The Banker (Part 2)

 Findlay showed promise as a bank employee. Without a murmur of dissent, he dedicated himself to whichever tasks were assigned to him as part of his training. The accurate tallying of cash and precise recording were tasks completed with an admirable attention to detail. Not only did his conscientiousness in the roles assigned him impress his supervisors, but he carried himself with confidence, exuding an air of a responsible bank official. His business suit was precisely pressed with a razor-sharp seam, his shirt collar perfectly starched and his shoes boned to resemble mirrors. Findlay Nicholson looked and acted the part.

As was the case with many young men of the era who had traversed from the school benches to the world of work, this young man’s character would be honed by the discipline instilled by teachers and bosses.

The year was nineteen  thirty-nine. Events were about to overtake youth.

Emblazoned across newspaper stands were unsettling words that caused a twinge of anxiety: “Hitler occupies Czechoslovakia!” Not many days hence, the news stands belched out more disturbing headlines: “France and Britain Guarantee Poland’s Borders!”

Europe suddenly began to feel not too distant from Findlay’s life in Johannesburg. The stirring of events elsewhere became increasingly unsettling for men of military age. South Africa, a British Dominion, could well be sucked into the vortex of a European war. The prospect of conscription, though still tenuous, became a looming possibility.

“Britain at War with Germany” was the headline on Sunday, 3^rd September. On the 6^th September South Africa followed suit, but with a permanent force divided on the issue of entering a European war for the British Empire. Parliament had voted by a razor-thin margin to eschew neutrality, but South African law precluded anything but a volunteer force from serving outside the borders of the country. The slender margin in Parliament reflected the deep divisions that ran through the country.

The new government would soon set about preparing a force that could serve in the African theatre. Persuasion and propaganda became the instruments of mobilisation. The volunteers were distinguished by a red tab on the epaulette of the uniform tunic that indicated a soldier had signed the Red Oath. It was a political statement.

Findlay began to feel the pressure of his peers to join. In the predominantly English banking and business sector, the chatter leaned towards young men going off to war. His seniors, much older men, began to throw in their lot with the volunteer army. Young men of his age were drawn towards the call of duty. In his employment sector the tab came to be viewed as a badge of honour. Findlay, after considerable thought, signed up for service in Africa.

It was as if the discipline and rigour of his training in the bank had prepared  him for a moment such as this. He had no qualms about subjecting himself to authority. He fell in line with admirable precision and dedication. These qualities would give him a presence of mind in the face of danger. By mid-1940 he would be part of the first batch of servicemen trained and ready to depart on what he deemed to be both a duty and an adventure.

Between signing up for military service and having to report for training, the young man and his colleagues who also volunteered continued with their daily tasks at the bank branch. Early every morning Findlay hopped onto the tram to downtown Johannesburg – at least until he ran out of money for the fare towards month-end, in which case he would walk the five or so kilometres. On the tram he engaged with fellow passengers in banter which inevitably landed on the topic of the War and the merits of fighting for the British. Afrikaans speaking passengers were more or less split down the middle regarding this matter. English folk tended to have made up their minds to join the forces destined for action against the Germans and Italians. Sometimes the bitterness one way or the other boiled to the surface and robust debate ensued.

As training and deployment neared in the first quarter of 1940, Findlay and his Red Tab buddies began to bid the older folk farewell. Most passengers wished them well and expressed their hope that the conflict would be of a short duration. The tram conductor, however, had never made a secret of his anti-war stance. He made his views known to all who would listen. His bitterness  had deep roots in the Anglo-Boer War from 1899 to 1902. His parting shot at Findlay and his mates stung: “I hope I will never see you lot again!”

With this rebuke reverberating in his mind, Findlay reported for duty at the Drill Hall headquarters of the Transvaal Volunteer Corps nestled between Quartz, Plein, de Villiers and Twist Streets.

©Paul M Haupt

 

The Banker — Part 2. A visual interpretation of Johannesburg in 1939–40 and Findlay Nicholson's transition from bank clerk to soldier. Image generated with AI for this story.