In 1971 there I was driving an ordinary car living at home and playing a lot of rugby. I had various accounts that provided me with clothes on credit and in my working life at least, I had a very smart appearance.
Keith Rae was my overall boss. His name was on the notepaper so he must have been important. he was immaculate in his appearance was never flustered and he lived in the belt of Cheshire that premier footballers now inhabit.
One day he asked to see me for a ‘quiet word’. Mr Rae informed me that ‘Tilney’ and co were going to open an office in London. He would be its Head and he wanted me to join him along with two others from Liverpool. All other staff would be from London. Now The Liverpool Stock Exchange floor was in its way quite a thing but the prospect of working in London made my head swim. Where would I live? What about my rugby and crucially could I cope?
I was sent to work for a month with Cazenove, the rich man’s broker with whom the firm had a relationship to see if I could cope and also if I was prepared to make the move. I stayed in a hotel in Picadilly, which was very luxurious to me, and I well remember the fear I felt in my stomach on that first morning when I emerged at Bank underground station. The whole thing was a whir. There was perhaps one hundred people on The Liverpool exchange. In London literally thousands. There were the stall holders, jobbers, who traded in shares and provided a market place for the brokers dealers to buy and sell shares. Each industry sector was represented by 3 or even more firms of jobbers competing for business. Apart from anything else understanding how the whole place worked was a question of geography. I frequently got ;out in those early days. By basic role was to establish price lists of various stock prices which I would ring through to Liverpool. The lists would then be typed up and be delivered to all the various business in Liverpool City centre who were clients of the firm. (In my first day at Tilney I had delivered these lists like a postman.)
Sometimes the whole tone of the place would change. Some piece of economic news might have been announced or perhaps a large company announced its figures for the year. Bells would ring and on the electronic boards around the floor ICI maybe or Glaxo or Marks And Spencer would announce its results. The theatre was beyond anything I had ever seen. The jobbers would receive a hard copy of the figures from the companies representative and have no longer than a few minutes to evaluate them before making a price. Huge numbers of brokers would crowd around the ‘pitches’ waiting with their ‘walky talkies’ to relay the pricing information to their offices. Salesmen would then contact their clients to inform and comment and possibly buy or sell on the news. What made the theatre so great was that each ‘pitch’ would have it own crowd. The moment the jobber in charge made a price the whole crowd would depart to see what the other jobbers were making as a price. The effect was of a sort of tidal wave of people. The way of people, adrenaline buttons on full, talking into their radios as they went, often colliding with crowd moving in the other direction. One of the golden rules of the London Stock Exchange was ‘no running’. Whoa betide anyone who did run for the collective crowd of ‘non participants’ in the unruly scrum would collectively roar ‘no running’ and literally point at the offender. A sort of name and shaming. After a while the turmoil would settle and frantic trading would ensue especially if the companies results were outside of expectations. Each of the jobbing forms had young people called “blue buttons’ on account of the colour of the badges they wore. These people hurried around the offices around the stock exchange floor bidding for or offering stock to those interested as the price moved. In a place with a lot of cerebral activity this was hard work, a day measured in miles covered rather than decisions made. All members of the exchange wore their firms badge. Blue for the youngest whose primary function was either to distribute price information as per the jobbers or for the brokers their main role would be to seek out prices as required. I wore a blue badge and this was my role. People wore yellow badges and as such were authorised to deal. The final category was silver badges or for those who wanted to be stylish or else just stubborn, white badges, which had supposedly been replaced by the silver ones. The silver badge wearers were ‘members’ of the Stock Exchange. They transacted the big deals they had their own toilets and a lot walked with an air of self importance. Those of yellow or blue would be ill advised to impede the progress of a ‘member’ and to visit the members loo was a hanging offence.
I can’t say that after a month I was any better off regarding my self confidence. I often got lost, I frequently had cold sweats as the humour and banter at the expense of the ‘inexperienced’ was a way that many relieved the stress and tension of the day. A boy from Liverpool was an obvious target. I managed to deal with it though and I found myself ‘fighting back’. This proved popular and before long a lot of people were nodding to me in greeting.
I was most lucky because two members of the jobbing fraternity had been to my school. John Gregory was a scrum half who was typical of the breed. He had left Mersyside a few years previously but on occasion would appear and play for the club. He lived in Hampstead. I had played at fly half many time with him at scrum half. He was older than me of course but he ‘looked after me’ on many evenings in my first month in London.
The London Stock exchange had been remodelled and renovated at this time and Her Majesty the Queen came to have dinner in the magnificent council rooms one evening after formally opening the place. Gregory and I watched the formal opening then ‘just for a change’ we headed to the local pub. Somehow, this is how these things work, we emerged from the pub and found ourselves at the rear entrance of The Stock Exchange It was late in the evening maybe 9:30 or 10 pm. There were one or two footmen in their red tail coats but no-one else. Suddenly a car drew up carrying the Royal Ensisgn. A door opened at the top of a flight of concrete steps above us and there was the Queen in her finery making her departure. It was cold wet evening and the pair of us were sort of stuck. Half wanting to run half suspecting we should do something. She approached us down the flight of steps The Chairman of The Exchange at her side. Level with us Gregory, probably because he had drunk too much, curtsied and offered a pathetic compliment or maybe an individual vote of thanks. The Queen stopped and thanked me for waiting in the ‘beastly weather’. Excellent content for a rugby club speech back on The Wirral.
CD Jones was about 5 years older than me. He had been to my primary school. He was an England Schoolboy athlete and ran the 880 yards. On my first day at Birkenhead he had taken me aside and given me a few tips. His final words were simple. ‘If you get into trouble or need help then let me know’. He had gone from school to Cambridge university and he was now a jobber working for a company called Pinchin Denny. On my first day on the London Stock Exchange Chris,or CD as he was known by everyone approached me. “If you need any help he said you know there I am’. ( words of support are so important CD Jones had bothered to support me twice now) The story of Chris will make up a separate post. All I can say now is Chris was yet another who took my side and supported me. The ending of the tale is beyond tragic.
The month flew by and I was back in Liverpool. It was somewhat surreal to return to work. I had been sworn to secrecy and my trip to London had been described as ‘training’. Everyone smelt a rat and George was very cool with me. I remember well my debrief with Keith Rae. he sort of made up my mind for me. Well done Dennis you have received excellent feedback and done your self proud. I had no choice but to accept the offer of moving to London.
For the record I had started work on a weekly wage of £8 10 shillings and sixpence a week. Over the last two years I had moved forward and by the time it was announced i was moving to London I was earning £1500 pound a year. My salary in London was £3000 a year. I was on the way!
Tales of a Life Well Lived 