It’s true that many who come to finally embrace Credit as a
profession, more so those that started out over twenty years ago, will admit it
was a profession they ‘fell’ into as opposed to one they had set their sight
on. I was no different.
Progression, fulfilment, recognition and ultimately, reward,
are not off-the-shelf things one can buy or acquire; they are the result of a
lifetime of continual learning, questioning, challenging and delivering value
add in everything you do. Recognition of your contribution never happens by
delivering solely what you are
expected to deliver. Education and qualifications are enormously important to
your progress but you must not rely on these to deliver the maxim or infer status
and recognition.
The Dawn – (the first
6 months)
My BEA Trident on route from Cyprus in the autumn of 1969
was forced to touch down in Brussels due to early morning fog at Heathrow. This
was my first ever time on a plane; days when smoking was permitted and windows
were covered with sliding material instead of plastic. Meals were a blessing
and the Stewardess’s were excellent, more so given one of them was a school
classmate of mine back in Junior School who spoilt me a little. Not being
totally familiar with flying, I opted to use the toilet while on the tarmac in
Brussels only to suddenly hear the engines rev up while still in the throes of looking
for the flush button; quite an unnerving experience to find oneself hitching
up ones trousers while at a 40 degree angle. I got a few odd looks when stumbling out of
the toilet returning to my seat.
A short time later, I strained eagerly from the aisle seat
to snatch a glimpse of London but alas it was shrouded in low cloud and nothing
was visible, certainly until almost touch-down. It was a cold morning at 7.30am
and the air smelled of that now familiar early winter smell of open fires being
lit. My brother met me outside terminal 1 and took me back to his ‘digs’, a
room in Lena Gardens, Shepherd Bush that I would share with him for just a few
weeks.
I had come from a small Island and town into what appeared
to be an absolutely never-ending London, its size was simply staggering and
awesome.
Just a couple of months past my 20th birthday and
with less than £60 in my pocket, getting a job and making my own way in the
world was clearly a priority. It was with a touch of sadness and reflection
when I heard a few days after my arrival in England that I had been recalled to
a second interview in Cyprus with BFBS (British Forces Broadcasting Service). I
had attended the first interview that involved reading text and figured they
may have liked the sound of my voice. Missing this chance and an open
invitation to visit Burnley Football Club for trials on arrival into the UK
perhaps meant my future was fixed to turn out as it did. No sadness here
however as my journey has been so enjoyable and rewarding
First stop, after naturally being introduced to central
London and the usual tourist sites was a visit to an employment agency. Alfred
Marks in Shepherd’s Bush found a convenient job in receivables working for the
London Electricity Board based in an office to the rear of Shepherds Bush
Green.
This was my very first introduction not only to receivables
but the British style of office work with clocking in, tea-trolley’s, a canteen
for lunch and a system that allowed one to buy tickets that could be used to
purchase drinks or food. It took me a while to figure out that earning £13 a
week before tax was not enough to see me through the week so a priority was
buying enough tickets on Thursday (payday) to at least provide sufficient food
until the following Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday was a case of eating
(ginger) biscuits and heating up bread against the gas fire I had in the room. Gas
and electricity for the room was supplied via a coin pre-pay meter of course.
By then, my brother had moved to more salubrious
surroundings in Gledhow Gardens SW5 and I was forced to move across the road in
Lena Gardens to a single room that cost just a little under £4 a week. My
weekly pay after tax was around £9; money was tight therefore, very tight. I
recall my first Christmas 1969, on my own watching an old black and white TV as
my brother was out with his girl-friend. I did at least have food as my brother
had the sense to buy me a whole chicken to have on Christmas day. Not much of
anything else but it was a Christmas I swore I would never repeat.
Collections was proving not so much a challenge but a case
of getting to understand the nature, characteristics and on occasions, a full
recognition and understanding of client fiscal situations, both Corporate and
Consumer. Even then, there was a principled, almost regimented collection process
one had to follow and only at a point of disconnection was a referral made to a
senior manager. Systems were manual with cards and physical entries and if I am
to be honest, I found the process of chasing individuals and families for
payment and ultimate disconnection, something that did not rest well with me.
This is not to say I could not do it, I did, and quite successfully, but some
situations were harrowing in terms of dealing with very emotional responses
from people who clearly could not afford to pay. Collection was robotic, and I
suspect in Utilities, it still is.
At this point, the risk element was dealt with by another
area and my initiation was in the collection process, alien to me as this was
my very first job so to speak. I took to it like a duck to water but found the
low salary and occasionally, the really difficult supply cut-off situations,
almost dehumanising. This first and relatively short introduction to
collections however, embedded in me a desire to listen, encourage, recall and
empathise with the client; an integral element in delivering great collection
but equally, vastly improved client relationships.
When taking a seat in a restaurant today, the most important
element is not the Michelin star, the chef, the owner, the premises or the
environs it’s the waiter/waitress who takes my order. They are the ones I speak
to directly and who make the difference between a great meal and continued custom
or future avoidance; sure the quality of the food is important but how it’s
delivered is paramount. Adopt this stance to Credit, and your vision and
application will deliver tremendous results and self satisfaction, you’ll feel
good, believe me, so don’t go hiding behind a finance veil.
I survived this job for some three months until finally
handing in my notice in January 1970. Quite simply, the salary was insufficient
to live on, something that horrified my mother when she came over to the UK to
witness my brother’s emigration to Australia.
She asked me where I kept my food
and provisions so I pointed to a fixed wardrobe in one corner of the room. She
opened it and found a rancid milk bottle, salt and pepper pots, tea bags, some
sugar and essentially nothing else. She was mortified and immediately carted me
off to buy provisions despite my protests that I had nowhere to put them and
shared a kitchen with a young couple who left the place in such a mess I
refused to use it. Indeed, the first (and only) time I used the bath I had to
scrub it clean as the sharers used it to clean nappies. Thereafter, I relied on
showers each Saturday playing football for LESSA Western and a local school
hall shower room after playing evening badminton.
My next move was brief, but enjoyable, I opted to use all
the Life-Saving qualifications I had to take up a job of Life-Guard and
swimming instructor at Ealing Baths (now long since gone). It not only paid £18
a week it also threw in a shift allowance of £2.50. Sadly, what I did not have
any experience of was Unions and closed shops.
Repeated efforts to get me to
join the Union met with my resistance and eventual ‘orchestrated’ sacking in March 1970,
not that I minded after a 3 month stint of early morning and late evening
shifts and the ever-present smell of chlorine in my nostrils (which used to
play havoc with the taste of a cigarette). I will never forget my fist weeks wage
packet here however with a take home sum of over £16; I bought my first ever
pair of trousers from a shop just opposite Hammersmith Station and a couple of
fancy silk shirts in King Street. I felt
a million dollars.
To be continued….
Next episode – into the realms of information technology – April 1970
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