Over the next 18 months or so,I think we are talking 1972/3 life was good. I trained twice a week at the Quins. Barry O’Connor would drive me there and back and both of us would charge similar ‘travelling expenses’. On match days we did the same so my weekly income was significantly boosted especially, egged on by Barry, we made sure we were fulsome in our requests. The truth is Harlequins were a very wealthy club on those days and everyone ‘did it’. We were all professionals I suppose but it was all kept quiet. Most of the rugby I played was in the lower sides, there were in fact 3 teams in total. We played the first team of the top London club sides though and we were a big scalp, probably the biggest, on the ‘friendly fixture list’ so it was a high level. Curiously when ever a visit to South Wales was imminent by availability to travel was enquired. This was the time of the great sides of the Welsh Valleys and a hammering was often the result. I learned to decline the offer and I suppose that over time this hampered my progress in the club where if truth be told I was a spectator on an elite privileged sporting organisation peopled by some amazing characters. One anecdote comes to mind that amazed me at the time. I was playing for the first team against The Metropolitan Police and I was opposite an international called Tony Boddy,- the name suddenly came to me so I record it here. Any way two of the Quins front row forwards were brothers. The Claxtons. No-one quite knew how but some how these two had been invited to join the illustrious band of public school boys. They were East Enders and drove JCB’s for a living and both were immensely strong. I know one of them if not both were later capped for England. Anyway I could not find a ‘tie up’ for my lovely knitted socks with coloured diamonds circling their tops. ‘Anyone got a tie up’ I piped. Terry Claxton reached into his bag and produced a brand new boot lace and wrapped it around both of his manacle hands. ‘Humph’ he grunted and the lace snapped clean in two-OMG I have never seen anything like that-glad he was on my side!

My brother, who I am afraid I have always struggled with to form a relationship as we are just so different was 4 and a bit years older than me. His business life was very successful as he owned a successful sports car franchise and was a racing driver as a hobby at many events in the country. His speciality was Lotus cars and one day I was in his garage on a visit to the wirral to see family and friends. There sitting in the show room was a white S4 Lotus Elan with a black soft top. OMG it was beyond gorgeous. The following week it was mine, (payed for by monthly instalments). Speed limits did not exist on motorways etc and I have to say the breathalyser, which was recently introduced, was something of a joke. Anyway there I flying down the M1 and M6 in my beautiful Lotus. I stopped in Hampstead to show John Gregory and had a pint before driving through central London with the top down, a cheeky Picadilly cigarette on my lips (yes I know, but that is what we all did). Down The Kings Road and back to Camberwell where I suddenly realised I had nowhere to park the thing and we lived on a main road! Parking in those days in London was a different thing so I was able to find a quiet back street. My car was never vandalised thank goodness especially as Camberwell was not exactly a ‘balmy suburb’. The Kray Twins favourite pub was 200 yards from my front door.

I just put this on record because I probably got a bit a head of myself. Indeed I was soon to learn that pride comes before a fall. However driving into the Stoop Memorial Ground on a match day in a white Lotus Elan gave me a particular feeling that was memorable. I am afraid I felt a bit ‘special’.

The fall was brutal. The 1974 market crash and ongoing dire economic consequences. Shares were not only at record lows but few were being traded and business all but dried up. One day the man who had invited me to go to London took me aside. There were tears in his eyes, way out of character for such a man. Mass redundancies were planned for Tilney and Co. I was offered the chance to return to Liverpool or take statutory redundancy. Keith Rae was devastated as he told me I had done everything he had asked it was just a case of the London Office being shrunk down to a token level.

I was devastated and that night at rugby training I sat next to a man called Tony Lewis who was not only a very successful city fund manager he was a real charismatic man and influencer. I explained my plight and he took immediate interest. I know a number of senior people in the city I will see what I can do he said. The following day I was approached by a man called Roger Wesley Smith, an ex guards officer and a man of great reputation on the Stock exchange Floor. He was a senior partner of the Jobbing firm Pinchin Denny. Yes that firm where my two ex schoolmates were employed. Roger invited me for chat and explained that Tony Lewis had called him. He was a very imposing figure, extremely handsome in his mid 40s. He new all about my rugby prowess ‘Do you know anyone well at Pinchin”? he asked. I do as matter of fact I said and mentioned John and Chris. Not surprisingly I suppose I received glowing references from those two and I was offered a job. All good so far but the ‘fall’ played out as follows. My annual salary was cut in half-£1500- I was to be a ‘blue button’ which actually meant I back on the bottom rung and would make my living taking messages around the stock exchange floor. My Elan had to go of course but rather than return to Liverpool and because I began to realise , probably way before time, that the economy was in dire straits. I had to go and see my bank manager and agree an overdraft. It was all very worrying. I felt desperately alone well an truly kicked in the nuts. The one ray of hope I had was Roger promised me that my ‘apprenticeship’ as a jobber would not be the usual two years but just one,I had to keep that secret. The final piece of good news was I was placed in CD Jones team which was wonderful group of men. However they did not take it easy for me indeed they were all very tough as if to make sure I was ‘hardened’. I was often very depressed. My suit trousers would wear out from the miles I walked. I lost weight which did not help my rugby and going training after a day on my feet became a chore. Tom and Steve were very busy studying it was desperate and I was skint.

One day one of my working colleagues who was a prop froward and played for the Stock Exchange asked me if I was alright. I told him how I felt and how hard up I was. Adrian lived out in a beautiful cottage near Bishops Stortford and played rugby for Saffron Walden who were Eastern Counties Champions. Adrian suggested I go and live with him and in exchange for playing rugby for Saffron Walden he would give me free board and lodgings. It was a way out but another kick in the teeth as I would have to leave the Quins. Honestly I knew by now at the top level I was ‘ordinary’ so aside from the ‘glamour and all that entailed’ I was not sacrificing a golden future. I said yes and moved into Adrians delightful thatched cottage. It was a whole new life. Adrian drove a sliver Datsun 240 Z. he would let me drive him around in it. We would train one night week and one other, Thursdays, we would go to the local pub for a ‘lock in’. I was often invited to Adrians family home for Sunday lunch, they were a lovely welcoming crew and the set up was magnificent. It was, aside from that, very quiet and not exactly what I was looking for as a 23 year old. The rugby was good as the first team had a magnificent fly half called John Smith who, if he had not been farmer and had played at a bigger club might have excelled so there was no room for me there. My Blue button activity and weight loss apparently had added a yard or two of pace and I ended up on the right wing. I scored loads of tries and would often come infield and take part in moves that my footballing skill allowed. I was very popular in the squad and our sevens side won all the local competitions and we nearly made it to Twickenham for the annual 7s jamboree. Alas Saracens beat us in a close fought regional final.

After a while, I think it was the summer of 1973, It all got too much or in truth too little for me. My idea of fun was not helping my farmer mates pile hay bales at the weekend, as seemed popular. I did not play cricket then as Adrian did, so my weekends were desolate lonely affairs. On top of that an hour each day each way commuting with no funds to support the bar carriage was desperate. A good school friend, Martin prentice, got in touch and as providence was to provide invited me for a night out. He lived in Earls Court in a road that then was somewhat tatty but now is beyond smart. There were loads of cool pubs and restaurants. Martin had three female flat mates who each in turn had many friends. Martin seemed to be having quite time of it. He and I had an ‘interesting’ relationship. He had come to my school in the sixth form his parents having moved to the area. He was always the ‘new boy’ and this irked him. Most of the time we got on fine but he could not resist having to ‘prove things to me’. In later life this became too much for me as I really liked him for what he was, I did not see him a rival for whom we had to match achievement. Any way after one or two similar visits I talked Martin into letting me camp out on his couch when ever I was in London. Bit by bit this became the norm and as my year of ‘apprenticeship’ drew to a close I decided that I could no longer bear a country life. Adrian was very disappointed and I did not have the chance to say good bye at the rugby club. I moved into Martins and in doing so the pair of us decide on a late summer holiday. There was a company called Small World which specialised in Villa Holidays in glamorous places. Martin assured me it was a place to meet beautiful women as the venues offer a full board fully catered experience for singles. Little did I know that that fortnight would be the most important, by a considerable distance, in my life. the friday before I left I was called into an office by Roger Wesley Smith. I had completed my apprenticeship and I was to be promoted to ‘authorised clerk’. I would be working on the Shipping and Transport pitch. As I went back to West London that night I reflected on the fact that one year ‘running notes’ had taught me sod all about how to run a ‘jobbing book’ it was all bit scary but At leats I had this holiday to look forward to.

It was announced formally that Tilney, (its name had been shortened to that of its most senior figure Sir John Tilney a Liverpool MP and a charming man.) were to open a London office. My colleagues treated me differently. The boys in the back office were to loose their Sunday Business Houses football league ‘striker’ and they were unhappy. My peer group were obviously jealous of my opportunity but that is normal. Goerge was most supportive but I think very sad. One day full of Scotch he tried to make a speech to me, it did not come out right but I think he was trying to simply say he would miss me as we had in truth become a close team. He a 50 odd year old war veteran who hated ‘public school boys’ and me a 21 year old representing all he thought he did not like and yet on a daily basis having the sort of fun an older man can experience, if he tunes in to a different wave length.

The most difficult decision was where was I going to live. Two of my best friends at school were Tom Ollerhead who was training to be a dentist a Kings College and Stephen Smith who was studying medicine at Westminster. Tommy was in my house at school and was extremely good looking and very popular with the nurses at the hospital. Stephen Smith was probably my best friend at school, I have never met a more driven person. At twelve years of age he informed me he was going to be a doctor and sailed through every exam he took because he had a clear vision of where he was going. Does career guidance count? you bet it does. If you know were you want to go to you will find the way. Steve was fly half in my various rugby teams and a very fine player. He was also an England Public School’s Cricketer and opened the batting. His hero was Geoffry Boycott and his batting average was everything. Amazingly Steve was dropped from the school first eleven because his extreme single mindedness had apparently put his own records ahead of the team. Anyway the boys offered me a bed in their flat- it was horrible. On one of my first nights there I vividly remember Steve taking me to Westminster Hospital. I suppose it was what students did but Steve took me to see the jars of ‘human horror’, of pickled abnormalities, he even threatened to show me the morgue. However that is not all that I remember of that night because Steven asked me what I really wanted to be. I could not answer him but I do remember mentioning something about money. Steve told me he wanted to be the top doctor in his field. ‘The top man the very best’. I will not fill in the rest but if you ‘Google’ Professor Stephen K Smith you will see he made it. His younger brother Ian was another high flier and achieved many senior roles on business. They are both ardent socialists and support Man Utd.

Any way there I was in Camberwell. To begin with I would take the Monday morning train to London at 6:55. It took far less time than today and with luck I was on the Stock Exchange floor before 10 Am. The process of building a London business began and progressively our biggest deals were done by our London dealing team. It was quite bewildering at first but slowly I got the hang of it and started to make friends. On Friday evenings I would leave the office around 5 pm and head off to Euston to get the train home in order to play rugby for my club. I discovered a wonderful thing that if you sat in the restaurant car and had a meal you became a first class passenger for the journey. I would regularly have dinner on Friday night and a fantastic fry up on a Monday morning sitting with the predominantly male businessmen. After a while the arrangement for weekly commute became wearing. The OB rugby club were desperate not to loose me and the club President would slip me £25 (‘to cover your expenses’) out of his own pocket. It was huge amount of money in those days and yes it pushed the boundaries on professionalism but he assured me it was Ok and who was I to complain. At the end of the season I started spending my time in London and all sorts of new opportunities for a social life sprang up. I wrote to The Rugby Club President explaining my decision and he was most fulsome in his appreciation for all the efforts I had made. A few days later a letter arrived on my doormat. It was a game changer.

I opened the letter and quickly appreciated its significance. I seem to remember it was written in red ink, in part at least, but maybe that was not the case. At the top was the logo of a Harlequin and the the words Harlequin Football Club. In those days the Quins had very close links to Cambridge University and The City. You could not actually join the club you had to be invited. The men who had interviewed me for my job at Tilney and Co were committee members at Birkenhead Park who had a fixture with the Quins and I later found out they had written to the Halequins top man recommending me as a player of ‘outstanding ability and with excellent leadership qualities’. I was invited to join and as a first step to attend a training session.

Now let me be honest I did play a small number of times for the first team but as soon as the academic term ended a man called Wordsworth would appear from University and despite however well I or anyone else was playing he was drafted into the team. I did however play alongside many Internationals of the day (Hiller, Nick Martin, Dave Gooke, Graham Birkett Alan Wordworth The list goes on) and learned a lot about rugby but even more about life,. The Quins blazer was beyond cool, black with a silver wire Harlequin embroiled on the breast pocket. There were two ties the city tie, black with the harlequin logo, and the club tie still worn today with its multi coloured stripes. The jersey was way more complicated than today and even had a pink section in its sleeve. Trotting on to the Stoope wearing that shirt was quite a thing especially as around 6 or 7 current international players were my team mates.

On Fridays on the Stock exchange it was customary to wear ‘Club Ties or the tie of your former school’. Some might see it as a nonsense but it enabled you to meet people as the tie became a topic of conversation. I was I suppose about 4 months into my time on the London Floor when one Friday I walked into the place wearing my Quins tie. Rugby was the number one passion of the Stock Exchange and suddenly people were approaching me from all angles. Barry O’Connor was the son of a famous rugby columnist in the Daily mail and he was the Quins scrum Half. He and I were good mates and we would often meet up during the day for a chat. ‘There they are’ was the shout. We became sort of celebrities and everyone seemed to know who I was. the Stock Exchange Rugby Team was a serious affair and played around 6 games a year. They played against Lloyds of London and various other business amalgams. I was approached by the club secretary and a week or so later I was trotting out in front of a huge partisan crowd in early september in the Yellow and Black of the Stock Exchange. It was the season opener against the Honorable Artillery Company on the hallowed turf of the most expensive real estate in the world in those days, smack dab in the middle of the city. The crowd was made up of people from the floor of the house and those from the various offices around the city who were keen to watch, close up, the England flanker Tony Bucknell, our captain, Dave Mackay, the flying Rosslyn Park winger and soon to also be an international and a load of other ‘first class’ players. I suppose some came to watch the young Harlequin half backs too. Anyway behind a dominant pack and the bullet pass of a top scrum half I led the dance and weaved patterns round the field, we demolished the HAC. I was treated with a certain respect on the floor of the house after that and I came to realise that the tie I wore on Fridays would get me through almost any door. I was ‘one of the boys’ again.I am proud to say I represented the Stock exchange for around 6 years as their fly half.

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