A sorry tale of the bank that said no
ANY small business owner knows the frustration of dealing with anonymous bank staff. Or of being turned down for a vital loan by a computer. Here, MARK PALMER describes his battle to speak to his bank manager.
ARRANGING to see your bank manager used to be easy. Pick up the telephone, dial the branch and book an appointment.
Such contact is a vital part of running a small business.
Only nowadays you are more likely to end up talking to someone in Bangalore in India. And then you’ll be told that: ‘Sorry, you can’t ring the branch direct any more.’
I had been trying to see the manager of my Royal Bank of Scotland branch for six months after being refused a £2,000 overdraft.
My wife and I have a cottage in the Scottish Borders which we rent out most of the year for holiday lets.
In the process, we employ three people part-time, two of whom used to be unemployed and on benefits.
They prepare the cottage on changeover days, look after the garden and do repairs. Indirectly, our cottage brings much-needed business into the small town of Duns in Berwickshire. The butcher, the baker, the two garages, the Chinese takeaway, the pubs and many other local services benefit. It’s a small business for us, which creates a fair amount of business for others.
Every now and again we have to make improvements. Last spring, the agency through which we get our bookings (another local business) said we needed to upgrade one of the bathrooms at a cost of around £2,000 — hence the need for the overdraft.
After a lot of form filling, our reasonable request was turned down without explanation. I wanted to know why and requested to meet the manager. I called the branch number as it appeared on my statements but was diverted to an RBS call centre. I was told I could not see the manager, nor ring the branch.
I couldn’t just pop in because I live 365 miles away in London. ‘You can make an appointment to see one of our customer advisers,’ I was told. ‘I want to see the manager,’ I said. ‘That won’t be possible,’ the woman at the call centre said. Eventually, I did agree to meet a customer adviser. The appointment was in a week and I was given a booking reference number.
I bought my train ticket. Next day, I insisted the call centre ask the manager to ring me.
To my astonishment he did, though unfortunately I was not able to pick up and he didn’t leave a number.
This meant I ended up speaking to the call centre — again.
So I headed north and showed up at the bank a few hours before my scheduled appointment. I was quite forceful and made it clear I expected to see the manager and not a customer adviser.
As if to prevent a commotion, I was ushered into a room and, miraculously, Mr Bank Manager was there.
He explained the decision not to give me a £2,000 overdraft was made by RBS’S central credit department and it was out of his hands.
‘I do understand your position,’ he said. ‘But there is nothing I can do about it.’ How often he must have said those words.
I embarked on a mini-rant about how this was typical of a big bank doing its utmost to sink a small business, that the bank had little interest in the local community and that it was no wonder people are so hostile to fat-cat bankers who cream off bonuses big enough to buy my cottage ten times over. He seemed sympathetic.
‘Unfortunately, these decisions are not taken at branch level,’ he said. ‘I know how frustrating this might sound.’
He went on to explain that he thought my request was turned down because not enough money was going through the account.
I said that was precisely the point — and how with a new bathroom and some other improvements the cottage would do more business. I also said the bank’s attitude spoke volumes about why the economy refuses to get going. What made me mad — and why I would struggle to be civil if I should ever encounter RBS chief executive Stephen Hester — is that he seemed to agree with that as well.