Ten years ago, I walked into the Perth Road branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland. I remember it well, because it was the first time I’d been out of the house since giving birth to my first child.
For days I had been lost in a fug of holding my own breath until I could hear his; of sterilising everything and the torture of chapped nipples.
Finally, my ankles were less swollen, the cold sores subdued and I felt confident enough to venture out for the first time with my baby.
Along the road I waddled, pushing my pram (we were living in a flat on the Perth Road), excited, proud and terrified said buggy would be whooshed onto the road by a freak gust of wind.
The anxiety around that first time was overwhelming.
But as I pushed open the doors to our local bank branch, I felt giddy at the thought of talking to someone about setting up a payment.
And do you know what the lady behind the counter said to me?
She said: “You know you can do digital banking from home? You don’t have to come into the branch.”
Bank closures hit close to home
Maybe she thought I looked like a bedraggled, overwhelmed mum (I was). Maybe she was being kindly, trying to save me some effort.
Or maybe she was the one who couldn’t be bothered.
But I thought two things. One, that I had really geared up to leave the flat. And that this bank visit had given me a reason to do so and an excuse to talk to someone.
And secondly I thought be careful what you wish for; persuade enough customers not to come into this already quiet branch and you might just talk yourself out of a job.
A year later, that branch had closed.
I know we can do direct debits, ask questions, transfer cash, make payments, do all of that banking stuff online these days. But sometimes you just want to see the whites of someone’s eyes.
What about the older generation who don’t own a mobile phone or use the internet? How far do they have to travel now because their local branch has closed?
And when they get there, are they being told kindly that they should get themselves online and save themselves the bother?
Bank closures remove the human touch
There are lots of lovely, caring bank staff out there of course. And the banks should be capitalising on this, employing workers to help those customers who still prefer to see a human being.
Ah, but that doesn’t make them as much money, does it?
Why go to the trouble and expense of paying for branches and staff when online banking can replace them all?
I would argue that a service whereby a bank has a specific person to greet your gran or elderly father, someone struggling with anxiety, or a person who – for whatever reason, needs help or human interaction – would be worth the investment, not least morally.
Banks have spent a fortune on making their digital banking accessible. But I’d love to see some of them go back to basics, by spending money on becoming a very real part of society again.
New life for old bank buildings
Dozens of bank branches in Tayside and Fife have closed in the last decade.
More closures have been announced by some of the biggest names on the high street for the months ahead.
And increasingly on Homes Under The Hammer, I find myself visiting empty banks which have been sold at auction and are destined to be turned into luxury flats.
But last Friday, a decade on from that new mum’s first venture out – I entered another one-time Dundee bank for a different kind of bleary-eyed escapade.
The former Clydesdale bank in the Nethergate, now known as Casa, is now a bar, restaurant and nightclub, and our group of footloose mums were headed to the karaoke room downstairs.
By a certain hour, and following the delivery of a pyramid of pink cocktails, a soundproof dungeon might have been a more fitting location.
But at least inventive Dundonians are ensuring that some of these handsome former bank buildings are finding a new purpose and offering that human interaction they once did such a good job of providing.
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