NO BANKING ON NOTTING HILL
Alistair Home encounters unexpected violence on the way to Peru
ALL my South American friends had been warning me that things have changed markedly for the worse in Peru since I was last there 16 years ago, and that I must take every possible precaution. It was not just the Sendero Luminoso, or 'Shining Path' guerrillas, with their irrational bombings (chiefly against property) and frequent kidnappings, but also the ubiquitous thieves, slashers and muggers, in a bank- rupt country down to its last $400 million of foreign reserves and with little hope for the future. Recently my good friend, the bril- liant Peruvian novelist, Mario Vargas Llo- sa, drew a crowd of 130,000 in Lima to denounce the Garcia government's plan to nationalise the banks. Despite Mario's oratory it didn't stop them, and last month Garcia sent in tanks to batter down their doors.
So, in response to warnings, I have been busy purchasing money belts, shoulder- holsters and varicose-vein Tubigrips, for secreting my foreign currency about my person when I get to Peru. Alas, what I failed to do was to take these devices — or come accompanied with a tank — when collecting my traveller's cheques at the Notting Hill Gate branch of the National Westminster bank. As a result I leave for the lawless Peru lighter by some $500, and considerably bruised both in person and spirit.
This is what happened: At 3.20 pm, I just made it before closing to collect my traveller's cheques, plus $500, from the Nat West, forwarded from my own bank, Coutts, in the Strand. At the best of times, this particular branch of the Nat West, on the main thoroughfare of Notting Hill Gate, is a grotty and surly place, with few friendly faces among the staff. The tellers are protected behind bullet-proof glass so thick as to make any verbal communication virtually impossible; in the past I have often wondered what was done for the protection and comfort of customers. That day I found out.
While I was signing my traveller's che- ques on the ledge by the foreign exchange cashier, a young, very fair-haired man (a look-alike for David Bowie) came up behind and asked the cashier over my shoulder, 'How much can I get for $180?' in a voice with just a trace of a German or Dutch accent. At that moment, a handful of coins fell on the floor at my feet. I turned and told the young fair-haired man that he had dropped some money, and got a second good look at him. 'Not mine,' he replied, and like a bloody idiot I stooped to pick up the money.
The man grabbed my traveller's che- ques, plus $500 in cash, and flew out of the bank, past some 30 customers, a distance of about 15 yards, out through the doors which the bank messenger was closing to keep customers out at 3.30. I shouted, and gave pursuit, but was tripped and fell heavily. (At the time, I thought it was by an accomplice, but could not swear to this in court; the bank staff made no effort to ascertain this.) The bank messenger admit- ted to hearing my shout, saw the thief, but did nothing. By the time I got outside the bank, he had disappeared into the Notting Hill crowds.
If I had not been tripped, and had not had a painful Gamma Globulin jab in my bum from the previous afternoon, I reckon I should have had a good chance of collaring the thief.
What followed was an enlightening per- formance on the part of the Nat West bank staff. The police came, were thorough and sympathetic. But the assistant manager of the bank, one David J. Wheatley, neither offered any consolation, nor enquired whether I was hurt (although I had been seen to fall with a considerable crash on the stone floor — and today can hardly use my right arm to type this piece), and seemed solely concerned to point out, repeatedly, that the bank had no responsibility for the loss, that it was 'a public place', etc. When (in the presence of Mr Wheatley) I ques- tioned the bank messenger who had been closing the door as to his action, or inaction, I was accused of 'putting the onus' on him, and Mr Wheatley intervened pointedly to say that 'Our personnel are not instructed to stop robbers'; i.e. only to stop customers from entering after hours.
With still no expression of sympathy, the last words from the agreeable Mr Wheatley were, 'It's been a bad day for the bank . . . and, I suppose, for you too. . . . Cheers.' It seemed a singly inappropriate salutation to a customer who had been robbed of all his currency, and left con- siderably bruised and battered on the bank's premises, on the eve of a long trip to South America. I am told that the cheques will be refunded, but certainly not the $500. When I recall security measures in French and American banks, electronic locks on the doors that prevent customers, or thieves, from entering or leaving at will, I am pondering whether the Nat West bank, Notting Hill Gate, has acted with due care and attention towards its cus- tomers. It has certainly been guilty of pretty poor customer relations. My solicitors are advising.
Late on Friday night, the Notting Hill police rang up and went through the evidence I had given in the bank, saying with a fairly heavy tone that they would 'like to ask some more questions of that bank messenger and manager'. I asked if there was anything I could do? 'Yes, why not transfer your account.' I think I will take their advice, resist those enticing television blandishments to old ladies and young men to seek safety with a Nat West account, and return to the nice frock- coated gentry at Coutts in the Strand.
Meanwhile, on the way to lawless Ecuador and Peru, I wonder whether the Shining Path will have anything more unpleasant in store for us than Notting Hill Gate?
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