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.
Chapter 4: Luncheon vouchers and love
I walked into my first job three days after taking my final examination – no hanging about. And I badly needed those luncheon vouchers. I had to catch up with those who had been working while I was doing nothing (unless you count the 60 hours a week, or more, spent studying).
The job search revealed my financial madness. I went for central London private practice, which paid only 60% of what was offered by the People’s Republic of GLC, British (low-speed) Rail, and Constricted Valuers (as we used to call the District Valuers) or other government orifices. I reasoned that they wouldn’t give me all-round experience nor a share in their profits – if they ever made any. And I was not into a nine-to-five job to support other interests, like having a family and social life.
On a side note, those District Valuers (the England DV), the official government valuers, were renowned for their slow, localised and pedantic approach. The US government’s equivalent service, meanwhile, the AVSO or Appraisal and Valuation Services Office – was, we felt, more appropriately described in Pythonesque terms as ‘Appraisal and Valuations Silly Office’.
Pay now, less later – lifestyle options: People’s Republic of GLC; British Rail coming and gone; Betty’s government
I knew nothing about who was who and just wrote off (snail mail!) to firms who were advertising properties for sale in the Estates Gazette.
I got a few interviews. At one I went to with an established firm, the (expletive deleted) of an interviewer talked about how useless I’d be (probably true) and that it would be a privilege to be taken on under his wing. When he finally asked if I had any questions. I said, “No! I’ll not waste your time, or mine. This place isn’t for me!” And I walked out, leaving him, in the words of the Reverend William Archibald Spooner, ‘stocked and shunned’.
I made two big mistakes around this time.
The first was to get married
About three years later, in the same interview room, I had that firm in very major problems over a non-service of a rent review notice and forced to negotiate a lease surrender that my client needed. Names withheld to protect the guilty!
The firm I did end up joining was then about 30-strong. I’d applied to be a negotiator. The interviewer and I got on well and we talked about the property market, gilt-edged stocks, ordinary shares, and government policies. He said that I wasn’t a negotiator type but his professional department partner might be interested.
An interview with the head of professional department was arranged – we met at Liverpool Street station, which we both happened to use each day.
My interview locations – Liverpool Street station, and a buffet car:
I had to stand him coffee because (as I later discovered was typical) he’d forgotten to pick up his expenses. And I got the job! It paid £1,000 a year. He asked what my financial ambition was, and I said, “£3,000 by the time I’m 30!” I made it within three years, plus car (with go-faster stripes), entertainment expenses, and more luncheon vouchers.
Once I passed my exams, the RICS admitted me as a licentious member, and two years later they decided I was fit to be associated with.
I made two big mistakes around this time. The first was to get married. Just drifted into it. I have since formed the view that men are not fit for marriage until they’re well over 30 and some…
Once I passed my exams, the RICS admitted me as a licentious member, and two years later they decided I was fit to be associated with
It’s difficult verging on impossible to live with a workaholic. One of my ex-colleagues and a true friend has managed being both a workaholic and a happily married family man. But his wife is exceptional. She even once saw through my giving her a bunch of red roses on Valentine’s Day – she noted there were only 11. I had wanted one rose for my girlfriend and had had to buy a dozen. It would have been a good thank you for her hospitality – if she hadn’t been able to (expletive deleted) count!
The second mistake was to become a heavy smoker. Back then, most men and many women smoked. It was difficult to see across the bar because of the smog and most in my office smoked heavily. The biggest surprise with my current health issues is that it wasn’t the smoking that got me.
But I had finally qualified, and one firm took me on even though my head was filled with more textbooks than my dog has fleas. I didn’t own a car. I hadn’t even passed my driving test! I had one suit (my interview suit) and one passable pair of shoes. But I did have three white shirts and a few ties. More about my ties in later thrilling episodes…
The firm that had the great misfortune of taking me on was owned by an incredible charismatic driving force. It is now one of the largest UK REITs, the British Land Company. The driving force himself I called by many names, but usually it was ‘JHR’. JHR is now the honorary president, Sir John Ritblat. He, and many others in that firm, gave me incomparable experience. But more importantly – I just loved the job.
Image credits: MrPenguin20 (London election results); Sodacan (coat of arms); Simon Pielow (buffet car); Christine Matthews (Liverpool Street station).
