I think I must be the only person I know who keeps a bank account as a keepsake. It’s a little connection to my late brother – it was his account, before it became our account, before it became my account – and it’s also to remind me of possibly the worst customer experience I am ever likely to have.
If you read this blog regularly, you may know that my brother and I had a close if contentious relationship. One thing I will say for him though is that he was a meticulous planner. So, when he became seriously ill, he added my name to his staff account at the bank. That way, when the inevitable came, the funeral arrangements could be made without a fuss. Once it was done, we didn’t discuss it again, except when he saw that they’d printed my name before his on the chequebook and got it changed, or when he told me that he’d received my bank card at the flat and had cut it up. Life can be complicated for brothers.
After David died (and even now, those three words have a crushing finality about them), I went through all the processes like an automaton, guided by a close friend of his. Living in Cornwall, she kindly arranged some flowers for me for the service and I wrote her a cheque from ‘the account’. You can imagine her distress when her bank bounced the cheque and returned it as ‘Account Holder Deceased’. I ranted at the bank and they explained it was procedure, even though it was a joint account and I was not only alive, but seething. I was also told that I’d have to go to his local branch to deal with it, which I did after collecting the ashes – I have to say, not my best week of all time.
In the branch, the manager spoke to Supplier Liaison and determined that not only had the cheque bounced, but the account had been frozen. Supplier Liaison don’t make mistakes, apparently; and neither do they write to account holders when they’ve frozen their accounts like this. The branch manager, to her credit, raged almost as much as I had and the account was reinstated with the promise of a written explanation within two weeks. I’m sure you all know the banks well enough now to realise that the letter never arrived.
So far so bad. Well, David had three savings bonds which he’d taken out less than a year before he died. Each was for a different term and, naturally, these all had to be redeemed as part of the resolution of his estate. Bonds 1 and 3 were closed in a timely fashion, but I had to chase the middle Bond for another two weeks because, ‘…it seems that the paper got stuck to the bottom of the first sheet and was mislaid or forgotten.’
The final insult came when, having dealt with most of the bureaucracy which has to be attended to in such circumstances, the bank contacted me to offer their services, in the processing of his will and effects. And, lucky me, because he’d been an employee of the bank, they could do it all for a mere £4000 or thereabouts. This, for a single man with a flat and few complications. Generous to a fault, the bank even offered me an extra discount on the day (they sent a representative to my home, on a no obligation basis), when I was walking said rep back to her car. Consistent to the end.
And now, every time I go to a local branch, they look at the account and see that I’m ‘staff’ and ask me if I’m retired (a London division banking sort code) or on holiday. I smile sweetly and tell them I’ve never worked for the bank and that the bank has never worked for me.