Twenty Years

By Neil Parker

‘If
you do read on from here, then I hope at least a few of the stories will make
you smile...’

From Neil Parker’s Foreword to Twenty Years

Covering the mid-1970s to the mid-1990s, Neil Parker’s workplace stories offer a time capsule of changing attitudes – along with some things that never change. Tales of politics, both office and sexual, jostle with anecdotes about strange colleagues and stranger customers, fast friendships and brief encounters, and the fun to be had both after work and when the manager wasn’t looking.

Told with a
captivating honesty and humility, Neil’s revealing memoir shows a sharp eye for
his own as well as others’ foibles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463405031

Neil Parker

Neil Parker is a child of the 1960s. He has had a long and varied working career for the past 40 years, mostly in Logistics. He is married to his second wife and has two children.

Book preview

Foreword

My name is Neil. I was born in Rotherham, South Yorkshire in 1960. I have two sisters, one older and one younger. A father that, for as long as I knew him, had an alcohol problem and a mother that, as her life went on, seemed to me to get more and more unhappy and bitter about what life had offered her. Because of work issues with my dad, the family moved to London in 1967. In 1972, I had my appendix removed, which left me with a sizeable scar on my abdomen.

I did well at school and was good at sport, played in the football team, captained the cricket team; I was, very briefly, on the cross-country team and represented the school in both athletics and swimming. But on reflection, I don’t think my sporting abilities were particularly out of the ordinary. This, however, is not the story of my childhood or school days; maybe I will write about that one day, but for now, this is about my working life and a few events outside that affected work. When I started work, I lived with my parents and younger sister on a new estate just off the North Circular Road in London NW10.

During all our working life, we encounter many people and situations that are funny, scary or strange. Not sure whether my story is very much different from yours or anyone else’s, but I decided to put down on paper, before I get too old to remember some of the things that have happened to me, or that I have seen happen. I don’t set out to make myself look good or anyone else look bad in my story and because of this, I have changed most of the names so as not to cause any offence. Some of the anecdotes may seem to be in a muddled order but whilst I remember them clearly, I am not certain of the correct chronology and hope that they are interesting enough that the order doesn’t matter too much.

I never thought that anyone would get to read this but just the exercise of putting my memories down in black and white has proved to be an entertaining and enjoyable venture for me. If you do read on from here, then I hope at least a few of the stories will make you smile…

Chapter 1

July 1976 – November 1978

It was a very strange feeling walking out of school for the last time. If I expected a fanfare and a line of teachers waiting to pat me on the back and wish me luck in my future, then I was to be disappointed. After my last O level exam, I simply had to hand back all my text books and get the teachers to sign to confirm I had returned them. Then hand in the completed form to the school secretary and I was done. I walked out of the main entrance of Willesden High school in London NW10 on Wednesday 14th July 1976; no fanfare, no marching band, just me, into the sunshine of a hot afternoon. I didn’t look back. In fact, I didn’t go back until 35 years later, but that’s a story for another time.

During the winter of 1975-76, I had applied to all four of the major banks: Barclays, Lloyds, Midland and NatWest. I hadn’t known what I wanted to do after school. I just knew that I had had enough of education and needed to get out into the world. I was good at maths and, for some reason, thought that banking would be a good option. Back in the mid-1970s, jobs were not that hard to come by and each of the four banks invited me along for interview. I had the interviews with three of them and as I had been offered jobs by all three of them before interview number four, I cancelled that one. The first job I was offered was with Lloyds; I accepted. I did reply to both Barclays and Midland thanking them for their offers but I went with Lloyds. Who knows how different life would have been if I had chosen a different bank?

At some point in June, I had received a letter from Lloyds telling me to report to their Kilburn and Brondesbury branch (London NW6) on Monday 19th July. After a summer holiday of precisely four days, my working life began.

Lloyds Bank Kilburn and Brondesbury NW6, July 1976 – February 1978

There I was, four or five weeks short of my sixteenth birthday, in my grey three-piece suit and newly-polished black shoes, long blonde hair, washed and combed in a vain attempt to straighten the waves, arriving at the enquiry counter of the bank and ringing the bell. I was met by one of the junior clerks, I don’t recall which one, and let in…

I was the new junior clerk working in the back office with a group of five girls and a female supervisor. Janet was the supervisor and, as I came to discover later, a bit of a man-eater (I was far too young for her though, luckily). Then there was Colleen, Anna and Steph. Another of the girls was on holiday and so it was a week or two before I met her. Strangely, it is that other girl, Marie (a friendly Irish girl with ginger hair) that I am still in touch with all these years later. My first job was bank statements. Long before the days of the internet and emails, every day a batch of paper statements would come in from the head office. It was my job to separate the two copies, file back the ‘blue’ copy, then envelope and post the white copy out to the customers. It was boring but easy. I had another, far more important job. Every day I had to take everyone’s order and go down the road to the local bakery to get everyone their mid-morning snack. I bought sandwiches, rolls, cakes and, for myself, a sausage roll – five days a week; this was not lunch, merely something to eat with a mid-morning cup of tea. On my first day, I think I weighed about 9 stones (57 kg). By the time I moved on to my next branch eighteen months later, I weighed around 11 stones (70 kg). This was mostly down to sausage rolls (but perhaps beer had a bit to do with it too).

The job itself was easy. I had learned a few other things; encoding cheques and totalling credit slips. But I found them all simple. In fact, it was so easy that after only three or four weeks in the branch, I was considered trained enough to go out to another branch to help them because several of their staff were off sick. So, for one week, I worked at High Street Edgware branch. All I remember about it was that the adding machine was so old, it still had dinosaur droppings on it and the place was almost always empty. The significant event that occurred while I was there, though, was pay day. I got a call from Janet, the supervisor from Kilburn, who phoned me to tell me how much had gone into my account. My wages for the first month were £103.43. I thought I was rich! On my way home, I stopped at a record shop and bought a couple of LPs; we didn’t call them albums back in those days, and they were vinyl. At the end of the week, I was all set to go back to Kilburn when I got a call from Janet asking me if I would spend the next week in Stanmore Branch. I said why not, and so I turned up there on Monday morning and did a week there. Again, I don’t remember much about Stanmore except that it was busy, and I was there late (after 5pm) most nights. I also remember there was a girl there that I liked; her name was Jane, and she was a bit older than me. I had just turned sixteen but of course as with most of my early crushes, at school and after, she had a boyfriend. As I was only there for a week, the crush didn’t last. But eventually, the long week ended and I went back to Kilburn.

There were several characters in the branch at Kilburn and in truth, it was one of them that unknowingly shaped my future career. The head cashier, a guy called Vernon Posey. I guess he was about 45 or so at the time. He had been in the bank since he left school and was, quite frankly, mental. So much so, that looking at him, I decided never to stay in one place for too long and get like he was. How was he mental? Well, apart from talking to himself the whole day long (very off putting much later when I first became a cashier myself), he was incredibly rude to the customers and seemed to be personally offended if a customer dared to disturb his personal chit chat. Then, at the end of the day when we closed, he would sing whilst balancing his stock. He gave me a lift home from work once and proudly explained his money saving scheme to me. I was sixteen and just wanted to get home so I could get changed and go to the pub! Anyway, Vernon explained that to save money on desserts, he would buy cheap vanilla ice cream, and then add it to boiling water to make cheap custard. It must have tasted vile, I don’t know because, despite having had this recipe for years, I have never tried it.

One of the more senior clerks in the bank was an Irish woman called Mary McDermott; she was also a bit mad, she didn’t like Vernon at all. Mainly because her position was directly behind his till and she had to contend with him chuntering away all day. In those days, the clerks had a small sign above their till showing their name. Mary very neatly made a ‘D’ out of card one day and stuck it over the ‘P’ in Vernon’s surname. It took him most of the day to figure out why his customers all seemed happy, grinning at him and smirking, more than the usual grunts anyway. Vernon was not at all impressed when he eventually discovered the change to his name plate. We all knew it was Mary but no one let on. Another time Mary was fed up with Vernon’s singing; at the time, he loved the Helen Reddy song Ruby Red Dress and would sing it, out of tune, every afternoon once we were closed. One morning, Mary somehow managed to tape a sign to the back of Vernon’s jumper that said: ‘I am Ruby Red Dress – Leave Me Alone’. It was on his back all day, all his customers saw it every time he turned around and as far as I know, Vernon’s wife pointed it out to him that evening when he took his coat off.

The other permanent cashier was called Penny Legg. She lived in a flat above the bank. Of course, she was late every day. Back then, we all had to sign in and out in a big ledger. Every day at 9:00, the Sub Manager drew a line in red under the last name in the book. If you came in after that, you had to sign below the red line. Penny’s name was below the red line almost every day. But I don’t think anyone ever said anything to her about it. Penny was good fun and popular with the customers, very different to Vernon. Now Mary was full of tricks and jokes. The Sub Manager was a weaselly little man called Len Wilton. He was about 50, short, with little legs that moved so fast, if you stuck a bit of sand paper to each one, he could have started a fire. He always seemed unhappy, and did not like anyone appearing to have fun. On Christmas Eve when we closed at 12:30, there was a small party for the staff. These were always eventful. My first year, just before he left to catch his train, Mary managed to attach a long piece of silver tinsel to the back of Mr Wilton’s suit jacket. He admitted after the holidays that he was flattered that a young woman sitting opposite him on the train home smiled at him, until he got off and realised she had been grinning at the piece of tinsel hanging down between his legs. I think he saw the funny side, but that is probably because he was afraid of Mary; she did have a temper.

In the securities department were the two Johns, Richards and French. John Richards was a nice guy, very quiet and nice to talk to. John French, on the other hand, was not. He saw himself very much as a lady’s man; I am sure I saw at least one of the girl’s skin crawling when he was leering at them. Now I am not saying I did not look at them too, but I did it in a cute, boyish way. John French’s favourite story and what he considered his claim to fame happened one day shortly before I started.

Our staff room was up on the first floor, but the little kitchen was on the ground floor. This meant that when you went to lunch, if you wanted tea or coffee, you made it there and took it up. One day, Colleen (another Irish girl) made her tea and was walking carefully up the stairs, directly behind John. Remember, it was the mid-seventies and all the girls were wearing platform shoes. Evidently, Colleen tripped on the stairs and instinctively put out her free hand (tea cup in the other one) to stop herself from falling. The only thing to grab was John French’s belt, which she did, but this did not stop her and, as she fell, Colleen managed to pull down his trousers. Apparently, he was wearing flowery underpants. Colleen was mortified and her pale skin went the colour of beetroot. John, once he had adjusted his dress, was full of it and told everyone that the girls in the branch couldn’t get enough of him.

I had my own run in with Mr French sometime later. It was a Friday and I had arranged to go out with my friends in the evening. As we were normally finished with all the work by four-thirty, in the morning I had asked the supervisor, Janet, if I could go early. She said no problem. Unfortunately, there was some kind of issue – I don’t remember what – but it looked like the work was going to take longer to complete. At about four, I asked Janet if she wanted me to stay and help but she said not to worry, the others would cope and I should go at half past as arranged. Both, the manager Mr Graham and Mr Wilton the sub manager, were either away or out, so technically, John French was in charge of the branch. He came into the back room just as I was getting my jacket to go.

Where are you going? he asked me. I told him that I had arranged with Janet that I could go and she had said it was still okay. He wasn’t having that and demanded that I stay until the work was finished. I don’t remember my exact response but it was along the lines of it’s all been arranged and has got nothing to do with you so I am going. He got very red in the face and said if I left, he would report me to Mr Graham and I would have to face the consequences. I said Okay, you do that, but unless you are going to stand in front of the door, you cannot stop me from going, so I am going. I will admit that on Monday morning I was a bit worried, especially when, as soon as he came in, John French rushed in to the Manager’s office. Sure enough, a few minutes later, I was summoned to the office. Now Mr Graham was not your typical bank manager; if you saw him in the street, you would guess that he was a farmer. He dressed the part; he wore a smart suit, but on him it looked like the suit was wrapped around a bag of potatoes tied in the middle with string. His hair was wild and wiry, and he just looked like he could do with a good scrub down. But having said that, he was very sharp and knew his job inside out. So, once sitting in the office, he asked me what had happened on Friday afternoon. I told him what had been agreed by Janet and that I was going out. He then seemed more interested in where I had gone and what my friends and I had got up to than the incident itself. In the end, he just told me not to worry about John French and go back to work. John was then called in to the Manager’s office. He was very quiet after that, not talking to me for a couple of days. Apparently, he was told by Mr Graham not to show off in front of the girls by trying to bully the new boy and that I was right to stand up for myself.

At the time, I was still playing football regularly at the weekends and used this to my advantage one Monday in the early summer. There was a big cricket match on at Lords on the Monday and I wanted to go. A couple of friends were going and over the weekend persuaded me to go with them. I could not take a day off at short notice and there was no way my mum was going to accept me just not going to work and swanning off to watch cricket. So, cleverly, I got ready for work as normal in my suit and set off to the train station. But I didn’t go to