Bank Managers, Chutney and hair nets

He was the fifth generation to have managed Chapman’s Chutney’s. Five generations of portraits stared down at him from the boardroom’s walls their eyes seemed full of sadness. Maurice Chapman was now sixty-eight and it was unlikely there would be much of a business for his son to take over.

It was Maurice’s bad fortune that he had taken over the company at a time when the big boys were moving into chutneys and pickles and the publics’ tastes where changing.

It was only because of the long-standing relationship that Chapman’s enjoyed with the manager of their local bank that he had been able to ride the cash flow crises and the recession.

And now, finally, the ‘family feel’ and artisan approach of Chapman’s Chutney’s was what the public wanted. The growth in Farmer’s Markets and the desire of a certain demographic to rebel against the corporatisation of the food chain meant recovery was in sight. They were going to be OK

It was Maurice’s misfortune that, as this very light was appearing at the end of a long dark tunnel, his local bank manager decided to retire to be replaced by a young go getter from Head Office.

Maurice knew times were going to change when he went in for his regular managers appointment. What had traditionally been a five minute conversation followed by a glass of scotch became an analysis of the company’s business plan and debt solution opportunities.

The tone of the young manager was upsetting to a man of Maurice’s years and experience. To be patronised by a young lad still wet behind the ears was embarrassing and the management clichés that littered his conversation made Maurice feel there was little hope for UKplc.

“You see,” the young manager continued pointing at a spreadsheet, “Your cash flow forecast is not tracking your invoice return projections.” His whining voice hit fever pitch when stating the blindingly obvious, “You’ve got yourself into negative debt cycle.”

Maurice was about to mention the promising recent sales figures but the lecture began again.

“I’m surprised the previous manager was so lax in lending. It can’t go on like this. You’ve got yourself into a debt spiral and it’s hard to see how you can break it. Unless you can produce a better business projection I believe I will have to recommend to head office that we foreclose on our debt.” Again the whining voice, “You’ve got yourself into overdraft reliance mode.”

At the end of the meeting they agreed to get together in a weeks time. Maurice was finally able to convince the young man to come out to their works to see what the operation did. Despite the reservations of the new manager he agreed although he couldn’t resist adding, “I can see you business in the balance sheets. You’ve got yourself into an ‘emotion over rationality’ situation.

Maurice drove home angry and upset. He must not be the Chapman that let the previous generations of his family down. The young managers platitudes and tone infected his head. He could hear his voice “You’ve got yourself, you’ve got yourself, you’ve got yourself ….” in his head as he lay awake that night

A week later, as the works shut down for the evening, the young manager arrived. Maurice knew his figures did not look good but there were definite and promising ‘green shoots’.

The new manager was clearly not happy having a tour of the premises being more used to a neat office than the places where manufacturing was done. Finally he agreed to put on the white coat and hair net that food hygiene standards required. At the end of the tour as they stood one the walkway over-looking the bubbling vats of product the smell and heat began to affect him.

No one will ever be able to know whether he was pushed or fell but as he sank into the stainless steel container his head disappearing under its steaming contents Maurice quietly uttered “You’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle.”

One week later Maurice entered the banks office and shook hands. “Well I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” he said as he greeted his old manager.

“Neither did I,“ said a familiar voice, “but I’m not sure retirement was going to suit me.

The manager picked up the files that his young predecessor had been preparing. “Well I doubt there’s much in here we don’t know Maurice, “ he said as he placed them in the drawer. “Fancy a scotch?”