ACROSS the City and Whitehall, bankers, politicians, regulators and investors are on tenterhooks. They hope, above hope, that the Lloyds TSB takeover of HBOS will mark the turning point, that some semblance of calm can return to the markets.
So far, the omens are not good. But it is possible now to begin to identify the winners from the most traumatic period in recent financial history. The City slicker has been banished.
The age of Gordon Gekko “greed is good” is over — for the foreseeable future anyway. Bankers who forgot what banking used to be about, who pursued global domination at the expense of safety first, are no more.
In the ascendant now are those they regarded with disdain as little more than nerds. Those who lacked their ambition and vision. The earthquake doesn't stop there. Edinburgh, once the proud centre of virtue and parsimony, an alternative to London, has lost its lustre and now faces huge job cuts — its second biggest bank falling, humiliatingly, into the arms of a more conservative English rival.
The lessons are also becoming clearer: globalisation cannot be underestimated; the bonus culture is an undermining, negative force; short-sellers must be curbed, possibly by making it more difficult for them to borrow stock; bankers are not the brightest and the best as they thought they were; they must not be able to fall back upon moral hazard; nothing, absolutely nothing, must come between depositors and their money.
Ministers, too, have had to absorb some salient truths. That was clear with the way Gordon Brown responded to HBOS's plight. His rush to encourage Sir Victor Blank, the chairman of Lloyds TSB, and Lord Stevenson, the chairman of HBOS, to seal the talks that had been taking place for a while was in stark contrast to a year ago. Then, as now, Lloyds TSB was prepared to act in a moment of supreme crisis, by taking out Northern Rock.
But then the Bank of England was not prepared to offer the guarantees Lloyds TSB sought, claiming they breached EU subsidy laws, and, faced with such inflexibility, the merger perished.
This time the Prime Minister, assisted by his chief of staff, Jeremy Heywood, himself a former banker, drove a coach and horses through the competition laws. The battering of the UK's biggest mortgage lender and holder of people's short-term savings on the stock market was a matter of national interest.
At a party on Monday night, hosted by another bank, Citigroup, Brown went into a huddle with Blank. Those who saw the two men thought it was a case of old muckers catching up — Blank had previously chaired the Labour supporting Mirror newspapers and was regarded by the Labour hierarchy as one of its few City friends. This conversation between the Prime Minister and the Lloyds TSB chairman in the glittering surroundings of Spencer House in St James's may in years to come to be seen as the high water-mark of the credit crunch. Equally, it may represent the moment when the cautious took charge, when old-style bankers reassumed control.
HBOS was part of a coterie of British retail banks that had grown at a ferocious pace in the financial services boom of the past few years. Others were its Edinburgh neighbour Royal Bank of Scotland, Barclays and Northern Rock.
As recently as 1999, Lloyds TSB was the biggest and most profitable bank in Britain and in Europe. But Lloyds TSB had slipped in the rankings to fifth — much to the amusement of its larger rivals.
The Sign of the Black Horse, to quote its advertising, was even in danger of being overtaken by an upstart from the North-East, a former building society called Northern Rock.
No bank was identical but they had recurring characteristics. Bank of Scotland and RBS embarked on an aggressive takeover policy — BoS bought the Halifax to form HBOS, RBS snapped up NatWest. They saw themselves as major international players, members of a banking elite, equal to the bulge bracket investment bankers of Wall Street.
Barclays, too, took on this mantle as did Northern Rock which, under its gung-ho leader Adam Applegarth, could not wait for depositors to bank their cash so that Northern Rock could lend it but instead turned to the money markets for funding.
HBOS did the same, borrowing short on the wholesale markets and lending long. Marketing men, such as Applegarth, were to the fore, putting greater emphasis on slick campaigns and promotions.
At HBOS, Andy Hornby, ex-Asda, took over the running of the giant bank. The strategy of Hornby — “call me Andy” — was not dissimilar to that of the supermarket group. He went big on consumer products and touchy-feely customer service, coupled with aggressive, expensive advertising. That was coupled, too, with a push by the bank into corporate lending, backing takeovers and huge property deals.
Those in the chairs ceased to be bankers — RBS is chaired by Sir Tom McKillop, formerly of Astra Zeneca, and HBOS is overseen by Stevenson, the ex-chair of publishing group Pearson.
RBS, in the shape of its dominant chief executive, Sir Fred Goodwin, continued on its relentless acquisition — even though it said it would stop — buying ABN-Amro of Holland.
In their haste to get ahead, some of the banks turned to other sources of profit. They charged into investment banking and corporate finance, handing out undreamed of sums at many times the value of the security being offered. They speculated on a grand scale, trading complex financial instruments and taking huge positions.
It's become apparent as the year has unravelled that many of those at the top had no idea what those below were up to. The result has been tens of billions of pounds written off — thanks to the folly of investing in mortgages extended to the occupants of America's trailer parks and other “sub-prime” properties.
This whirlwind of activity was replicated in America, where in 199 President Clinton repealed the Glass-Steagall Act that prevented banks from owning other financial companies. In an explosion of diversification, banks ceased to be straightforward banks but became all-singing, all-dancing financial combines, involved in deals far beyond their traditional confines. Leading the surge were Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers. AIG, once an insurance group, began using customers' insurance premiums to fund forays into the financial markets. AIG, in effect, became a bank.
Profits and with them, personal bonuses, soared. The banks were the kings of the walk, preening and strutting, their influence and power knowing no bounds.
Throughout all this, in the UK, one leading banker stayed outside the throng. At Lloyds TSB, Eric Daniels, the American chief executive, prided himself on being different. The son of a German father and a Cantonese mother, he was born in 1951 and grew up in Montana, far from the glitz of the East and West coasts. He puts enormous faith in ensuring his workforce have the right values. “Either you think of your organisation as being like a huge machine and the people within the organisation as cogs,” he says. “The other way is to think about the organisation as an organism.”
Daniels stressed repeatedly what mattered: “It is easy for an organisation to forget that their reason for being is customers, and if we do not satisfy that customer better, the customer will refuse to do business with us.”
While others were bursting out everywhere, Daniels refused to budge. “I am confident that this is an organisation that can grow,” he told the City analysts who tried to urge him on. “What I am concerned about is the quality of that growth. I guess what I am interested in is sustainable growth that is underpinned.”
He was joined at Lloyds TSB, in 2006, by Blank. Like his chief executive, the new chairman puts great store by his roots. Everywhere he goes, a Lowry-type painting of the streets of Stockport where he was raised, follows with him. It has pride of place on his office wall.
Once, Henry Lewis, the former Marks & Spencer chief, who also grew up in Stockport, remarked that the Blanks had been a cut above. “I said that can't be so,” said Blank. “We had a tiny two-up, two-down house with an outside loo.” Lewis replied: “So did we, but we shared our loo with the neighbours.” Blank's maxim, as he is fond of saying, is: “You always have to remember where you came from.”
A natural, sharp deal-maker, Blank has built his career on spotting and seizing opportunities. He made his first fortune while at Charterhouse merchant bank when he persuaded the American parent of Woolworths to sell the British end. He was chairman of Trinity Mirror and GUS, before Lloyds TSB.
On taking up his new post, Blank was quick to praise. “Lloyds TSB is a super bank, with tremendous potential to grow, even thought it's a tough and competitive market. People point out that it has fallen to fifth position in Britain but they don't see the fantastic things going on behind the scenes ... What I do see is that Eric Daniels, the chief executive, has put together a superb team, which has perhaps not always been appreciated by the outside world.”
Lloyds TSB concentrated mostly on the UK high street, eschewing its rivals' headlong rushes into investment banking and the wilder reaches of financial trading. Neither was it tempted to make any merger move — believing prices were too high.
Once the US economy turned and borrowers found they could not repay their loans and property prices tumbled, the credit crunch kicked in. Banks, sent reeling by the downturn, started retrenching and hanging on to their cash — they stopped lending to each other.
A great domino effect, fuelled by waning confidence and the hedge funds and other short-sellers who placed bets on falling bank shares, took hold. First to go was Northern Rock, its business plan reduced to ruin by its inability to tap the money markets. After a sale to Lloyds TSB was blocked and other attempts to off-load the bank failed, the Government stepped in to nationalise it.
In the US, JP Morgan was leaned upon to buy Bear Stearns. Still, against a backdrop of a worsening economic situation exacerbated by a rising oil price, the downward ride continued. British banks turned to their shareholders for help. By the skin of his teeth, Sir Fred Goodwin, the RBS chief, who had led a consortium that paid £49 billion for ABN Amro when the warning signals of a slump were coming thick and fast, kept his job.
At HBOS, Hornby and Stevenson were forced to go, cap in hand, to their investors. They got their money but the bank's share price continued to fall. They blamed the short-sellers, saying their company was being unfairly singled out. Possibly, but those doing the shorting were also reading the runes and saw there was only one way HBOS was headed.
Sensing an opening, Blank talked to Stevenson. That was in the summer. This week, Lehmans' demise provided a final jolt. AIG was also going in the same direction.
In London, Brown went to his party and ditched his customary caution and told Blank what he was prepared to do. It was a mighty personal move — but he could not bear a repeat of Northern Rock. Not now, with his political ratings so low. He also spoke to Stevenson. HBOS had to capitulate. The hares were finished; the tortoise had overhauled them all.
Link to: