THE ROOT OF ALL DELAY

Michael Frayn savours

the tedium of old-fashioned money-changing

NO MORE Wechsel. The last of the sum- mer Cambio. The real sadness of the Sin- gle European Currency is that it would mean the end of European money-chang- ing as we know it.

I recall many delightfully unhurried exchanges of currency and traveller's cheques all over Europe, many delicious stews of noughts and decimal points, many entertaining failures to have my passport with me or to remember that banks close for lunch. But if I had to select just one occasion to recall in the bleak years ahead it would be a certain Monday morning in late June at the Banque de France in Laon.

Laon, appropriately enough, is at the crossroads of Europe. It's in the Aisne, in northern France, situated just off the motorway that runs from Strasbourg and Germany to the French Channel ports, at the point where it crosses the N2 from Paris to Brussels. Whichever road you're on you can see it coming from miles off —

two ancient Gothic cathedral towers perched on a fortified hilltop islanded in the great agricultural plain. Two stars in the Michelin — three for the nave of the cathedral — wonderful views.

This charming town was full of sunshine and the bustle of market day when we found ourselves in need of a little financial refreshment there. We were on our way back from south Germany, and we needed a little more French currency to see us through to Calais. We had it in mind to change some £40 worth of left-over Ger- man marks, together with a £20 sterling traveller's cheque. The Banque de France seemed like a good choice for our custom.

Its appearance was discreetly imposing, its name suggested solidity and extensive reserves. We were right. The feast of fine banking that ensued was worth another three stars in the Michelin. I was so impressed that I made a complete note of It, course by course, from the moment we pressed the yellow button beside the heavi- ly armoured front door.

1. A red light comes on to indicate that our application for entry is being consid- ered. We are instructed to wait for a green light before attempting to push the door. 2. The green light comes on, and we enter, to be confronted by a second door, with a second yellow button. A second red light comes on, while our credentials are examined all over again.

3. We pass through the second door, and enter a great hall divided by a counter. On the other side of the counter are a dozen or so employees of the bank. On this side is a spacious emptiness occu- pied only by us. We are the only people in Laon to have passed both tests.

4. We advance towards the counter and the waiting staff. We choose the nearest clerk, on the right-hand side of the bank, and present our £20 traveller's cheque, our passport, and our 130 deutschmarks. The clerk examines the cheque. She exam- ines the passport, then takes a printed form and writes down by hand the number of the passport, together with my name and address. She examines the DM50 note, then the three 20s, then the ten and the two fives. She goes away to consult the bank's files.

5. She comes back and performs various computations upon a small pocket calcula- tor. The calculator is for some reason bal- anced half on and half off an open ledger, so that it gives to the touch like a pudding. She writes down by hand on the printed form the quantities of sterling and

'I want to go somewhere I won't be photo- graphed with the Duchess of York.'

deutschmarks involved, the rates for each currency, and the two sub-totals in francs. She performs another wobbly computation, and writes down the total. So far, a digni- fied but not unusual display of traditional handcraft money-changing.

6. But this is merely the amuse-gueule before the meal proper. The clerk takes the form she has filled up, together with the passport, the traveller's cheque, and the seven deutschmark bills, to a more senior- looking woman, who has drawn-back grey hair and steel-rimmed spectacles. She checks the two multiplications and the addition. She re-examines the passport, the traveller's cheque, and the German bank- notes, and returns them to the clerk. Every- thing is in order. The clerk returns to the counter and hands us back our passport. She retains the traveller's cheque — but she hands back our deutschmarks. What?

7. She indicates a male cashier in a small fortified enclosure a kilometre or two away on the left-hand side of the great hall. Of course. A division of functions familiar from many such occasions in the past.

8. We walk across to the cashier. The clerk, on the other side of the counter, also walks across to the cashier. We are holding the passport and the returned DM130; she is holding the £20 traveller's cheque and the form she has filled up, as checked and authenticated by her senior. We wait for the cashier to take the deutschmarks through the front of the security grille; she waits for the cashier to open a special win- dow in the back of it and take the trav- eller's cheque and the form.

9. The clerk returns to her post on the right-hand side of the bank.

10. The cashier examines the traveller's cheque once again, then consults another set of files. He reworks the computations on the completed form. He takes the seven deutschmark bills from us, and examines them again in their turn — first the 50, then the three 20s, then the ten and the two fives. They all apparently pass muster once again. Nothing has changed, in this rapidly changing world, since they were first examined and re-examined on the right-hand side of the bank.

11. Or has it? The cashier is evidently shaken by a sudden doubt. How about the exchange rates? Some fair amount of time has now gone by since they were checked and double-checked on the other side of the bank. There may have been dramatic developments in the markets since then. The Federal Government may have fallen.

The pound may be soaring even as the deutschmark goes into free fall. He looks up both the rates again. Nothing has hap- pened. Pound and mark alike are rock- steady.

12. This steadiness in the markets makes a pleasing contrast with the cashier's pock- et calculator, which is balanced half on and half off a ledger, just like the clerk's, so that it gives like a second helping of pud- ding as he punches each button, and recomputes all the computations that he has just reworked manually.

13. There is evidently something a little unsettling about the result of this fourth trip through the sums. I suspect the trou- ble is that the new results are exactly the same as the earlier ones, which may of course tend to confirm them, but which may, on the other hand, suggest the possi- bility of systematic error in the bank's methodology for multiplication and addi- tion. The cashier summons a second cashier, who goes through all the rates and calculations for a fifth time. I notice that he too keeps the calculator balanced half on and half off the ledger as he works. Sponge calculanice is obviously a specialite de la maison.

14. And yes — steps are being taken. Action is in hand. The first cashier has let himself out of his cage. He is walking all the way back across the bank towards the right-hand side. We cross back as well, separated from him by the counter, in par- allel, anxious to stay in touch with events. I believe he is carrying the traveller's cheques and the German bank-notes, but he evidently doesn't have everything with him, because after he has spoken to the clerk on the right-hand side she leaves her position, and we all walk back again to the left-hand side.

15. I'm note sure that it's the correctness of the mathematics that are at issue now — the calculator has been left to one side.

I have the impression that they have moved on to more general questions. After all, not two but three different cur- rencies are involved in this transaction, and there may be problems of protocol and precedence. Should the Bundesbank or the Bank of England be informed first?

16. A long time goes by. It is very quiet and still inside the bank, and my attention wanders. I find myself covertly watching some of the other staff. I become fascinat- ed by one particular man. He is recklessly handsome, with a moustache and a three- piece suit, and he has nothing at all to do. The desk in front of him is completely empty. He rubs his hands together and gazes into space, with a look of wistful ten- derness. I don't believe he is thinking about high-interest savings accounts, or even ways of making the bank's foreign exchange procedures more secure. I believe he is thinking about some member of the opposite sex.

17. I notice that there is in fact a young woman sitting just in front of him, typing rapidly, until there is nothing more to type, when she, too, leans on her empty desk and gazes into the great spaces of the room. I believe her thoughts have also strayed to her private life. They do not talk to each other. They do not look at each other. I get the impression that it's not each other that they are thinking about. Their separate reveries seem strangely deep and poignant in the quiet lofty room.

18. Just a moment. Something's hap- pened . . . I don't know what it was, but the clerk is walking back to her place on the right-hand side of the bank. It's been settled. Everyone's anxieties over the trans- action have been set to rest.

19. The clerk fills out a second form to replace the first one.

20. She walks back to the cashier with the new edition of the form. I have the impression that she is moving a little more slowly than before. Her footwear, I think, is not entirely suitable for active pursuits like currency exchange.

21. The cashier checks the new figures and the current state of the foreign exchange market. He pays over F636.27.

22. We exit through the double security system.

The sun is still shining. We are in no hurry, and Laon is a delightful place to be. I look at my watch; the whole entertain- ment has taken 25 minutes.

So what's going to happen to everyone in the Banque de France in Laon when the ecu comes? How are the rest of us going to fill our time? We're all going to end up staring into space, thinking about our loved ones.