N January, 1985, I was back in the London office from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and I had given my view on John Dodd’s request to terminate Colin Bewick.
It was a simple matter, and I said we needed Dodd there more than we needed a personnel manager. I would agree with his recommendation.
In a matter of days, Bewick had returned to England with his family to look for another job. It must have been hard, although he was helped by a severance pay and the big hardship allowance that came for service in the Congo.
I thought that was the last time I would hear his name.
Generally, the head office of Unilever was an impersonal kind of place. The schedule was the same from Monday to Friday. I would read the reports and dictate my replies.
Sometimes for lunch, I would go with Leslie Davidson to the senior managers’ lunch room, and we would enjoy some stories together. We were more or less outsiders. The rest provided services, having worked in factories in town as engineers, accountants or in personnel departments but they had not lived in estates.
Davidson kept his distance and let them know from time to time who was boss if someone tried to get out of line.
Later, Davidson felt that the personnel manager in the office was not up to his job and he had to go. London is a hard place, and he was a reminder that anyone could lose their job. The staff spoke less and less to him.
When Dodd came back for his leave, Davidson saw that he was entertained to dinner, followed by drinks in his house.
I sat back as they talked about the days of planting in Sabah, where cockfighting was going on, and both enjoyed recounting the secret places where these contests and betting were held.
Before Dodd left, Davidson came out of his room to present him with a set of steel spurs used for cockfighting, set in a small box of dark wood, and although old, the sharp slivers that lay in neat rows were still shining, which meant that Davidson must have cared for them well.
Dodd’s face lit up when he took the set, and carefully closed the box. I could sense that the touch would mean it was another way that Davidson wanted to get him to stay.
As it turned out, Dodd kept working in Congo until he retired.
It was also a warm welcome when other planters came back for leave, and they would have a few hours to report anything new or foreshadow some requests for capital proposals, followed by a good long lunch from the in-house catering service in a private room.
For some who were retiring, Davidson would arrange that they were given consultancy work on a project somewhere and they would be away again for a while.
Retirement was not easy in the early stages. It was likely that no one wanted to hear their stories in the pub, and at home they had nothing to do. It was his way of helping them and getting them to feel useful.
Some dignitaries would also visit. A lunch was held for Tan Sri Hanafiah Ahmad, head of Tabung Haji, the Pilgrims Management and Fund Board. He was also on the board of Lever Brothers in Bangsar, Kuala Lumpur, as the fund was an investor.
A visit was also made by Tun Ismail Ali, the chairman of Pemodalan Nasional Berhad. He was responsible for leading the dawn raid on Guthrie Corporation, a successful takeover.
Later, other British companies set up cross-holdings to prevent such surprise attacks from happening again. This was above Davidson’s level, so he arranged for Thomas Thomas, the Unilever main board director, to have tea in his office for a confidential discussion.
The two figures were known for being brutal in their approach, and Davidson had told the secretary to call him if she saw the first sign of blood seeping under the door. We waited for news on how it would end. As it turned out, the two had a cordial discussion, which lasted longer than scheduled, and the secretary had said later that they parted like the best of friends.
However, on most days, I would go for lunch on my own or go to the parks if it was spring. The oak leaves would be coming out and the flower beds would burst into bright purple and blue, with the glorious rays of the sun making up for the many grey months before.
In the evening shortly after five, I would be back on the train, and Maznah would wait for my call to pick me up. Her days were full. She would have picked the children from school. She often heard complaints about the weather, the country and the cost of things while back home she had a driver. Coming to England was a big comedown.
However, she learned how to change tyres, and when I was away, she would drive the children on weekends to Windsor because they liked the ice-ream shop there or she would drive into London and to the high floors of the car park at Selfridges, and see what they may find on the ground floor. The coffee outlet there was good.
But I was planning for another trip, and this time it was to Cameroon. It had been four years since I had gone on a different purpose, and I expected some changes.
The writer has extensive experience in the management of oil palm plantations. Comments: [email protected]
