Rare oul' Times
Author:
Donal O'Mahony
[Fulltext] f you had gone into Bewleys in Westmoreland Street any working morning in the 1950s you would have found a cluster of budding accountants, surrounded by an assortment of briefcases, quaffing coffee and discussing the chances of making a few bob on the nags that day. There was more chance of scoring that way than relying on Kennedy Crowley's to fill the coffers.
As a trainee, the first job I was sent on was the Electricity Supply Board. I was one of about twenty who were let loose to look important and be seen to be ticking copiously. We were entitled to overtime pay at the princely rate of six pence per hour - hardly enough to buy a Guinness. I made a bit of a name for myself when I tripped across a massive boob the Board had made in consolidating its year-end figures but I didn't even get an extra tanner for my efforts.
You donâ??t get paid for that kind of thing
My first away job was to a shoe factory in Castleblayney. I got stuck into it with zest and finished in record time. For good measure, and quite gratuitously, I gave the owners my thoughts on how to improve productivity and cash flow, for which they were most grateful and bought me a lunch. To my consternation, when I mentioned this on reporting back to Neil Crowley, I was met with a frosty glare and informed that we were not paid for that type of thing!
When the time came for me to tackle my finals for the first time I was on a bit of a wing and a prayer. It was not to be my time and I got the curt notice to say that I was an also-ran candidate. I thought of giving it all up and wrote to the examiners to get their opinion as to whether or not I was wasting my time and theirs. To my surprise they informed me that I had only been short-pipped and next time around I should get past the post.
I decided in the meantime to broaden my experience and joined Griffin Lynch in Baggot Street which was run by Willie Sandys and John Kealy. There was a great set of lads there at that time. One of them, Maurice Tempany, went on to become a President of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in Ireland. Another, my buddy Brendan Martin, was to head off to Buenos Aires, marry a local Senorita, and die out there. Findlay-Mulligan had a string of degrees after his name and supplemented his stipend by flogging all types of useless gadgets. Johnny Reihill was passing his time before moving into the family coal and oil business. Vincent Leydon, was also passing time before moving into the family coal mine business. A tall, gaunt individual, Vincent's family ensured that he took regular and proper meals by opening charge accounts for him at the Swiss Chalet and the Shelbourne. Many's the time I shared in his lunch-time largesse surrounded by a bevy of waiters and savouring the very best of haute cuisine and juice of the choicest grapes, finished off occasionally with a Havana cigar. Since Vincent's uncle was the fellow who used to sign the Irish pound notes in those days I felt it was coming off a broad back.
May 1953 say me again at the Dawson Hall pitting my brains once more against the faceless examiners to get my piece of parchment saying I was an ACA. In those days you sat the lot, one time, and lose one you lost all. I decided on a strategy that was to prove highly successful. Since the purpose of examinations was to demonstrate good round knowledge, I twisted the questions to suit myself and wrote copiously on anything that could be remotely associated with the question which I knew a bit about.
In those days, exam results were posted in the Institute's Fitzwilliam Place headquarters a few months after the event. My knees were worn out praying to St. Jude for intercession in my time of dire need. The day finally came and Martin and myself made our way across St. Stephen's Green, envying the ducks merrily paddling around without a care in the world. The notice on the far wall of the endless Institute chamber looked for all the world like the death notices they used to put up on the gate of Brixton Prison after a hanging. Martin went ahead of me and leapt with joy on seeing his name among the twenty successful candidates. I braced myself for my own result, and Mirabile Dictu, there it was, and beside it a note saying "Third Place in Ireland". I tell you, St Jude never worked so hard for any case. Memories of the celebrations are a bit hazy but I do recall waking the next morning minus four of my dentures.
I quickly laid hands on the latest issue of the Institute magazine and wrote off to five prospective employers recruiting for posts in foreign parts. Kealy of Griffin Lynch summoned me to his office and I thought to myself "he'll offer me a partnership at least". In the event he informed me that he would give consideration to appointing me as an audit manager at their Tralee office at the princely rate of £26 per month. I can till see the look of amazement on his face when I told him where to stick his offer.
Five interviews in London, and all expenses paid, amounted to a lot of money from each company for a week's sight-seeing. Becoming a professional job-seeker with interviews at overseas locations and lots of expense claims to be had was looking like a hefty earner.
I checked in to the Irish Club for the week. The first job offer was at Ipoh in Bornero, and I was interviewed by Balfour of Balfour Beatty. Years afterwards he tried to headhunt me for a parent board job in a major contracting company in his group but luckly I didn't fall for it as it went into liquidation only a few months later. The next interview was for a job in Capetown, but having to pay my own way there and back if I didn't like it sounded a bit iffy. I suspect a lot of previous staff must have packed it in quick smart. Next was a major diversified group in the Middle East and I was more than a little enticed by the prospect of belly dancers, harems, and all that stuff, but I baulked when I learned that the owner was a Middle East Sheik Bin Ahmoud Bin Something or other. The next interview was for a post in darkest Africa and I decided it was one best left to the missionaries. Instead I finally succumbed to the charms of a beknighted interviewing panel of merchant bankers who were offering brilliant career prospects for a forward-looking financial type to look after their many interests in Ecuador. That's the job for me I decided - and a chance to find out whatever happened to Col. Fawcett and perhaps search for some of that long-lost Inca gold in my spare time.
Accountancy Ireland Vol 32 No 5 October 2000