savings department under the control of a senior lady called Thora McKay could not be faulted which is an almost impossible achievement. More than a decade later I returned to the branch to find that hardcore of dedicated staff still intact and still delivering sterling work.
The branch had a pair of retired Railwaymen who acted as messengers. I arrived at work on a cold, blustery and overcast day and upon greeting these two chaps, commented in passing that it was a real pancake day. Imagine my surprise and pleasure when my ten o’ clock tea was accompanied by some really delicious savoury pancakes. One of the old chaps had shot off home and got his missus to cook up some pancakes as only a “boeretannie” could do. I hope he realized how touching and welcome his gesture was and had passed our heartfelt thanks to his lady. I’ll never forget that.
SOMERSET EAST
The town had two hotels from which to choose and Mike de Villiers and I opted for the Royal. It was no wonder that David Kramer wrote a song about “Die Royal Hotel” because many a small town in South Africa had one sometime in its history. Mike was fond of his Castle and soon was quaffing the first of many at the bar. When we were having supper on the first night, Mike spotted an upright piano in the corner of the lounge and after supper, asked the owner if he could play it for a while. Mike really was a talented pianist and the next thing the owner had persuaded Mike to play in the pub and moved the piano thence. Mike was in his element: he had an appreciative audience, plenty of beer and just sat and played until closing time. Singsongs were inevitable and sometimes, long after I had switched off my bedside light and turned in, I could still hear sounds of merriment floating up from the pub. I think that owner was very sad to see Mike leave because his bar sales must have picked up quite a bit while he had Mike as entertainment.
To add to Mike’s delight, the manager of the branch was also a pianist and an organist. When Mike wasn’t doing his turn in the pub, he would be at the manager’s house where he and the manager would play duets - Mike on piano and the manager on organ. Unfortunately the silly chap had written off some bad debts to P. & L. irregularly and Mike picked it up. It wasn’t so much what he had done which upset Mike – it was the fact that the chap lied to him when questioned about the transactions. Off went a special report and down the drain went a pleasant friendship.
VANDERBYLPARK
I have no idea if this town is still one of the centres of the steel industry but it sure was when we went there. There was only one hotel in town which was insanely busy and we were lucky to find accommodation during the first week. We all went home for the weekend, booking ahead to ensure we had a bed on our return so imagine our dismay when we returned to find that our bookings had been given to a group of metallurgists from Japan. I was mad as snakes and simply got into my car and took the first road out I found, in the smoky, winter dusk. This took me to ultra smelly Sasolburg where to my surprise I found a decent hotel, with plenty of room. How people manage to live in that town I’ll never know because the caustic smells from the various chemical plants penetrated everywhere. The constant miasma even made sleeping difficult. However, I must have become accustomed to the pollution because I stayed there for the full audit of Vanderbylpark.
The branch had a number of tellers with undercounter safes. As was usual during an audit, they were told to change their numbers. I uplifted their old numbers from safe custody and laid them out on my table. Every single combination had 19 as the third number which immediately indicated to me that the tellers were using their birthdates as combinations. Before we got down to new combinations I asked them why they were using their birthdates and was told that a senior teller had recommended that they did so as it was easier to remember. I then asked if it hadn’t occurred to them that she now knew ALL their combinations and could clean them out at her leisure. Just for safety sake, I checked those new combinations using the birthdates I had gathered from the teller’s leave cards, in case a foolish teller had taken a chance and not changed the number.
The lunch-room was upstairs and right in the middle of the floor stood a blanket covered bed with a pillow. I was a little bemused for a while and then understood when the manager walked in and without any further ado, lay down on the bed and went to sleep. I was amazed because the room had a constant flow of people coming and going and a high level of noise from all the chatting going on. He must have been an old soldier if his ability to drop off in the heat of a “battle” was anything to go by!
MIDDELBURG, Cape
Elsewhere I’ve written about UFO sightings in and near the town but the ladies of the branch would never forgive me if I don’t at least mention them somewhere too. They were such a pleasant team I was quite sad when I had to pack up and leave. So then, Ronelle, Tessie, Michelle, Eileen and Marlene, I STILL have the photo you all gave me of your group. I suppose you’re all grannies now – eish! (Sadly I believe Ann-Marie who is also on the photo, passed away some years ago.) You made my job and stay a pleasure and I’ll always think about that audit with much affection.
Middelburg was the hometown of well known singer, Laurike Rauch and she popped into the branch while I was there. The girls were delighted to have a celebrity in their midst and they crowded round her for autographs. She happened to have some cassettes of her music in her capacious bag and for a while, did brisk business. Bit of a cheek I guess but the girls were delighted to have signed copies.
My old friend and colleague, Francois Booysen was assisting Bob Bullock and me during my second audit there. In case you don’t already know, I’m a pretty big bloke and Francois was too. His wife at the time was concerned about his health and wanted him to cut down on his calories so she had packed what she thought was a healthy lunch for him. This consisted of a pack of matzos and a round of Nestle processed cheese wedges and it was meant to last him for the entire week. Bob and I noticed Francois was not in a good mood and come lunchtime, he disappeared from the office for half an hour. When he returned, his mood had much improved and we wondered where he had been. Turns out he’d been out to the café for a couple of good, solid hamburgers and when we asked what had happened to his “packed lunches” he revealed that he had scoffed the lot long before lunch time! He muttered something about no-one could be expected to live on the rations his wife had packed and smiled sheepishly as Bob and I laughed heartily.
ADDO
I arrived at the branch well before opening time, thinking I could quickly get the cash checks off my hands before the doors opened. Apart from the branch teller, there was an agency teller to check as well. I was champing at the bit by 8.30 when neither of the tellers had shown up. I knew Peter and Diegs from other branches and knew they were no angels but at least they always turned up for work. Come 9 o clock, still no tellers and I was mad as could be. Then came a phone call to say they had been arrested for drunken driving the previous evening and had only now made bail but were on their way. I was no choirboy myself when I was young and boys will be boys, but those two guys really incurred my wrath that day. I was all for firing them but luckily for them I eventually cooled down.
Addo is an oddity. There is no real laid out town to speak of – just a number of Government buildings, a shop or two and the bank property, which included the manager’s house and single quarters. Darlington Dam (Formerly Lake Mentz) which is ultimately supplied from the Gariep Dam via the Oviston Tunnel is the source of water for the farms which adjoin the Sundays River. Citrus farming is the main activity and much of the crop is exported. Nearby of course, is the world famous Addo Elephant Park which I have yet to visit.
PATENSIE
The tiny town of Patensie was a favourite of mine. During the years I made Port Elizabeth my home, my wife and I would often drive out to the Kouga Dam, which lies a score of Km further up the Gamtoos Valley, sometimes to stay in the chalets which were available there for a day or two or just for the day to have a picnic and braai some meat in the little park at the foot of the dam. The dam backs up into the Baviaanskloof Nature Reserve, an unspoiled wilderness area with sketchy roads suitable only for 4 x 4 vehicles. The bush around the dam is very dense and teems with wildlife – if one is lucky one might hear baboons coughing up in the mountain and even the rumble of a solitary leopard. I loved the eerie call of a lone Burchell’s coucal at dusk in that bush – a beautiful call from a magnificent bird.
The valley downstream from the dam has vegetable farms aplenty, while extensive citrus plantations are everywhere to be seen. I stayed at home in Port Elizabeth and travelled to the town every day – not a chore at all along that pleasantly scenic route. Quite often I would be asked for my car keys and later find that a variety of whatever vegetables or fruit which were in season had been placed in my boot. Such a pleasure.
Up a side valley leading off from the Gamtoos, lie some of the finest naartjie growing farms in the whole country. Right at the end of the valley was a packing facility, where the most magnificent fruit was packed for export as well as for the local market. The valley is unique in that it produces fruit when the season is already over in the rest of the country. The son in law of the owner, Marius Kleyn, used to work in the bank so he showed us around the fascinating computerized packhouse. Naartjies were sorted by video cameras and computers at an amazing speed. And needless to say, I took home a generous supply of the most divine naartjies I’ve ever encountered.
KIMBERLEY
I like the town of Kimberley. It is an interesting place with some really “wild west” history which is well worth looking into. Bush Morley and I tackled the branch with an auditor from the Cape whose surname I have somehow forgotten but I think his name was Ken. I think most bank clerks would admit to enjoying a drop of something or a beer but few would admit to what Ken imbibed. Without being prompted, he told me that after work he would settle down in the pub and drink about half a bottle of whisky. He always had his supper sent to his room and with it always had to be a half jack of whisky and a bucket of ice. He would have his supper (Somehow!) and lull himself to sleep with some liberal nightcaps. He seemed proud of this extraordinary daily routine but I can’t say I was impressed. Amazed might be a better word – with that kind of liquor intake, he should have been dead!
One of the ladies at the branch had a shock one day when serving a customer. “Bokkie” was in charge of foreign exchange and an American who wanted to encash travellers’ cheques was shown to her cubicle. She said that he looked vaguely familiar but it was a while into the transaction before she suddenly realized that she was dealing with Brad Pitt. (I might have the wrong name here – Bokkie, please correct me if necessary if you happen to read this). He was in the country somewhere shooting scenes from some movie or other and needed some cash. Normally unflappable Bokkie suddenly turned into a stuttering, giggling schoolgirl but Brad good naturedly put her at her ease and Bokkie was left with an indelible memory.
A chap at the branch, young Anthony Mouton, was in charge of deposit accounts and when I asked for the record cards for these accounts, he dumped the cards with their severely stapled copies of everything on my desk and walked off. I took the first one but had to remove at least a score of staples before I could start to check it. Looking at the pile ahead of me, I realized I’d take hours just to gain access to what I wanted to see, so I took the whole mess and dumped it on his desk, instructing him to remove all the staples before bringing them back to me. It took him hours to complete that task and he ended up with enough bent and twisted staples to start a flippin’ scrap yard! Today Anthony is a grandfather but he ruefully admits that he’ll never forget me for that awful task that I handed him. Ag sorry Anthony – it was better than an exception I’m sure.
I went to Kimberley branch at least three times over the years and the last time, I stayed at the excellent Savoy Hotel. A Jewish couple owned and ran the hotel . The quality of the hotel, cuisine and hospitality were of the highest order – I was treated like a V.I.P. When it comes to running a business and giving top value for money, you simply can’t do better than Jewish folk.
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