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!

My life outside work on Mersyside was ‘colourful’. The place was a hot bed of music of course and night clubs sprang up all over the place. Drugs were also omni present and I have to confess to the odd dabble.

I became Captain of my Old Boys Rugby Club at the age of 19. In those days all clubs played ‘friendlies’ and our fixture list reflected the time when boys had stayed in the area and had not gone on to university. The North was a hotbed of rugby at the time and many Internationals came from those parts. During the term time it was hopeless but during the holidays when students returned we were just about competitive.

My former headmaster came to my aid and I had the amazing privilege of him coaching our club. Having Captained Wales to two Grand Slams and being apart of the last victorious Welsh team over the All Blacks he was full of knowledge and was way ahead of his time. He honed our specific skills and ensured that ‘fatigue based training’ was central to our approach. I recently met up with one of his children and was able to express the gratitude I felt for his efforts as I fear I did not express them fully at the time.

At the same time I gained a mentor, TG Smith. Tiger had been on General Mongomery’s staff in the second world war and was wise beyond words. He was a mystery man. He was not married but often talked of the love of beautiful women. He had no job as such and was reported to be a professional gambler. He taught me how to play poker that I do know. The lessons on ‘risk’ he gave me were to surface in my financial career and paid me back many many times. He was tough on me, he was kind and humorous too, he challenged and supported me like the dad I had never had. I owe him a lot.

The Old Birkonian Rugby Club in those days boasted quite a cast of characters. Many professors, eminent physicians, the Captain of the Army services rugby team, a man who became the Solicitor General of Hong Kong, one who became Head of the PGA,an MP, A Later to be Hogh Court Judge, several barristers, a Lord, the winner of the Krypton factor and the current Captain at the time of The Cambridge University side. Just imagine giving steam talk to the lot! Of course I knew no different and I would often deliver a speech at Club dinners to such a demanding audience. It was all wonderful training. I referred earlier to the fact that my cognitive skills were somewhat ‘alternative’ so whilst I missed out on a University education I did gain experience in matters and the ways of the world that were special. I often reflect to others that is my belief that aside from careers with specific technical skills, such as medicine and law that the two most important qualifying elements for an intelligent person to make progress in the work place are two fold. Common sense (make up your own definition of that one) and interpersonal skills. What I do know is there are no degree courses in either and A level course and the like seem to me hell bent to negate these qualities. All I can say is without any formal qualifications I got to the top of the industry I was involved in. I have met many captains of industry, I have sat at the tables of the privileged and the rich but to date no-one has asked me for a piece of paper that shows my qualification to be there. Reputation, action, and honesty attract those who know so if your education may appear flawed worry not there is another route.

My ability to kick a rugby ball opened a particular door. My Headmaster John Gwilliam sent me for an interview to Tilney Sing Parr and Rae,a stockbroking firm in Liverpool. The President and Chairman of one of many outstanding Rugby Clubs in the area in those days ,Birkenhead Park, conducted the interview. To my amazement rugby was the sole topic of the chat and two days later I received a letter offering me a trainee post on the princely sum of £6 10 shillings and sixpence a week. I had no idea what stockbroking was. I knew next to nothing about economics and having attended a protected elite local school my next few years were quite an experience.

Somehow through incredible luck and severe bout of flu half the office staff were absent and the markets were busy. I was sent to the local Stock Exchange floor to ‘help out’. I had to attend a vetting meeting by the Stock Exchange Council but my old boys tie did for that.

George Robinson was the head ‘dealer’. He was immaculately dressed. Spoke with a soft Liverpool accent and he no time at all for ‘public school boys’ (hissed between his teeth’. It took 3 weeks before he spoke to me ‘civilly’ but Goerge had a history in which he had twice been torpedoed in the Atlantic Ocean on convoy duty. Somehow he had survived but he was in truth emotionally scarred which supported his tendency to drink whisky-a lot when the fancy took him. Anyway after one of these bouts during an extended lunch time a load of business arrived at the desk and there was only me to transact it. The office manager told me to ‘do my best’ from his remote position in the office.

I somehow muddled through thanks to the kindness of sympathetic market operatives. They did not make it easy they just made sure I was on track. Around 3 pm George wobbled back to the floor. Totally pissed. As the market closed I gently took his arm placed his Homburg hat on his head and guided him to the railway station. I put him on the train and watched with a smile on my face as he parked his body not on an empty seat but an innocent looking woman in a floral dress. It was very funny to watch.

After this act of chivalry caused George to change his view of me and I became his prodigy. He taught me everything he knew. He cut through the dross and showed me why he was so successful as he had a formula for success. Simply put he followed around 50 quality companies. He cut out every press cutting, read every report and studiously followed their individual price movement. Overtime he saw patterns. He got to understand which company ‘told the truth’ and which didn’t. He had many clients of his own and aside from his ‘dealing’ job he made a lot of money on his commission from clients. Best of all I had a champion and as George did not have children I suspect i was rather important to him. He loved it when I told stories. I became an authorised dealer after only three months thanks to George and my progress as an all round trainee was halted. I became way more confident as realised what was happening and I let my personality out. For some reason I became known for my accents, skill I had acquired in my elocution and acting. The favourite was my Ozzie impersonations. The entire dealing team of around 25 people would often dissolve into laughter late in the day when I piped up with some colloquialism in a thick accent. I was one of the boys.

A pattern had been established which was repeated many times in my life. My own dad had, in all truth, not offered me much in terms of help and advice. For some reason throughout my life a series of male figures appeared who supported, cajoled and advised me. maybe this is a natural phenomenon.

Birkenhead School was an academic and sporting institution of excellence. of the 90 boys in my year 32 gained Oxbridge entrance. My rugby team was amongst the best in the country and included no less than 5 students who became University professors. Hugh Dalgleish became Commander of the Royal Yacht Brittannia which was the venue for one of the more remarkable dinners I have enjoyed.

Aside from the Rugby I was the school Athletics Captain and Cross Country Champion. I was i/c the Combined Cadet Force ‘corps of drums’. I played the bugle solo on church parade and became the first drum major to ‘toss the mace’ for many years.

Academically I faltered. Today I suspect my learning processes would have been diagnosed as defficient as my inability to write notes, at the same time as listen, hampered my revision.

My acting career flourished in the early years as I acted professionally on the stage at The Liverpool Playhouse in Summer and Smoke by Tennesse Williams. As the years moved on sport became my first love.

My singing voice allowed me to become the head treble of the school chapel choir. I would rate singing in a first class choir one of life’s great experiences. Candle lit carol services relayed on the local radio in a 45 person ensemble led by a brilliant musicisn teacher was just awe inspiring. The hairs raise on my neck as I think back.

I did not go to university. My Head Master, John Gwilliam, who had Captained The Welsh Rugby team to the triple crown offered me two alternatives. Cambridge via the back door to do a ‘sportsmans degree’-land economy- or a job in the ‘City’. I chose the latter. I owe John Gwilliam a huge amount. He was a tough man but he put me on a pathway to adventure.

I was born in Liverpool in 1950. My Dad had loads of bad luck and my Mum was somehow gifted with high ideals way above her life experience and station. I was brought up in a small semi-detached house in West Kirby on the Wirral. My childhood suffered from extreme disharmony between my parents. Looking back I was often a very unhappy child.

My grandfather was a coal miner, he served as an army medic in the first world war and because doctors would not go down the coalmines for fear of their own safety, he not only hacked coal all day but was the first port of call when accidents happened.

He was a hard man who showed me little love but he gave me a precious gift. One day as a young boy I watched him stripped to the waist scrubbing the coal dust from his skin. The back scullery was crude but like the outside lavatory, it was immaculately clean. There was no bathroom.

The soap suds looked interesting to my young eyes and I asked my ‘Papa’ if he was enjoying himself. His response released fury. I thought he might strike me but instead, he offered the following advice. I cannot remember anything else he ever said to me.

‘What ever you do in life make something of your self. Never ever give up and whatever you do never bow down to others and let them master your will. Work hard and be honest and don’t ever accept that anything is beyond you’

Quite how that advice registered or became part of my being I will never know but it did. The journey I have taken from that damp house in Wigan Lancashire has been an eventful one. Papa Egan thank you and to my Mum Margaret thank you to because you were there to remind and support me on my early journey

West Kirby County Primary School was safe and sensible. I was very bright and spurred on by my Mum I wanted to be the best. Owen Elwyn Owens was 6 foot 6 inches tall. He was Welsh and wore thick black glasses. He wanted to be the best too. Our 4x 100 relay team won the area sports with me on the 3rd leg (we were the only school wearing spikes on a cinder track- Owen helped finanace the cost out of his own pocket). Our football team took on all comers-including the local prep schools. Played 15 won 15 goals for 103 against 15. We played in all white because Real Madrid, who were the best in the world in 1960 did so too.

My mother hated the Liverpool accent and sent me for elocution lessons. I entered drama festivals and recited poetry and Shakespeare. From 8 years onward I won many competitions. This gave me great confidence and my accent was formed much as it is now. I was the star of all the school plays. At the age of 9, I was asked by Mrs Cooke to sing Bobby Shaftoe solo in front of the class. What came out of my mouth was a huge surprise I had a beautiful treble choirboy voice. This voice was my passport to one of the great experiences of my life.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton