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A DANCE THROUGH THE FIRES OF TIME

9507 EDUCATION & LOCAL GOVERNMENT – 1970s part 2

I concluded my first IBM year ‘on quota’, that is in field sales, on New Year's Eve 1993.  It started at lunchtime with a very boozy affair. Following my success in closing the Meyer account, and with it getting the branch into the HPC (The Hundred Per Cent Club), along with the other members of the branch I drank a significant amount of champagne.  I was lucky to get home without being breathalysed.  The problem was that the champagne very quickly went to my head. By late afternoon I had an awful hangover.  The real problem was that the evening Pat and I were giving a large New Year's Eve party -- with even more drinking.

The New Year started with me being taken off territory and assigned to the IBM education group at Sudbury Towers.  I never quite knew whether this was a reward for, or punishment for, my activities during the previous year.  Whatever the reason it suited me down to the ground.  Teaching at Sudbury was great fun.  The students were internal IBM salesmen and SEs (System Engineers, the software specialists) rather than customers. We felt, with some perverse justification, that those who taught customers were second class citizens! 

In essence we taught at a postgraduate level, at a very high level indeed, in that virtually all the students had good degrees, or at least the equivalent.  It was a very bright audience and, just as important, the students were - in effect - employed by us. When I first started they were still paid by the branch, but they knew that their progress depended on us.  Later on they were actually directly responsible to us, and we decided what their future was to be; indeed I actually had to fire a couple of students who failed to make the grade.

This meant that they hung on your every word.  They were a joy to teach.  I, and the other new instructor who joined the group at the same time as me, taught the earlier stages of their education rather than Sales School.  This was seen as lower status work, but I enjoyed it more. This was, not least, because you could actually see the students learning – whereas, later on in their education, the final course was much more of an exam.

It was a superb experience, which changed my approach to teaching throughout the rest of my career. Inevitably it was based on the presentations skills I had been taught, when I myself was on these courses.  But, in addition, everything was done to make our teaching effective. This included the amount of time we spent on preparing the lectures.  Thus, whilst half the ten storey building was given over to lecture rooms, the other half was given over to office space where I my colleagues spent most of our time preparing the lectures.  What is more, these lectures used the best possible visual aids.  Most of the teaching was delivered by overhead projector, with professionally produced acetates, which was an unusually luxurious approach for the times.  For some of the lectures, especially those on accounting which I taught, very expensive magnetic presentations were produced, For these the various elements had magnets attached which would stick to the magnetic boards in the lecture theatres – and, in this way, the various accounting equations could be built up in front of the students.

Lecturing was only part of our role, however.  Much of our time was taken up by role-playing, as customer or prospect, in the dummy calls which were at the heart of IBM sales training.  I must admit I enjoyed these, since I've always been something of a theatre aficionado and actor manque. As a result I was always able to ease myself into the relevant role, not least because some of the key calls were based on my own experience. 

After a year or two the whole operation was rearranged.  Prior to this, education covered all the IBM divisions. Thus I taught more DP division personnel than those from GSD.  After that time, however, we were dedicated entirely to GSD.  What is more, we assumed responsibility for the trainees whilst they were with us -- taking on a management role. 

As I said, I fired couple of students.  One of these, for example, was initially very impressive.  He came to the podium and had real presence; which presumably was why he had been hired. But, as soon as he opened his mouth, all that issued forth was gobbledygook.  We tried everything to put meaningful words into his mouth but we all failed, and I had to advise him to look elsewhere for his future career.  Fortunately he still had a number of jobs open to him from his previous application round.

Most of my teaching took place in a class of around 30 students say, but I have occasionally taught audiences as large as 150. With numbers as high as the latter I had no chance of controlling the interaction between myself and them, which is the essence of good teaching. So that really was just `lecturing' – as indeed most mediocre teaching really is. Indeed, with the more normal classes of 30 or so I still found it impossible to fully control (at least to the degree I wanted) more than 20 of the audience.

I found that, as a good teacher, you need to be constantly aware of how well each student understands what you are saying. In the larger classes you have to judge this mainly by body language (especially eye contact). As I said above, I discovered that I could maintain this interaction in classes of up to 20 in size; but even this came with a number of years experience. Below that limit, I would immediately be aware (by a change in body posture, typically to a more `hesitant' pose) of anyone who wasn't following what I was saying. I could then rephrase what I was saying, and direct it at the ones who were in difficulty (and even conduct a short dialogue with them) until I was happy that they were once more following the material. However, even in IBM, I often had to teach classes larger than 20. In these cases, I had to deliberately `shut out' those who sat beyond the first 20. If you chose to sit at the back of such a class, you denied yourself the benefits of interaction. Conversely, I reckoned that I could teach a class of eight just about twice as fast as one of 20, and could teach a class of four twice as fast again.

The reason for these dramatic increases in speed of learning is that it reflects the degree to which you can give individual tuition. With a class of 20 your interaction is largely limited to registering that everyone has understood you, and to keeping everyone interested in the subject matter. With classes as low as four you can teach each person almost individually, so that there is constant interaction between the two of you. The proportion of time the class would be speaking, as opposed to me lecturing, would rise from as low as a quarter with a large class, to in excess of a half with a small class; and, of course, the amount of time the average individual in those classes was speaking would rocket from about 1 per cent to as high as 15 per cent (and that 15:1 ratio makes a dramatic difference to understanding).

It is conventionally reckoned that the typical span of attention of students is about 45 minutes, which is why classes are usually scheduled at this length. I found that, even so, to help to increase attention, by reducing monotony, it was advisable to run different styles of teaching in adjacent timeslots. Thus, for example, a chalk and talk session would be followed by a hands-on workshop, followed by a video etc. I also used to deliberately vary my style and pace within the 45­minute segments.

There was a limit to what could be accomplished where the material was already fixed. But, for example, if I noticed attention slipping I would switch to asking more questions of the audience, or I would deliberately lift the material by making it more controversial, or just much louder.

In fact, IBM sales trainees were all very capable, intelligent, experienced and well trained. Above all they knew their job, at least in terms of the product and the industries they were selling to.

Second, and most important, they were highly motivated. They worked hard, for long hours. They believed in the products they were selling, and in the company that employed them and, by the end of the training, in themselves. Most of all they believed in the supremacy of `customer service'. They had no reservations about their role. It was quite simply to help the customer, and in the process they made the sale and their own enviable reputation!

With such general characteristics it is not surprising that the mix of my trainees happily included, on the same course, an ex-member of the SAS (who had spent the period immediately prior to IBM in very hot foxhole in the Omani desert patiently waiting to kill invading Yemenis) and a student just off an MBA (Master of Business Administration) course at the London Business School. They were equally successful, in their own individual ways, and happily learnt from each other as much as from me.

Over the years I spent with IBM I saw thousands of (training) calls and presentations. Surprisingly - to outsiders that is - very few of them had the slickness I have since seen in the work of other less successful sales forces. Indeed their lack of gloss would probably have made most sales trainers squirm. Yet they were successful, remarkably so.

How did this happen, and how did their customers still view them as super-salesmen? The simple answer was that the content, if not the superficial style, of each call and presentation was superb. This was what the customer saw and remembered. This content typically addressed just what the customer needed. The IBM sales professionals had taken the trouble find out what the true requirements were, and had taken as much trouble to address those needs - with a demonstrably effective set of solutions. The customer was, justifiably, impressed. He didn't see the less than slick style. What he saw was a clear awareness of his need and the empathy that came from a genuine desire to help him.

Customers tended to rationalise this as superb sales­manship, and it was, but it was a very long way from the conventional image of slick salesmanship! Indeed I was eventually convinced that half the reason for IBM salemen’s success was that they were dramatically over-compensating for their shortcomings in charisma, by working themselves into the ground understanding and meeting the customer's needs!

Indeed it has been my perception that the most successful sales professionals are highly intelligent; and this is the main `hereditary' ingredient of their success. They may not necessarily have demonstrated this academically, but measured by less academic standards they usually show up as very bright indeed. This may conflict with the conventional image, although even this would see salesmen as `sharp' or shrewd. But a sales professional has to possess a considerable degree of intellectual prowess to undertake the detective work that is necessary to uncover prospects' true needs, and then to undertake the problem solving that leads to viable solutions.

Specific sales training represented only about a quarter of IBM's training programme, with three-quarters given over to knowledge training in the products, technical and business areas - but (as these were seen as the key elements of sales training) still under the supervision of, and largely taught by, the sales training staff. There was no distinction between these elements: all was sales training, with the aim of producing the well-rounded sales professional.

Even the specific sales training in IBM was not wedded to techniques. It was deliberately designed to allow each sales professional to develop his own well-rounded style - a theme that, you will have noted, pervaded much of my books. Thus, as I explained earlier, the core of the IBM sales training programme was a series of dummy calls. The principle was simple: it was to simulate real calls (in every respect possible), for the trainees to learn by experience.

The practice was, inevitably, rather more complex. Some time in advance of making the dummy (or practice) call, the trainee was given a `brief', which gave the general background to the call he was about to make. It typically gave the sort of information he could expect to have available before approaching a prospect. The trainee was expected to undertake the research he would carry out before a real call; finding out the suitable products, details of the market, and suitable references (which had to be real, since the instructors checked them out).

The instructor, who was to role-play the prospect, was given a much more detailed brief, simulating the real-life prospect situation. This instructor brief included some possible scenarios, but the skill of the instructor (for which he was carefully trained) lay in playing the role of prospect, so that the trainee could experience the whole range of calling situations.

The dummy call itself lasted around half an hour. It took place in front of five or six other trainees and, at the end of the call, both they and the instructor commented on what had happened, although it was really only the instructor's comments that carried weight. The involvement of the other trainees was as much to ensure that they also learnt. This way each trainee made perhaps 20 to 30 calls himself, and saw another 100 or so made by his fellows.

In this way the trainees learnt their skills by experience. They had the best

possible opportunity to learn from the things they did wrong, and most did, before they made them – much more expensively for IBM – in the field.

When, after I had been in post for two years, the IBM Education Department was broken up, and we were split off to GSD education,we had to produce a complete new set of courses.  At least we didn't have to, but - as always - everyone wanted to show they could do things that much better than their predecessors. So we were set the task of producing not just a rerun of existing courses but completely new ones.  There was an immediate stampede by the instructors, now in GSD, to grab the best resources.  I stayed out of this stampede.  I had already, thanks to my extensive background, managed to get myself the job of business education.  When the stampede finished, I was left with no resources -- as had indeed been my intention.  Hence, I went crying to the management saying “What can I do?”.  They, understandably, said “We haven't got any more people or resources…All we can offer you his money”. That was the reason I had waited.  They gave me a large budget, which ultimately was running at the quarter million pounds a year; a great deal of money in the mid Seventies.  This was mine to spend as I wished!  Everyone else thought I was mad, because I didn't have the usual IBM support wrapped around me; but I knew what I wanted.

I immediately trotted off to the London Business School and, in one of my best ever sales pitches, persuaded them to become our partners in this education.  It was not too difficult, since at the time the staff at the London Business School were fascinated by IBM -- which was then the most successful company in the world. Accordingly, they wanted to get their feet in the door to see how it worked.  To cut a long story short, I managed to sell them on the partnership, but I suspect that it really was the other way round -- with my contact, Professor John Stopford who was one of the leading gurus, really getting the deal he wanted.  Even so, the deal was very good for IBM, not least since we could use their residential accommodation, which was designed for executives and had en-suite facilities. When this was bundled together with their teaching charges it only brought the total to what we would normally have paid for hotel accommodation.  For this price I got the best professors in the business school.

They were a few cultural shocks on the way.  When John Stopford first introduced me to the senior lecturer who was to manage our courses the latter could not have been further from the IBM image.  At the time he was sitting with his feet on his desk, which only emphasised the sandals he was wearing and his bare feet under them.  The rest of him was just as hippy -- torn jeans, a T-shirt and a quite extravagant beard.  Robin Wensley had, however, a brilliant mind and he was largely responsible for the success of the course.  He later went on to be the Dean of Warwick Business School; but there he abandoned his sandals and looked quite like the senior manager – even wearing a suit! 

Eventually, we also added on Sue Birley, located at the LBS small business unit.  Sue again was one of brightest minds that I've known. She later went to be a professor at Cranfield and then to Imperial College, when her husband became dean there.

The London Business School was an ideal environment to teach in.  It was located in a beautiful series of buildings on Regents Park: far removed from IBM.  The lecture theatres were excellent; not least all the seating was curved - so the lecturer was the focus. On the other hand Robin Wensley disliked this, since it allowed the lecturer to dominate the audience; so he used to teach as a disembodied voice from the back of the curve!.  As I said the facilities were excellent, with en-suite bedrooms, and the food was five-star. Accordingly, we used to run all the two weeks long residentials actually at the London Business School.  During this time we taught the students the twenty case studies from the first year of their MBA

I taught the trainees the basics of the first year of the MBA at IBM’s Sudbury Towers.  In something like two weeks we went through accounting, production, marketing and strategy.  This was great fun, not least since the students were not just very bright, and postgraduate level, but also had considerable business experience themselves.  It was a joy to teach them. I think I often learned as much as them.  Once again we used the facilities of IBM to produce superb lectures; not least the magnetics (printed lettering with attached magnets which could be positioned anywhere on the classroom’s magnetic chalkboards) made teaching accounting much easier.

A problem then emerged when the course became so popular that it was decided to put the existing field personnel through it as well.  Clearly it was difficult enough to release them for the two weeks residential part, but they couldn't be spared for the teaching in advance.  Accordingly I had to produce what was in effect a distance teaching course -- though I didn't realise this at the time, and certainly didn't realise I was producing material in parallel with the Open University.  The key to this material was, though, textbooks -- the standard ones that the LBS used with their first-year students -- but associated with these were my extensive notes.  Equally, I provided a tape-recorded introduction to these, which continued through the distance taught course.  I did all these at home, using my own tape recorder, but the end result worked very well -- and the field force were well prepared for the case studies when they arrived. Of course, they themselves have been exposed to vast amounts of commercial experience in their sales careers.

Finally, to speed up the introduction to the individual case studies -- of which there were 20 during the two weeks (each taking half a day) -- I produced an audiovisual introduction which very quickly went through each case study; in turn setting the context for the reading the students had to do before they started. These were in the form of a tape-recorded talk electronically linked to a slide presentation; so we could simply set it up in the lecture theatre and it would automatically run through while the students watched it.  This was so successful that it was presented by me as a key session when LBS hosted business schools throughout the world to an international convention. I was told that a number of leading US schools had later taken up the approach.

The residential element of GSD’s business school took place every other fortnight.  I arrived with all my equipment, on Sunday afternoon, to set up ready for students arriving that evening.  Dinner that evening was informal, though limited to the students; as was the whole course. For most of the time these were a mix of trainees, along with rather more salesmen and system engineers.  We threw them into their work immediately, showing them the introduction to the first case on Sunday evening and then running it on Monday morning.  To ease them in gently, the first case was a simple accounting case; based on marketing the clock at Wells Cathedral.  It was an interesting case, the clock was the oldest in Britain and the authorities down there wanted to make more money from the tourists who came to see it.  As with all the sessions, it was taught by a member of LBS staff – in this case a lecturer in accounting.

From there we moved on to a new case each half day; one in the morning and one in the afternoon.  These progressed through the whole range of business activities. These were then rather different to the ones that now hold sway. In particular, production was still a major discipline covered.  As I explained above, initially the students met in the lecture theatre; to be shown an audiovisual introduction to the case. Having had techniques of using highlighters, for example, explained to them, they then went off in their groups to study the material -- -- before they went on to discuss case as a group.  At the end of their deliberations they then came back to a plenary session, to explain their recommendations for the case.

The key to success was, however, that the teaching was very much a form of brainwashing.  Our acid test was that, when the students first read about their earlier cases, they would sit in their group and make comments like "This is an interesting case, obviously the theory they need to adopt is...".  By the first Wednesday, however, they came to the groups saying "My God we’re in trouble. What the hell are we going to do?"  In other words, the brainwashing was that they had to get intimately involved with the business, which was the object of the exercise.  Thus, although they learned specific business school theory and techniques, the one thing that we wanted to stay with them - after the end of the course - was the gut-feel of what it's like to run such businesses.

Although we ran dozens of these courses we never ran one that didn't succeed.

The brainwashing mainly came from the endless torrent of work that was poured onto the students.  They literally didn't have time to think. But it was also by careful manipulation of the environment. I spent every evening in the bar, with the various groups, listening to what they were saying and what they were doing.  Incidentally this had a very personal cost.  At the end of each two-week School I literally had to dry out, since I had something like alcohol poisoning. This was not good for me, when I had diabetes, but it was a price I was then (foolishly) willing to pay.  The following morning, therefore, I was able to report back to the managing group -- which was Sue Birley (from the LBS small business group)  as well as Robin Wensley (the lecture in marketing who was in charge of the course for LBS). At this we briefed the lecturers for that day on how they had to steer their course to compensate for the weaknesses I had observed and build on the strengths.  It was a very tightly managed school.

The nice thing about it was that the news of its success soon got round the business school itself. Where we initially had mainly senior lecturers teaching cases, with just a few professors, I soon had professors knocking at my door asking if they could teach one of our cases.  Thus, I had my choice not just of the best lecturers but also the best professors.  It was the most high-powered course I have ever run.

The course usually ended with a celebratory dinner, on the last Thursday night, followed by various hijinks; of which more later.  Everyone assumed therefore that the final session on Friday morning was insignificant.  As a result the students trotted into the main lecture theatre, complete with their hangovers, to find the three of us - myself, Robin and Sue - sitting out at the front with our feet on the desk.  We had not listed a case study for the Friday, but we then introduced one which was going to be the most important of all. It was IBM GSD!.  We then launched into a vicious attack on IBM GSD, and all its silly ideas. In particular we destroyed the three call close which was the current flavour of the month. The problem for the students was that our arguments were sound, and well rehearsed, building all the case studies they had already done.  It was very difficult for them actually make any case for GSD at all.  Accordingly the students slunk out at the end of the business school with the whole of the following weekend to think over what we'd said about their role in IBM.  This of course was our intention, since we knew that, by the following Monday, they would bounce back – but with a much better perspective on their job.

This was proved by the fact that the GSD sales force over the next couple of years more than trebled its sales; not by the three call close, but by understanding the business in the way that we had taught them.

Back to the hijinks, we wanted a mix of trainees and qualified salesman and SEs on the course.  Accordingly we put out a lot of publicity and, more important, forced the branches to dragoon a sufficient number of qualified staff onto the course.  But there was no great feeling in the field force that they wanted to attend the course.  Eventually they might have known that it was good for the souls, but it still took time away from selling and they weren't likely to attend it.

It was almost by a mistake, therefore, that we found by far the best way of attracting them onto the school.  I mentioned earlier the party on the last Thursday night, and the first group of students really went to town on that. It so happened that IBM also had a course for secretarial managers running at a local hotel.  Most of that course were, accordingly, recruited to come to party; and were the qualified by the salesman on the basis that "... only come if you intend to perform".

Accordingly it was the biggest orgy I have ever attended.  There were far more girls than men, and some men went through three girls in the evening.  There was a constant stream of them going backwards and forwards from the student union, where we held it, to the bedrooms. Fortunately, I had recruited two of the girls in London Business School to act as chaperones.  If any of the girls were too far gone, too drunk in other words, the girls took them aside and put them safely to bed in spare bedrooms. This was a process we repeated on all the later parties, it saved the reputation of IBM many times

Unfortunately I personally had to ride shotgun on the whole affair.  Even so I managed to reserve myself a nice young girl for myself and chatted her up all evening while I watched all the other comings and goings on. About three o'clock in the morning I was just about to close in on my investment when someone whispered in my ear "David, how is Pat?".  I turned, to discover one of my neighbours, who apparently happened to be there on another course.  That was the end of my venture for that evening -- actually my chances of such an adventure for the whole programme of courses.  Perhaps most annoying was that, as far as I could see, he took over the girl and built on my investment.  The only saving grace was that the following night I was at a party where I spent most of the evening whispering with his wife while he looked on - panic stricken - from the other side the room.

That was the best orgy that happened.  Later on we did different things.  One group went to Raymond's Revue Bar - then the leading strip joint in London - and I remember being particularly proud that I was the only one to recognise one girl who appeared in both parts of the evening. I recognised her by her beautiful eyes! On another evening we hired a boat and went down the Thames; as always with a selected group of girls!

The only other one where I got personally involved was one where we went Ronnie Scott's with a number of invited girls.  I found myself with a very attractive, and very sophisticated, blonde.  We spent the evening talking and dancing together and I was hopeful once more of cashing in on my investment.  Unfortunately, towards the end of the evening she told me that she was secretary to a Saudi Arabian consortium.  It was at a time when Ian Donaldson and I were trying to get a property venture off the ground, and we desperately needed Saudi money.  Accordingly, almost my horror, I found myself switching instead to the sales pitch for our particular venture.  She really was a superb girl, but that was the end of my romance for the evening; and we never did get the money!

My initial contact at LBS was John Stopford, who was one of their leading professors.  John was very high-powered indeed, and later went off to New York to run the United Nations Commission on the Transnationals.  I have some very happy memories of my conversations with him. One of these came about when, after an excellent lunch with him where LBS was blessed with an excellent restaurant, I spent nearly two hours talking with him over coffee in their common room.  We were discussing the Civil Service.  I pontificated about what I thought the civil service should be doing. But, after about three hours of discussion, I eventually asked John what his interest was; only to be told by him that he was heading a government task force investigating the service! The London Business School at that time, in the late 1970s, was very close to government.  I remember a number of times the discussion of over the lunch table being about what they had said to Jim that morning. It was confusing because Jim Ball was the Dean of the School at that time.  Almost invariably, however, they meant Jim Callaghan -- who was then Prime Minister!

My second anecdote relates to a meeting arranged between John Stopford and my new IBM boss Terry Osborne.  Terry found out the John was going to the United States, to the UN, and was trying to help him about the housing problems there.  He explained how difficult it was to find suitable accommodation, only to have John explain that he was already arranged to take on a brownstone off Fifth Avenue -- he had exchanged houses with a director of the World Bank!  The final anecdote was even better.  Terry was describing how he had attended the Senate hearings on IBM, assisting Gil Jones the IBM vice president.  The response from John Stopford, which I assure you was not a put down, was "I know how you feel, I felt exactly the same way the first time I addressed the full general assembly of the United Nations"! 

I was also involved in other teaching at LBS. Thus, with a colleague, I lectured on the future of computing. This was a two-hour lecture to the whole MBA student body.  It was a disaster, where we - correctly - stressed that the important way to think about the future was to decide what you wanted how do; for computers could do anything you wanted.  There were, in effect, no boundaries to what you could do with hardware. The problem was that all 150 MBA students only wanted to know what were the latest technical gizmos.

M second contribution was as part of the accounting and finance course.  Myself and the lecturer worked out a case study based on the financial case I was trying to make for the leisure complex at Hampton Court.  This was a very successful case study, but it also was just successful in bringing together the best possible case to present to possible financial partners -- though we never did succeed in this respect!

After several years in IBM Education Department, and latterly in GSD Education, I was promoted, from the 55 to 56 level - in IBM's terms. I then moved to GSD Marketing; the main function of which then was to launch new products. It was, therefore, part of the new products process. 

The management of new products before they got to launch was actually the responsibility of a group called ‘Product Line’.  They were called this because the UK was one of only a handful of countries in the IBM World Trade operation that actually had (line) input into the new product process.  Having said that, we still had very little control over most of the new product process, since this was mainly the responsibility of the labs. All Product Line could do was input customer requirements and comment on changes they, accordingly, wanted to make to the new products

After launch, the marketing of the products, in those days, was typically -- at least in DP division -- handled by the industry marketing departments.  In later times these disappeared off the map, but at that time they had something like 1,000 staff handling the various industry sectors.

The marketing group, in my case in GSD, handled the bit in between; the launch itself.  Having said that, it was quite a lengthy process, since the first part of it overlapped with Product Line, as we took over progressively over during the year before the launch itself, and the latter part merged into the ‘Industry-Marketing’ group’s follow-on activities.

I wanted to get into this group since I thought it best suited my marketing talents.  Unfortunately, it was run by something of cowboy; Keith.  He was a nice guy, but was a frustrated showman rather than a marketing professional.  What is more, my marketing professionalism rankled him -- since it often got in the way of the show he wanted to put on. 

When I arrived the big new product on the stocks was the IBM System/34.  Or at least it wasn't really the big new product, because that (the S/38) was not quite ready.  Instead, the S/34 was something of a stop-gap measure.  It was really an upgraded System/3.  The hardware itself was as leading edge as it could be made, but the all-important software was just a modification to that used on the System/3.  This is not to say that it was old compared with the competitors in the field.  For example the System/3 had many features built in which IBM would never unlock, since there was never a competitive requirement to use them.  IBM typically built boxes with many new features already in place, and often it was just a matter of opening the covers of the box and turning a switch to upgrade it quite dramatically.  This had certainly been true earlier of ‘virtual storage’ on the S/370 range.  It had been there all the time, but was only switched on when it was needed to beat tough competition.

Having said all that, the System/34 was actually not a great step forward.  Even so we had to pretend that it was. Accordingly, we planned a major new product launch at the New London theatre.  This was just before Andrew Lloyd Webber’s ‘Cats’ moved into the theatre, and monopolised it for the next 30 years.  In fact the New London Theatre was ideal for the event, since it could seat the whole GSD division and, after the presentation, they could go downstairs to the various function rooms where they could eat lunch.

Although I was only a helper at this occasion, I was in my element. I've always wanted to be involved in the performing arts, especially the theatre or film; and this was very much a performance.  Keith, ever the showman, arranged the highlight as being a, near complete, executive jet seemingly taxiing onto the stage; and the door opening so that the new divisional manager could run down the steps to make his speech to the assembled throng.  It worked very well and impressed everyone. But, as a marketing man, I wondered just what message it was conveying.  I guess, in fact, it was conveying a message of excitement, where there wasn't much exciting about the machine -- though GSD sold hundreds over the next few years, since IBM machines were anyway far better than was needed to the job. 

Even so, it was fascinating to watch everything being set up, and mingling with the various stage technicians and directors and IBM senior management.  But it was a time when you had to spend long hours in the job.  Thus, we didn't finish the setup until something like four o'clock in the morning; when we had to go on again at nine o'clock the following morning.  The main reason for this was that the senior management, who - aided by an autocue - were making the various speeches, were so nervous that they had to keep going over their speeches.  I have always said that if you are making this sort of speech you should give up a day before and relax; but it never seems to happen in practice.

This was where I was let in on the secret of Frank Cummiskey's talent.  As one of IBM's popular vice presidents, he was renowned for making ‘off the cuff’ speeches.  He used to just sit on the edge of the stage and talk to the audience, as if it was the first thing that came into his head.  He too was one of those working at four o'clock in the morning.  In his case he wasn't nervous. It was just the act of a professional. He had only come in the previous afternoon.  Even so, he went over the over his speech until he got it absolutely word perfect.  What is more he had us sit there and advise him on what changes he needed to make for the United Kingdom.  It looked like his speech was effortless, but it wasn't; it was incredibly professional.

The most important new product of GSD Marketing Group, where System/34 was something of a diversion, was System/38; code-named ‘Pacific’. All IBM new products were code-named to keep them secret.

It looked from the number alone (S/38) as if it was no great advance on the System/34. In fact nothing could have been further from the truth; it was genuinely revolutionary!

I got heavily involved with this product, along with my colleagues, something like a year in advance the launch.  I, in particular, was fascinated by its architectural specification.  It was a wonderful machine under the covers.  It was something like a generation ahead of its time. Not least it had 48k addressing. This didn't become more generally available for another 20 years.  It also had relative-addressing for everything.  This was most obvious in terms of the storage.  Before this time data stored on disk had been stored in physically separate files.  Thus, when you added to a file you wrote in the sector dedicated to this or – if this was full - started a new sector somewhere else.  In the case of Pacific every bit of data, and indeed every element within each piece of data, was stored separately and could be put anywhere on the system. There was no such thing as a physically continuous file.  Only the operating system could tell you where the data went. What was more, the machine itself was relative.  Thus, in theory, it was possible to start processing an instruction in London, continue it a fraction of second later on a machine in Los Angeles and finish it on one in Tokyo.  You wouldn't notice any difference whatsoever, the machine kept track of this.  I don't think this was ever implemented, but it was indicative of the incredible power of the machine

Indeed this was one very powerful operating system.  The operating system is what makes computers powerful; and this one had everything that every system designer might have wanted.  I fell in love with it at first sight.

As it turned out, it was a little too far ahead of its time for the hardware.  Eventually, a decade, later it ran very powerfully indeed; as the hardware caught up with it.  But when it was first launched it struggled. At least the hardware available at the time struggled to run the overhead of the software.  There was, indeed, an enormous software overhead. If I remember correctly, it was something like 60 MB for the main programme; which was truly enormous for the time. Now it is quite normal for ordinary PCs to have Microsoft operating systems running into hundreds of MB.  But it must be remembered that the ordinary PCs now can have something like a gigabyte of a memory when, at the time System/38 came out, even the biggest mainframes were likely to have as few as 100 kilobytes of main memory.

As usual with IBM there was a master plan for a whole range of machines.  There were very small machines to take over from the System/32 and System/34, and very large machines to handle DP division applications.  As was also usual with IBM, most of these machines were never actually launched.  Certainly the smaller machines were never launched, since the hardware had enough problems keeping up with the software even on the medium-sized machines.  This was often the case in IBM.  Its original S/360 machine was supposed to have one operating system, OS, but a second had to be developed as a matter of urgency; the new DOS system just for the smaller machines. Also typical for IBM, the two software operating systems were incompatible for the whole lives of the machines in the range.  At the top end, on the other hand, it is quite possible that large S/38 machines would have been viable. But they would have competed with the very profitable large mainframes of DP division, and IBM saw no point in cannibalising this market. However, a couple of decades later, the DP division accounts did start buying large numbers of networked machines based on the S/38 architecture.

Not merely was it my favourite, but it was Keith's chance to make his reputation. Accordingly, everyone was directed to work on this new machine.  Even though I had the launch of a new machine in the meantime, I had to keep this low-key so that none of the attention was taken away from Pacific (S/38).

There was a significant amount of paperwork that followed the new machine around.  Much of this was in the form of what IBM called ‘candy stripes’.  These were top secret documents, which were printed on paper that was literally candy striped, in pink, across each page. Within each page there was also not just the page number but also the number of the recipient.  This meant that any leaks could immediately be traced back to the recipient; since the numbers were not small, but were the size of the whole page - in pink.  I got into trouble when I later left the department, for I handed my candy stripes – of which by then I had a number - to the person who followed me.  This was a breach of rules, for I forgot that I had to hand them back to the security coordinator who would cross them off against my name and reissue them to the new manager. What was worse, the recipient had then proceeded to lose them!  This was a fireable offence in IBM, so seriously was confidentiality taken. There was a massive internal inquiry, and I only just escaped with my job.

The key documents, which had peculiar names that were only meaningful within the IBM new products operation, were actually intended to obtain country input to the pricing policy.  IBM, give its due, took the right marketing stance; of not just adding on to the cost but of actually deciding what the market would bear. Indeed it had a process where it charged high prices at the launch but, through the product’s life, gradually decreased these until - at the end of its life – the stocks left were almost remaindered.

Whilst I was in the GSD ‘Country Announcement Group’ my own special baby was IBM GSD's first personal computer, the IBM 5110.  Having said that, it was rather larger than you might expect of a modern PC. In its initial form, the IBM 5100, which was intended to be portable, had to be lugged round in a special carrying case. Unfortunately, its weight was something over 100 pounds, hardly a laptop!.  This first version had been designed for scientific applications, and indeed had the APL language built into this - as indeed did the later 5110 even though it was to be sold in a very different market – but, a major drawback in commercial markets, the 5100 was only tape based.

The IBM 5110 was rather more versatile than its predecessor.  Most important, it had a diskette unit attached.  This used the very large diskettes that the IBM Displaywriter was using at that time.  Unfortunately, this also meant that the disk unit was the size of a small filing cabinet; making it less portable than ever – though it was still supplied with a carrying case, for use in the unlikely event that it was disconnected from its diskette data storage! Even though nobody actually carried it around, it was IBM's first general-purpose, commercial, personal computer.

Because, justifiably, nobody else in GSD was particularly interested, I had an almost free rein with this product.  I was the Country Announcement Manager (CAM), and I had ultimate authority to overrule anyone else in terms of the launch.  In fact, one of the up-and-coming politicians in GSD head office elbowed his way in, trying to make his mark by launching it in such a way to suit his career. This would have been disastrous for the launch programme in general.  As he was a salesman, and most of the other senior managers were salesman, he actually was quite successful in bending their ears.  Accordingly we had a meeting which turned out to be showdown.  The room was full of senior managers, going up to main board director in status, and almost all of them were more senior than myself.  When my putative rival put his case forward he obtained their votes.  I then they did something which you were entitled to do within IBM, though you risked your career in so doing, I 'not concurred'.  This was one of those lovely IBM expressions which was meant to encourage creativity.  You didn't have to disagree. You simply 'non-concurred'.  Due to my all-encompassing role as Country Announcement Manager, when I non-concurred the whole process came grinding to a halt.  Thus, the whole meeting -- with its many senior managers -- had to go back to square one and talk it through until my own ideas were found acceptable!  I don't think that did my career much good, Keith certainly made me aware that it was a mistake.  But it did mean that the launch was, within its limits, successful.

Because everything was within my hands, it was fascinating experience. I was able to see how the laboratories and support services around the world worked.  I well remember going across to the Mainz in Germany for a Teacher The Teachers (TTT) course.  This was held at IBM's massive Mainz plant.  It was so big that it had its own hotel in the middle of the plant, and it was there that we stayed. Unfortunately, the American team teaching us were not very good; and, worse still, were arrogant in their ignorance as only Americans can be!  On top of that I caught very bad flu and had to fly home early as I was so ill.  I had a terrible row with the Americans because they demanded that I stayed despite my illness.

Incidentally while we were there, or at least the half day before the course started, we drove down the Rhine Gorge.  I should add that the night before we had dinner at the Hilton hotel and I had been delighted to find, on the wine list, a Johannesburger Kabinett hock that I had always wanted to drink. When we drank the bottle I enthused immensely about this.  My colleagues also said it was delightful.  However, while driving down the Rhine, we had stopped at a local inn and had some of the local wine.  It was slatey, almost muddy, but my colleagues enthused even more -- saying how much better it was than the one which we had the night before!

Uniquely, for this 5110 product, we received a prototype version to work on ourselves.  This was locked in a separate room at the GSD HQ in Richmond, for which only I had the key. Accordingly, every night I went and played with the machine.  It was a work of art, though being a prototype the back panel was wire wrapped rather than a PCB (Printed Circuit Board).  I spent many happy hours sorting out how it worked; with the American lab on the end of a phone line, changing the position of the wire wraps to sort out the various problems I found.  One night, though, I couldn't get it to work at all. After about half an hour on the line to the US, the American voice drily said to me “Follow the power lead out of the machine and you might just find, where it comes against the wall, a mains switch”.  I had forgotten to switch the machine on!

Despite all my work, the launch was inevitably going to be a minor affair.  It was a superb bit of kit and it also had a very good set of business packages shipped with it.  All you had to do was put the first disc in, complete the password, and you were up and running. Then you just had to answer a few questions to automate your business.  Unfortunately, as we soon found out, some bright spark in the States had changed the password before it was shipped -- so nobody could start the machine without a great deal of support!

But, as I said, it had to be relatively low key and was run alongside a more general kick-off meeting. This was not just Keith keeping attention for his own ‘Pacific’ (S/38) launch, which was due soon afterwards, it actually made some sense. In fact the GSD salesman earned his commission, and incentives, by the value of the equipment then sold. At that time they would have had to sell 100 of the new 5110s to make the equivalent of one large System/34.  The best we could do was to hope that they would sell a 5110 when there was no opportunity for any larger machine. Even then they didn't, since the investment in learning the new machine just wasn't worthwhile for the salesmen. That is why the PC later used a separate organisation. That was what was really needed before such small systems became successful.

Terry Osborne was one of the up-and-coming new managers who'd been through the traditional route of being an AA (Administrative Assistant) to Frank Cary at Armonk in the US. He was posted into the UK to take over, indeed to rescue, General Systems Division when it had had a disaster in the previous year.  In turn I found myself as his AA, given the job of successfully bedding him down as the head of the division.  I well remember my first meeting with him; attending a videotaping session with him and the group personnel director - John Steele, who I always got on well with - for the video which was to be sent to the branches at the beginning of the new year.  I always respected Terry, who was a lovely guy and very much in the IBM mould.

To help him put in perspective his coming experience in the UK, as described earlier, I took him to meet John Stopford, with whom I had worked on my programme at the London Business School.  It was a wonderful meeting.  John Stopford was not merely a leading professor at LBS but was also on the board of Shell and was just about to go off to head the new multinationals operation at the United Nations.  Accordingly, with two such high-powered individuals meeting for the first time over lunch, there were some lovely moments.  Had the meeting been between other people I would have said it was a delight of one-upmanship, but both of these people really were modest people who wouldn't have indulged in that.  Thus Terry, trying to give helpful advice to John Stopford about the US, said he must go up to Vermont in the fall -- the trees there were lovely then. John's reply to this was “I do so agree, that's why we have a cabin up there”. 

Regrettably Terry didn't understand half the things we were trying to tell him about marketing in the UK.  He was totally steeped in the IBM sales approach, which simply could not allow for any other form of marketing other than face-to-face selling.  I had the same problem later on, when I tried to explain mass marketing to the UK board – at the time when the PC had come along. They simply didn't understand what I was saying.  They didn't object to my ideas, they literally didn't hear what I said. That was, in the middle 1980s, when I first realised IBM was heading for real trouble.

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I was not able to control Terry's visits to the various branches, and we soon learned that he been going down like a lead balloon there.  The whole division was in the deep depression after the disasters of the previous year; when - not least - almost everyone had failed, by a large margin, to make their targets.  As part of the team which tried to work out how to resuscitate their sales enthusiasm I had even gone as far as suggesting that we bring in the Tavistock to do some form of therapy on the sales people.

The problem was evident, when after this period, I went with Terry to the industry conference in Bournemouth.  Everything went very well on the train down. We went over the presentation, which had been prepared for him, and he was once more the very dynamic guy.  But as soon as he stepped up to the podium his confidence dropped away and he looked almost like an animal caught in the headlights of a car.  I won't say he was a disaster, since he managed to carry off the presentation much better than most managers might have done, but he certainly did not make a charismatic figure.

Our last chance to rescue his career, and our division, came when we went to the Hundred Percent Club in Cannes.  The only time we had available to us there was at the divisional lunch, where traditionally the general manager -- Terry -- spoke to his troops over lunch.  It was this vehicle that we had to use.  Accordingly, to make the most of this last opportunity, we literally spent a couple of months on preparing his pitch to the key sales personnel attending this lunch.

We reasoned that we had to get away from the normal handing out of the awards for best salesmen of the year.  Everyone was used to that, and Terry would not be rescued by such an event – not least because it was boring for the vast majority who had not won.  Instead we decided that he would hand out prizes to all the people who would have never got prizes before, but who the branch personnel thought ought to have received some recognition.  Accordingly we trawled each branch for the individuals who the branch loved, but who had been unrewarded.  Then we collected all the personal anecdotes about these, so that the whole presentation was nicely personalised.

We spent several weeks crafting this presentation into a work of art.  We carefully balanced all the material, and burnished the best anecdotes and jokes - all of which were buried in the presentation.

We then rehearsed Terry, day after day after day, until he was not just word perfect but lived it night and day.  We didn't give up until the last-minute.  Thus, I particularly remember being in the Presidential suite at the Carlton Hotel, at three o'clock in the morning, with him and his boss going through the presentation yet again.

We still worried that he might still lose his confidence, and bottle out.  Accordingly we put one of our number to sit next to him during lunch and ply him with drink until he was ever so slightly tipsy.  As Terry got up and launched into his speech he was almost on autopilot. Luckily our work paid off. It was well received. The audience loved it. To them this was a totally new Terry. It showed him as a genuine guy. What was even better was that Terry sensed that he was getting across and everyone was loving him; and his confidence grew by the minute.  It was an incredible success.  His career was saved, and so was the future of the group, though – as IBM ran into trouble in the mid 1980s - he ultimately went to another company.

In terms of my private life, Molesey was, in the 1970s, unusual in having a very strong residents association.  This was not politically affiliated or even philosophically aligned with any of the parties.  Many residents associations, or more commonly ratepayers associations, are closet Conservatives.  Ours was not even biased in favour of one-party or another.  Not least, I never even knew what the political affiliations were of the other individuals on the committee.

On the other hand, like many similar organisations, it had been started as a result of a local controversy.  Also like others the dispute was one concerned with town planning; in essence the NIMBY factor.  Thus, a controversial planning decision had been made, affecting the conservation area at the centre of Molesey. This was where a number of the better off, and more influential, citizens lived.  Prominent amongst these was Evelyn Attlee and, when I joined, she was chairman.  She was also, partly because of her longer membership of the MRA (Molesey Residents Association), a major participant in -- and eventually chairman of - FHANG; the group fighting aircraft noise.  This was understandable, since planes taking off from Heathrow flew directly over Molesey, creating a significant amount of noise.  This was particularly true of Concorde.  You could almost set your watch by the sound of Concorde roaring overhead at 2 o'clock in the afternoon.

In terms of its previous history there had been a great deal of local dissent, with several local meetings turning into near riots, when the council's ‘war' on the conservation area took place.  It was at this stage that some residents got together and formed the residents association.

By the time I joined, however, MRA had spread to the whole of Molesey.  More important it had, without becoming political itself, taken on the political process by getting its own councillors elected for the local area.  Indeed, by that time it dominated the seats in the local area -- though it was still in a minority on the council, which covered the whole of Elmbridge.  MRA maintained its position by very obviously representing the local area. In particular, its position was maintained by a regular newsletter distributed to the whole of Molesey.  It was financed by members, though this was never a great problem since the majority of local people supported the principle.  When we were canvassing on the doorstep, the typical response was “I vote for you because you're non-political”.

Even when I joined, however, the committee was still dominated by the conservation area group.  I was on the committee as the representatives of the Hurst Park Residents Association. ‘Outsiders’, like myself, then rarely got a look in.  There was a degree of snobbery in this, in that the rest of Molesey was less wealthy -- and the houses were less spectacular.

Accordingly, I was a one-man ginger group representing the rest of Molesey.  Later on I was joined by another councillor, Gwen Barber, who also came from West Molesey and was also very active.  But at the start it was just me.

As a member of the committee I was involved in a variety of activities, especially protests (typically about planning problems).  But I also got involved in money raising, by jumble sales for example.

As I said, the residents association was relatively unique in running its own group of counsellors.  It had half a dozen on the Elmbridge Council, which were backed up by several residents association counsellors from nearby Thames Ditton and a couple from Walton on Thames.  Even so we still were in the minority. Indeed, even though we had twice the number of counsellors that the Labour Party had, they were taken by the Conservatives to be the official opposition.

I got myself onto the council, that time, as the result of a by-election. It was in the Western end of Molesey, which was dominated by the Hurst Park estate.  As such, aided by the fact that I was by then the chairman of the Hurst Park Residents Association, I was the obvious choice. In fact, the main criterion in those seeking to be councillors was simply that you were willing to do the job.  It is incredibly difficult to get people to even stand for committees and help on events. They certainly did not willingly put themselves forward for councillor.  Their lack of public spirit is, though justified. If you are dedicated to the role, being a councillor takes most of your evening time; and ruins your family relationships – as it did mine.

At the time of my own by-election, however, we were somewhat nervous, since it had been close run race in the previous general election.  Accordingly, we intensively canvassed the area.  Canvassing was, for me, an eye-opener.  It turned out it was not about explaining the issues, or even chatting up your supporters.  When the door opened you launched into a very brief spiel introducing yourself.  What you then did depended on the reaction. If it was a clear facing you was a firm supporter of the other party -- the Conservatives in this case -- and it was obvious that you couldn't change their mind, you quickly thanked them for their time and moved on.  Surprisingly, if it was obvious that it was your own supporter you did much the same.  You were very courteous, but found the earliest opportunity to move on. The fact was that they were going to vote for you anyway and you didn't have time to waste even on them. Some canvassers, unfortunately, made the mistake that these were the people on who most time should be spent. In fact the main targets were the floating voters. These were the ones you might be able to persuade to decide their vote in your favour, and as such were worth spending time with.

The third sort of elector was the borderline one.  You might think that this is where we would spend time, but it was just as important to get in and out as fast as with the others.  The impression you had to leave them with was that they were 'valued'.  There was a little productivity in trying too hard to ensure that their votes -- even though the marginal -- came to you.

In all cases, the main thing was to get your foot in the door and show them that you were interested in them; and, in particular, interested in representing their views. In essence you needed to show them the courtesy of appreciating them as individuals, before moving on as fast as possible to the next one.  Indeed it was not the length of time on the doorstep which counts, but the number of doors opened. 

Our canvassing was good, which was reflected on polling day.  Incidentally, there is a tradition, on polling day, of the various parties having their tellers sitting outside the polling station.  As the voters go in, these tellers rigorously tick of the names against the electoral role.  Then they call on their supporters to go out and chase up their putative voters, and bring then to the vote them in cars.  I was always dubious whether this helped. Pat's mother always used to get the Conservatives to take her to the polling station, and then voted Labour.  With our own supporters sitting outside the polling stations, we looked as if we were doing much the same; but in fact we didn't do anything with the information.  The main reason for this was that we didn't have the organisational structure to bring the voters in. But we had to keep up the pretence and -- as on the doorstep -- we had to indicate we were interested in the voters’ decision.  In any case it didn't cause us any major harm, for I obtained twice the votes of my rival.

The other new excitement for me was, of course, the final count; which took place in the council chamber. It was fascinating to watch the counting taking place, and especially fascinating where my own future was on the line. It was rather like betting on a horse race; where you were also a jockey!

Eventually I was announced as the winner, and we all went roaring and whooping out into the entrance. There we had our photographs taken, on the grand staircase, by local papers.  I was rather cynical about the whole process beforehand, but I really did find myself almost euphoric. I'd been elected by popular vote, and that is something you don't normally experience -- especially if you're not a politician. It was a marvellous feeling.

My time at Hurst Park, especially that when I was a councillor, was the only time when I have ever been directly involved with political activities -- or at least political activities of something like a conventional (party political) kind.  Even then, the strength of the residents association, which I represented, was always that it was non-political.

Its other great strength – as I have said - was that we maintained a continuous support for our residents.  In particular we regularly, once every couple of months, put out a newsletter telling all residents -- not just our members -- what was happening in the area.  I believe this was not just an excellent way of maintaining of contact with the community, but was also responsible for our electoral successes.  The political parties, Labour, Conservatives and Liberal, only put out material prior to an election – foolishly assuming they could turn around people's views in a matter of days.

Thus, it was the ongoing campaigns -- including specific local campaigns, about planning decisions in particular -- which made the residents association the powerful political animal it was.  We never stopped campaigning. Just as important, we never started politicking. Our campaigns clearly were directed at resolving local problems, not at political gains. Paradoxically, they were that much more powerful for their independent nature.

I soon got over the excitement of winning the popular vote and it was never quite the same at later elections. Perhaps I got too cynical, but winning is not everything.

When I became a borough councillor, I shifted gear into a more important role.  Being a politician, albeit aligned with no party, gives you responsibilities that others don't have. In return it gives you a feeling of self-fulfilment which is difficult to match.  I seemed to be walking a little taller, and to be recognised by others as someone apart

This feeling was enhanced by the formal procedures of the Council, when we met in the council chamber, all seated at our individual desks. It seemed almost like theatre -- and this was enhanced even further by the fact that we had a gallery of spectators.  I found that I was soon able to fit into the rigmarole, the formalities of which made even the simplest contribution a complex process.  And, very soon, I started to make those contributions.

The meetings took place in the evening, since it was assumed the councillors were part-time and had other jobs during the day.  As such, we only got minimal expenses and no salary.  About seven o'clock, therefore, we would congregate and go to our designated places in the council chamber, proudly sitting behind our name plates.  The air seemed almost quiver with anticipation, about the decisions yet to be made.  I don't know why I felt like this, since the Conservatives dominated the council with something like 35 out of the 60 councillors.  We had approaching 20, Labour had five or six and the Liberals 3 or 4.  Thus, at that time, there was no chance that we could vote for anything that would overturn the wishes of the Conservatives. The whole proceedings, therefore, were a sham!

The mayor presided, though in fact he didn't hold the real power. That was held by the ‘leader of the council’, in essence the leader of the Conservative party, whose decisions were the ones that mattered. The mayor was merely a figurehead, who supposedly maintained an unbiased position. Indeed, somewhat later, the Conservatives even offered the position to me. I didn't accept because it was a position without any power and cost a great deal of money -- reportedly something like £30,000 for the year -- which I couldn't afford.

The mayor sat on a dais facing us, flanked by various council officials -- the chief executive and the various heads of departments. It was an impressive occasion, and the formalities with which the debates, such as they were, were undertaken gave it a feeling of power.

In fact, as I have already said, there was also almost no real power on display whatsoever. All the decisions had been taken beforehand in the various committees and the main council was merely a rubber stamp. Occasionally there was some debate, usually started by the Labour councillors as a means of showing that they existed, but the outcome was inevitable.  The only thing which made it worthwhile was that, from time to time, we - residents association councillors - actually did hold the council to real debates about subjects we thought were important.  The thing that really confused Conservatives, and interested the local press, was that we never knew what our final decision would be. We used to actually listen to the debates and take our decisions on the basis of that, rather than follow the three-line whip as did everyone else!

As I have said the real decisions were taken in the committees.  Of these, the Policy and Resources committee was the senior committee, which in essence led the other committees.  I was immediately put on Policy and Resources committee -- where the various political parties (including the residents association) had memberships of the various committees in proportion to their members on the council overall.  I guess the residents association put me on because they thought I would be a strong councillor, which I was. But - after a year - I gave up Policy and Resources.  I found that it was, rather like the council, more of a formality – more concerned about the status of its members - than a real debating chamber.  It was -- as the senior committee -- once more ruled by the party divisions.

The other committee that I was put on, where we typically only had two committees each, was the planning committee.  This was my favourite choice, since it played to my interest in architecture.  It was also the committee which in reality had the most power over the lives of the people of Elmbridge.  We decided what could and could not be built in Elmbridge.  Even then the full planning committee was rarely the forum for the important debates.  Within it there were three planning subcommittees, one for each area, and they were where the real debates took place.  The reason for this was, not least, that these were confidential.  All other meetings of the council could be attended by anyone, especially the press, so that made debates rather risky for any dissidents who were appointed by the political parties.  In the subcommittees we could say what we thought. As such, these subcommittees actually did work well, and political differences were not to be seen.

Most of the planning applications were of a minor nature, typically house extensions, since the area was already built up; with few opportunities for major developments.  Even so, when neighbours clashed, the debate could get quite fraught -- with neighbours recruiting councillors as their lobbyists.

Before I got into the council I'd spent a lot of time organising meetings to oppose planning developments.  Once I was on the council, however, I put most of my effort into persuading my fellow subcommittee members to support our views.  This was a new departure for the residents association, who had developed a reputation for always fighting issues - regardless of the facts of life.  My diplomacy was later enhanced when another councillor was elected and joined the subcommittee alongside me.  Gwen Barber was a lovely lady who followed very much the same style as myself.  Between us we put a lot of pressure on other councillors and the officers.

Incidentally her husband was a member of the Special Branch.  He was the only person I knew who slept with a revolver under his pillow. He was in its protection squad and, at that time, was on duty protecting the Northern Ireland minister -- the most dangerous job in the country, as the IRA were then very active.  He was a person whose whole life revolved around the special branch -- though he happily admitted that they regularly broke the law in order to achieve their results.  He was eventually fast-tracked, in that he managed to get moved from sergeant to inspector within the Special Branch.   This was highly unusual, because most promotions had to be gained by people going out of the Special Branch. 

I remember that that this promotion was very important.  As a sergeant his job was quite simply to get in the way of any bullet fired at the Secretary of State.  As an Inspector his job was to point to the person who would get in the way of the bullet.  That really was a worthwhile promotion!

Anyway I worked, with Gwen, very hard behind the scenes and we eventually swung the committee behind us.  Such was the impact of this that the other members of the committee essentially ignored their political affiliations and joined us to work as a team.

For some reason, I think it was still about sharing jobs, I was appointed deputy chair of this committee.  To my surprise when the chair resigned, and I expected a Conservatives to be appointed to the chair, I was instead elected by the committee to the chair. This was highly unusual, since I was the only non-Conservative holding any such position within the council.

As the chair of the subcommittee, I worked even harder to bring the committee together as one team. Soon we worked very effectively, to simply represent the people without any political import whatsoever.  This came to a head when there was a larger development applied for, in the centre of Walton.  We discussed this at some length, and obtained concessions from the developer, at which point we reasonably agreed to support the application when we got the full council. To my surprise, when I introduced the recommendations from the subcommittee, I suddenly realised that other members of the council were speaking against this -- which was very unusual in view of the way that everything was normally stitched up in advance. I, fortunately, was able to speak last and put forward our views quite cogently. In the event we won, by a nose.  As usual the Labour, Liberals and - of course - the residents association councillors supported me. This was not least because I made good argument. But, to my surprise, the Conservatives on my subcommittee also voted with me; and that made the difference. 

Afterwards the Conservative leader of the council grasped my hand enthusiastically, and said " Congratulations David that is the first time anyone has won against a three line whip." Unknown to me the Conservatives had put out a three line whip against our position.  Despite that, the cohesiveness of the subcommittee had forced its members to take our agreed position; and they had still backed our original decision.  I later on found out that the reason for the council opposing the decision was that it was going to be the subject of inquiry by the local government ombudsman; there had been some jiggery-pokery by an office behind the scenes.

It was, very soon, a friendly and worthwhile atmosphere -- at least on the subcommittee.  And, indeed, this mood seemed to have infected the rest the council which also started to become much more non-political in its considerations.  Thus, after seven years, when I retired from the council, it was in effect a non-political body.  Fairly soon after that it was taken over by the residents associations in toto.  The Conservatives, worried by the emergence of the residents association (which was unusual, in that this was the only council where this happened), had recruited the chairmen of the local residents associations to be their Conservative candidates.  What they didn't realise was that this was bringing a Trojan horse inside the walls, and those Conservatives soon returned to being residents association representatives!

I was proud of the feeling of shared service to the community that I brought the council.  It showed me that it was possible to have a political institution without the confrontation that is at the heart of the party systems.  Having said that, when I left the council and another residents association councillor took over from me, he was much more combative and the whole atmosphere of collaboration fell away very rapidly.  It shows just how fragile democracy is.

Before I became a councillor I wasn't really aware of my status.  Indeed very much the opposite.  Having lunched with Nobel prize winners, ambassadors and ministers whilst I was still at college, I didn't see anything special about moving in this sort of the sort of circle; and to a certain extent I still haven't done so since that time.

There was relatively little status, as far as I was aware, in the various jobs I did.  Even when I was the General Manager at BTR I wasn't aware of any particular status -- though I guess I must have been one of the most senior managers in the whole of Burton on Trent.  To me it was another job and I was mainly worried about doing it -- and hanging onto it.  The same was true of my position in IBM even when, later, I was in contact with senior civil servants and ministers.  They were very much like myself. I admired them greatly, for in those days the civil service was the home of some of the brightest people in Britain.  I enjoyed my debates with them, since they were very bright indeed.  But I didn't really think about status.  I was only aware of it once, when I was passed on to another civil servant in the DHSS and I suddenly realised that he had a large room with a conference table; and it dawned on me that he was rather more senior than the ones I was used to.

When I got to join the council, however, I became much more aware of my special status. As I have said elsewhere, the actual council meetings themselves were very formalised and – as such - reinforced your status.  Equally, at formal events, which you attended as councillors, you were made aware that you were somehow apart from the other guests.

It came home, in particular, at events such as the annual service - where you filed into the church with other council members, knowing that your family was watching and appreciating your position of power.  Most moving, I suppose, was Remembrance Day.  I had to turn up, or at least felt it my duty to turn up, at our local cenotaph.  But I was very conscious of my role in focusing everyone's thoughts on the sad events we were celebrating. Elsewhere, however, the main impact was being addressed by people -- sometimes in the street -- as 'councillor'.  This came as something of a shock, and it was clear that they thought that it did set me apart somehow.  I never really got used to this.  It was pleasurable, I suppose, but somehow or other it was rather unreal.

Above all, I feel this demonstrated the power of co-operation: based on building trust between participants.  I have been able to do this number of times in the teams that I have run. In fact, I was largely following the example of John Elliot at Gallahers, who created this atmosphere for all of us; with the result was that this was one of the best teams ever, who all prized working together.

In terms of the work of the Elmbridge planning committee itself, most of it was very routine. Elmbridge had long been a built up area of suburbia. Accordingly, most of the work concerned extensions to existing property. These were very easily categorized. Most were for simple extensions which posed no problems for anyone, and for which we had received no objections from the neighbours who we had notified, so we quite easily rubber-stamped the officers’ recommendations. Just occasionally, someone was being too greedy or there was a dispute with the neighbours. Then it was my job to step in and try to find a suitable solution. Even rarer was there a major planning decision; and then all hell broke loose!

At the opposite extreme, however, was my work on school playing fields. Surrey County Council, which was being squeezed for money, had found a new source of funds. It found that it could sell its playing fields for development, by giving itself planning permission even in the green belt. This brought in large amounts of money, but deprived the schools of their playing fields. I eventually persuaded Elmbridge Council to give me its full backing to try and stop this happening. I then managed to get the Association of District Councils to also back me. With this support I went to the DoE (the Department of the Environment) whose (Labour) ministers were also sympathetic. It took more than a year of arguing with their civil servants, however, to make an unassailable case. I was finally able to defeat them on every point of law; and the Minister was about to issue a departmental circular – all that was needed – banning such developments. At that point, in 1979, the Thatcher government came in and the circular was never issued; and I had not a hope in hell of getting it through the Conservatives. In 2004, some 25 years later, the Labour government at last issued the necessary instructions; but it closed the stable door far too long after the horse bolted!

One of the bugbears facing the Residents Association on Hurst Park was the undeveloped land to the east of the Hurst Park Estate-- going towards Hampton Court.  When the Hurst Park race course had been split up, the estate - covering about half of it - had got planning permission against the trade-off for the open space along the river. This left something like 20 acres of space which was neither one thing or the other. Accordingly we tried to think of ways of protecting this open space.  In particular Ian Donaldson, who was of course an architect, and myself spent considerable time on various schemes.  The essence was that the usage had to be commercial, to make it worthwhile for Wates (the house-builders who still owned the land) to release it, but acceptable to the local residents.  We eventually settled on the idea of sports club, but with an associated large hotel to offer the commercial element. For the next several years we tried to implement this development. In retrospect we only had a solution in search of a problem, but – whatever the reality - we got very immersed in it.

The idea was designed to meet local objections.  Most of the open space was protected by the proposed development, and even the main buildings were relatively innocuous.  Moreover, with a marina occupying much of the land, the problem that this was flood plain was actually better addressed than in any other solution.

At the time I was on the local planning committee. Thus, I was able to use my expertise to establish what would be most acceptable solution. 

The problem at that stage, though, wasn't obtaining planning permission.  At some time in the future we would no doubt have had to face serious opposition in our attempt to get planning permission.  Instead, in the short-term, the problem was quite simply finding the money for the scheme.  To put it in perspective, at that stage - at the end of the 1970s - we were looking for somewhere around £12 million -- probably twenty to thirty million at current prices. We tried every means of finding this. Thus, we went to the merchant banks; but that was a total and utter waste of time.  At that time, a merchant bank -- if you wanted to borrow money from it -- required that you had a track record of several years as a successful business operation.  It then required that you had assets whose value exceeded the value of any loan required, several times over.  Finally, and having made certain in this way that the merchant bank would be exposed to no risk whatsoever, it then demanded - in addition to punitive rates of interest - also a significant share of the organisation. It is not surprising, therefore, that the merchant banks have declined