Elsewhere in these reminiscences is mention of Mr Roberts’ Wartime exploits and I touched on what an awe-inspiring man he was. Let me expand and explain what he was like as an auditor and boss.
I was helping Dave Sharp at Howick branch and staying at the delightful old Hilton Hotel, a short distance away from the posh and ridiculously expensive Hilton High Boys School. The hotel building was old and looked for all the world like a medieval castle, complete with battlements along one edge. The rooms were comfortable and the cuisine superb and I was as happy as a sandboy, as was Dave of course.
After Howick, I was set to join Wilf Roberts’ team in Pietermaritzburg and as it just a short drive down Field’s Hill from Hilton to town, I decided to extend my booking at the hotel and drove down to meet my new comrades outside the Camden Hotel in town. I was well received by an upbeat Wilf and introduced to my fellows, whose names I no longer recall. They were all staying at the Camden and Wilf in passing said, “By the way Mr Lyle (ALWAYS Mister, no matter what your rank – no Christian names) we’ve made a booking for you at the Camden”. Taken aback, I piped up and exclaimed’ “I’ll have to cancel it Mr Roberts because I’m already staying at the Hilton.” WELL!! That was my first big mistake because he frowned and said that he preferred us all to stay at the same hotel. My second mistake was digging in my heels and sticking to my guns. “I really would prefer Hilton, if you don’t mind Mr Roberts”. Needless to say he minded …. a lot and he said not another word to me, as we started the branch.
Evidence that he was gunning for me came the next day, when I did the tick-off of the Bill Department balancing. Coming from a rural branch environment things like letters of credit, bills of lading etc were foreign to me – frankly, I had no inkling of what I was ticking off! I was handed a balance list headed “Documents Surrendered” with a bunch of figures on and some documents to tick from but believe me folks, I did not know what documents surrendered were and wanted that problem off my desk quickly. (To explain to the uninitiated - which I was then - It is when you release shipping documents of title to a cargo, without first obtaining payment from the consignee. Generally it is only done for large, trusted firms but is regarded as a potential liability for which provisional entries are passed ……… well gee, I sure HOPE that’s what it was) I took my sheaf of balance lists to Mr Roberts and quietly slid them onto his table. He was getting the credit audit underway and ignored me.
Half an hour later, a raging bull attacked me! Bellowing at me, Wilf slammed the documents surrendered list on my table, demanding what it was. I meekly replied, “Documents surrendered, Mr Roberts”. “What the hell can I do with this rubbish” he demanded, “get upstairs and get customer names next to the amounts”. I was so intimidated that I flew up the stairs, three at a time to get to the Bill Department to add the names which they so “stupidly” had omitted and was back in a flash. No more was said but cheeky John Lyle had been put in his place and Wilf’s world was on even keel again.
At Smith Street East I was having problems getting the average overdraft interest rate (An audit tool to highlight possible problems), to come into line with the prime rate of 13,5% current at the time. As most clients attracted rates well in excess of 13,5% one would expect an average rate also in excess of 13,5% but no, it was closer to 13% than what was expected. I checked every computer printout for handworked errors, re-extracted average balances and generally stood on my head to solve the problem but failed miserably. Then, with a good deal of trepidation I took my problem to Mr Roberts who immediately blew up like a packet of crackers. “Mr LYLE, GET BACK TO YOUR DESK AND DO YOUR JOB PROPERLY. THERE MUST BE A MISTAKE AND YOU MUST FIND IT”. I fiddled around with the figures, hoping they might miraculously jump into line somehow but no luck. In a funk, I sought Mr John Gelling, the manager’s advice and to my relief, he came up with the answer. More than 80% of their total advances were for some really large firms, for whom interest rates 1% below prime had been extended and it was obvious this would naturally bring the average down. Happily I trotted back to Wilf’s table and presented the “solution” but was aghast when he labeled it a load of rubbish and once more sent me packing. I’ve never been closer to tears than on that occasion.
Just then, John Gelling, who had heard my demolition taking place, came to my rescue saying, “No no Mr Roberts. Mr Lyle is correct”. By now Wilf was in a towering rage and he blasted poor Gelling right out of the water. “Mr Gelling, a manager of your seniority should know better than to talk such rubbish”. Totally chastened, Gelling scuttled back into his office hastily, leaving Wilf to fume. (Years later I met Gelling again in Port Elizabeth and we had a good chuckle about the blasting we had received). A few hours later, I went cold when Mr Robert’s shadow fell on my desk but sighed with relief, when he quite affably agreed with our explanation. No apology, nothing pansyish like that. You’d have been quite insane to expect an apology.
A youngster from a nearby branch who obviously felt he was “in” with the old man, phoned him one day and said : “Mr Roberts, our customer wanted to give his wife full signing authority on his account, so I completed a Form 16b but unfortunately forgot to get him to sign the form. Would it be in order if I photocopied his signature card and pasted the copy on the form in lieu of a signature?” That youngster will probably remember that harangue until he dies. I just heard, “Mr X, who do you think you are wasting my time with such rubbish etc etc” and I shrunk down in my chair so as not to attract his attention. He slammed the phone down and as he walked past my desk I heard him mutter, “I really thought young X had more sense than to ask a stupid question like that”.
I often saw Wilf angry and eventually realized that his leg with the shrapnel in it had to be paining him at such times. But his worst outburst came in Florida Road branch one morning. The mail had arrived and the accountant delegated opening the envelopes to a young female staff member, as he was otherwise occupied. She dutifully opened every single envelope and stacked the contents in the basket. Our private mail always travelled in the head office envelope in those days, as did anything from our Division. Our movement advices were always in little orange envelopes marked. “STRICTLY PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL. The little girl obviously did not notice one envelope was addressed to MR W.A. ROBERTS – it was a movement advice. It said, “When you have completed your current audit, please audit Berea Road Branch utilizing the same team.”
As luck would have it, Wilf happened to be passing the accountant’s desk and caught sight of that fateful memo, lying right on top of the pile. The explosion that followed was frightening. He verbally attacked the girl, accusing her of opening his mail on purpose and promising to get her fired. It actually looked as if he was going to hit her! He stormed out to where we were working and ordered us to pack up because we were just going to drop Florida Road and go and start Berea Road. The element of surprise had to be maintained and he threatened dire consequences should anyone have the nerve to phone Berea Road. Berea Road’s management was rather surprised to see us I must say, because it was in the middle of the day and back then, it was customary for auditors to walk in dead on closing time. Back at Florida Road, the young girl was really put out for having been so severely reprimanded for just doing what she was told. Luckily for her, she didn’t seek an apology from Wilf.
Mind you, this may not have been the angriest I had seen him. While at Pietermaritzburg branch he happened to be passing a strongroom where agency tellers were buckling on their firearms and collecting their cash canisters. As he glanced in, one of the tellers called to his buddy across the strongroom, “Here’s your gun Fred” and lobbed the loaded revolver, belt and holster to him. WELL! Some of our team who were working upstairs could hear Wilf berating the foolish young teller. I’m sure the soldier in him would have packed the fellow off to DB if it could but he had to be satisfied with a massive exception, suitably amplified to emphasize the gravity of the crime. Has anyone noticed that his initials were W.A.R.?
While I was in Durban, the external auditors approached our Chief, Mr John Holding, to introduce a scientific method of sampling into our programme. Mr Roberts went off to Johannesburg where he was introduced to “Statistical Sampling” and when he got back, he dumped his lecture notes on my desk and said we should go ahead and do a trial run. If he knew what it was all about, he sure didn’t let on, nor did he do anything to enlighten us. I scanned the notes and came away with just a rough idea of what to do. We were doing Glenwood at the time and I told Wilf I would examine fixed deposits in full and then apply the magic formula to the same section and repeat the exercise. The old way took a day. Sampling produced far less items to look at but as a full audit trail had to be undertaken for each item, the exercise took a full week! Wilf was not much given to lighthearted banter but he sniggered every time he saw me and asked “How are things out there on the audit trail Jungle Jim”. I wasn’t amused and I decided that if this was how audits would be done in future, I would rather go back to a branch. Johburg tried hard to get us to start introducing the system but no-one ever did, to the best of my knowledge. I was Jungle Jim for a while then Wilf tired of that joke.
As tough as Mr Roberts was at work, he was a super, approachable guy after work. Friday nights were “Committee Meeting” nights in Durban and anyone in Durban was obliged to attend them, whether you were thirsty or not. The term was a euphemism for sinking a few ales. The Indian barmen at the Ulundi Bar at the Royal Hotel knew our standard order : 5 Castles and 1 Funny Beer (Wilf could never remember the name Hansa). I remember those evenings with much affection, as the chaps usually behaved themselves and the pub was mere steps away from my bus stop.
However, I say usually but not always. One Friday evening someone from LHO joined our party and a spirited argument broke out between Wilf and the bloke about … who knows what! The rest of us stood around watching the action, quaffing ale after ale until nearly 9 o’clock. We said goodnight to Wilf and went around the back to the Royal carpark for our car. We came round the block, back into Smith Street and who should we spy, bracing himself against a pole before setting off unsteadily to the next pole, but Wilf. We pulled up next to him and offered him a lift to his hotel, the Astra, some blocks further up but he crossly waved us away. We parked some distance behind him and just sat watching his progress or rather, his serious lack of it. The night air had knocked the stuffing out of Wilf and he was quite definitely DRUNK!
Every so often we’d move up closer to him to wait and, let’s be honest, chortle quite a bit. All of a sudden he turned round and stumbled to our car and without saying a word, got in. We kept quiet too. We dropped him off outside the Astra and all he said was, “Goodnight chaps” and off he went. The subject was never raised again, especially not in his presence.
He was generous to a fault and it was well nigh impossible to pay for a round when he was in attendance but a really brave member of the crew confronted him and gently warned that we would cease drinking with him, if we were not allowed to pay. He was actually shamefaced and embarrassed and the problem never arose again.
Mr Roberts had one pastime which he would pursue with enthusiasm – he enjoyed horseracing. Wednesday afternoons and Saturdays were reserved for Greyville, where he always had tickets for the Gold Ring pavilion (Courtesy of some of the bank tellers who earned a bit of pocket money working at the tote). He loved company and one of our number, Aubrey Maclou, who was a keen punter too, mostly used to accompany him. But on one Saturday, Aubrey was away and Wilf asked if I’d like to go to the races. I knew absolutely zilch about horseracing but Wilf insisted that a visit to Greyville would be educational.
Right away, when we were awaiting the start of the first race around midday, I realized that he just enjoyed the sport and by his modest bets saw that he didn’t have a gambling problem. I started betting a Rand or two myself and realized that it was fun and exciting, even when trifling amounts were involved. But there was an aspect of the sport I had not anticipated or budgeted for – Wilf insisted on adjourning to the pub between races for a Castle. Standing around watching horses run was a thirsty business. I was quite happy to join him at first but then I realized he had every intention of having a beer after EVERY race and there were 9 races on the day. Two or sometimes three beers were as much as I could cope with in those days so as the day drew on I found myself struggling to keep up and indeed, stand up!
By the end of the race meeting, I was pretty unsteady and a hefty headache was brewing. I had won a bit but had lost an equal amount and Wilf was satisfied that I had completed my racing education successfully. I was dog-tired and already hungover but Mr Roberts was still fresh as a daisy. Boy, that old guy was tough.
Mr Roberts had a rather straitlaced moral attitude. He had lost his wife some time prior to him joining audit and from the way he spoke, he missed her a lot. But his belief was that once a man married a woman in Church, the contract was for life and beyond. He did not believe that divorce was an option and felt that you were married to a woman until you died, no matter if she had preceded you. Widows and widowers were simply not free to remarry either. He severely disapproved of divorced people who he believed, were living in sin if they remarried. Privately we thought this view ridiculously severe and after a few beers would argue with Wilf about it, but he would never concede. To crown things, one of our number, Alan Thompson, had started taking out a divorcee, much to Wilf’s disgust and he was clearly disturbed by Alan’s “loose morals”. Try as he may, he could not get Alan to see his point of view and if my memory serves me correctly Alan eventually married the lady.
He and Mike de Villiers were good friends and actually toured Europe and the British Isles together. There were some amusing stories about those times too but I don’t seem to have them in my head anymore – such a pity. When I was appointed as Internal Auditor, Wilf had retired but Mike apparently showed him my first report. He said that Wilf chuckled delightedly while reading it and seemed happy with my progress. I was pretty chuffed about his approval.
So there you have Mr W.A. Roberts – full of contrasts and contradictions. Sure we feared him but we respected and loved him too. You just don’t find strong leaders like him anymore, mores the pity.
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