In this very special series of exclusive articles for The Property Chronicle, Australian property legend Norman Harker reflects on his extraordinary 50-year life in real estate. He will pull no punches partly because, as he freely admits, Norman has a limited life expectancy of five years from December 2018 due to a diagnosed terminal blood cancer, which he has cheerfully accepted in preference to (in his words) “kicking the bucket without notice”. We are honoured he has chosen us to publish these brilliant, funny and incisive reflections of a lifetime in property.
Editor’s note: We interrupt this series with the finding of top-secret Norman Harker notes retrieved from the West End of London rubbish tip. JHR is John Ritblat. REB is Bob Bowden – Norman’s original mentor, who had been moved to head up the investment department. Mothercare retailed to mothers-to-be and toddlers. Dorothy Perkins (ladies underwear) we’ve met before.
It was bluebell time in Kent*. All quiet on the West End front. Office hours are 9:30 to 5:30. I arrived at 10:30 on Monday, having spent Sunday on a major development project – constructing a greenhouse in my back garden.
* Editor’s note: ‘It was bluebell time in Kent’ is a famous UK opening phrase of a landmark decision of Lord Denning. Norman once told me he was Master of the Toilet Rolls in the Court of Appeal – apparently a high judicial position and a promotion from his part-time job as a Lord of Appeal in the House of Fords.
REB “You should have been here at 9:30!”
Me “Why? What happened?”
REB “We’ve got a rush job! JHR has discovered that the freehold in XXX Oxford Street will be advertised in next Saturday’s Estates Gazette. The freeholders will give us until early Saturday morning to make an acceptable unconditional offer.”
Me “What’s special about it?”
REB “It involves three clients: Mothercare Pension Fund, Mothercare and Dorothy Perkins. The initial deal is around £2 mill and the follow-through ones a lot more. Longer term, the tower block above is interesting. It’s on a long lease to London University for students’ accommodation. JHR’s British Land will be acquiring the freehold.”
Me “It’s the best position in one of the world’s best retail locations. It’s got the highest values per square foot in the world. But can you get the principals to talk turkey or even cranberry sauce?”
REB “We already have! The MDs of Mothercare and Dorothy Perkins, and the Trustees of the Pension Fund have agreed subject to valuations and JHR is very close to both those MDs and could persuade them to buy that greenhouse of yours if necessary.”
Me “You keep my greenhouse out of it. Where do I come in?”
REB “You’ve got to go through the freehold title document, all the leases and the unconditional contracts, and sign them all off from a valuation standpoint.”
Me “Plenty of time. That normally only takes six months And we’ve got less than five days. What are you wasting my […] time for? Get me those […] documents NOW!”
REB “If we do the deal, your department gets the fee on the acquisition, my department gets all the fees on the secondary deals. OK?”
NJH “As long as it gets to the firm, I don’t care. JHR gets X% of the firm’s fees as well as his lion’s share in British Land if they get involved. Did I ever tell you that I thought that JHR might make a few shillings one day?”(Thinks 2% on £2 mill = £40,000. That’ll make our department look good and I’ll be able to extend my greenhouse!)
Our key interests: babies, pensioners and (my favourite) ladies underwear
The deeds, plans and leases arrived shortly after. My office door was locked and only my trusted secretary, Rita Hastings (Rita), knew I was there. I was ill and she didn’t know what it was, but it must be serious because Norman always comes in even at the risk of pneumonia…
I phoned my wife that Monday morning and told her I’d be a bit late – sort of Friday-night late. Things might get ‘a bit ripe’, so I organised clothing.
Me “Can you get me some new underwear and shirts from Selfridges?”
Rita “OK. What sort of underwear?”
Me “I don’t care, but not frilly pink ones like yours.”
Rita “Rubbish! I don’t wear any!” She turned, wiggled and left the room.
She’s going to have to go with that backtalk. But it’s hard to find a top secretary who you can trust, is prepared to come in early and stay late, and types with superfast accuracy. I didn’t know about the underwear though – I wonder if…
I worked solidly in eight-hour shifts, reclined the office chair and slept for three to four hours. I walked over the property to get a feeling for it that you can’t get from plans. I visited the planners, the People’s Republic of Westminster, to make sure they weren’t about to acquire it for a community garden for séances.
“I had one of those beef burgers like the Yanks have. They’ll never catch on in the UK”
Returning from the planners, I stopped at a Jo Lyons owned Wimpy. I had one of those beef burgers like the Yanks have. They’ll never catch on in UK. Fish and chips and the occasional Chinese will do us.
The marathon final agreement meeting in Pall Mall lawyers’ offices started at 3pm Friday. We finished at 2am Saturday. Everything signed, sealed and delivered, except the claim against me for negligence.
REB and I stumbled out into the street. From across the road from his squash club comes bright and breezy JHR.
JHR “How are things going?”
REB “We’ve just agreed the Oxford Street deal!”
JHR “Well done, guys. What are you going to do now?”
REB & Me (in stereo) “Sleep!”
I went back to my car. Got in. Reclined the seat and went to sleep. I woke at 8am, freezing cold, drove home and went to bed. I slept until sparrowsfart on Sunday morning, which I spent on my private development in the back garden
Relaxing is essential. Mine is gardening.
