Dad was often called on to balance the books for some club, committee or organisation, and bowled, played football, swept, cooked or some other volunteer task. One of those was counting money and, as I was generally with him and Mum, at those clubs, grounds and places, I counted money too. I rolled those coins into tubes of ten, stacked the notes, same way round, up, along, over in bundles of ten, then folded them in half and held that in place with an elastic band. Quite therapeutic. I also typed well, and knew shorthand, and I am a skite.
Repetitive activity was my go. Perhaps I should have been a shearer, a long distance swimmer, a mountain climber, a brick layer, a gigolo, or just laid railway lines. I was adept at counting money, coins and notes while young in life and for a few weeks in my early twenties I worked in a room with upwards of x million dollars in notes loosely stacked about the place. A table, some chairs, some trellis tables to hold notes by denomination, some ornate boxes to hold notes of a particular vintage and value, very bright lights, two supervisors carrying gats, another outside, armed and the radio playing loudly.
In the months before decimal currency was introduced there was a debt between two companies. This debt was paid afterwards using old currency and new decimal currency notes, a lot, and the total was agreed and the debt was paid by the handing over the money. For whatever reason, the ready cash, old and new, was not banked but kept in their storage place, in boxes, tea chests.
Company amalgamation took place and an audit revealed the missing sum in the balance sheet and a remembering of where the money was. The cash had to be counted, totaled and accepted into the bank or business deals may not occur, authorities would be summonsed, legal, criminal and civil procedures may commence. This is the why of the counting of the money, and not when or where so much. Two or more counters, me as one, worked on the piles of cash until the emergency of banking before a date was met of some of the total, more than half physically. I remained to continue dealing with some remaining new notes, and so much of the old style pound notes.
With this new job three things were needed. How much money was legal tender now, place the money into acceptable bundles, flats, so that machine counting could occur, look for specific identification of the pound style notes as further evidence of a fraud, criminal or civil.
It was peculiar how the individual notes were separated now. It had been counted previously, back when it was readied for acceptance as payment of a much larger debt, but counted as bulk, 1 bunch, 2 bunches x bunches times $100 each bunch. Only part payment of that debt could occur now, only legal tender, decimal notes, would be accepted (probably, but unsure). Most of the bundles had been busted, funnily the remaining bundles contained $100 values of notes either 1 or 2 or 10 or 20 in decimal currency, then combined in those bundles then were 10 shilling($1) 1 pound($2) 5 pound ($10) 10 pound ($20). The total of each was $100. Repetitive, excruciatingly so, but the pay was very good.
I got recruited at the race track. A company delegate had been told that I was soon to be out of work when the bookmaking firm I worked for closed down. I was known to this firm because of banking the bookie bag on track, always balanced and a wink of recognition. They referred me to a man who then accompanied me to an interview with another, disconnected company.
I wanted details about the task. Drugs, crime? No. Forensic or death? Is there a smell attached, emotionally or chemically or anatomically? No. Pay? Quite excellent because of very strict conditions. Hours to suit, a lot of nights, clothing, food, transport. Secrecy? Lots of secrecy and security. I said, I suppose, I guess, but enthusiastically.
Ownership of the money was settled. The organisation working, counting, and banking the money may have been one half of the whole, but their staff were removed from involvement at my level.
I could work at the track then go to work in the evening at the money tip, and, by agreement, any other days of my liking during the week, long hours too, on good pay.
My first job, for some shifts, was removing the older style notes, then sorting everything into denominations, big piles of each.
Our work place was secret and in the first weeks I was only person ‘sorting’ with others guarding and an occasional person, a representative of the company whose money this was, visiting and asking questions. I can’t talk about what I was doing, secrecy, and after a couple of days, the representative said ‘good morning’ then walked off with the accompanying guards.
My clothing was issued, I wore white shorts and yellow shirts, thongs. I got dressed and undressed in the presence of a guard. If I left the work bench I was in the company of a guard. The toilet stall had no door on it, the toilet door had no door on it. Meals were catered, a food van called three times a day, for me and for the guards who were there all the time.
Once the older style notes were separated from the modern decimal style they were placed into boxes, one to a denomination, tea chests (remember them?), 7 in all.
Work on the decimal notes began and although I worked shifts 11 to 11, I had company, 2 or more most shifts, Asian, and non communicado (which is not Asian) and the whole mess of notes were sorted in quite quick time. Counting would come soon, and everything went into the tea chests reserved for the job, lots.
We changed location twice. Twice we had resided on client property, probably a former bank building, and the third and last move was to downtown and third floor of a modern building. This was better for parking and more relaxed security as well. I could walk, jog, twice a shift, on pay, shower and change discretely, and although the free feeds stopped, I got a food allowance in the form of a folded note. Hmmm. I got paid and taxed, and received a bonus when I finished. I worked 31 shifts there.
At no time was the ownership of the money known to me, or to us who worked at it. It was now an almost daily occurrence to have tea chests of money upended onto a centre table and carry a tray full of it to my work area, a beer box size of loose notes, all day, ad infinitum. A specific denomination of notes were inspected for serial number, unique identifiers that the issuing mint could interpret and show when the note was released into circulation, and where. Those serials were sequential, JNS was issued before JNT.
The through put of the notes took some days. Neat cubes of money were taken off site and counted at a facility and not returned. Inspection for specific serials continued and became the task of two others whereas I had the fun job of righting the notes as to aspect and picture. I quit smoking.
The older style notes became mine, and the last several days it was all there was and I worked continuously to get them sorted, and placed into eskys for movement out and away. Meanwhile the inspection for serial number disruption continued. It seemed every other note had to be turned to show the correct face for use of the counting machine. It was really wall to wall, a money cave nearly.
I don’t know the final total, a lot, and I don’t know who or why, and I’m fine with that. I received an offer of a job with my secret employers but declined. I was going to PNG after this.
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