About two years into my term of articles, aged 19, I asked Walter Eccles, my boss, for a £1000 loan. The family business, a corner shop, was going bust. It was my dad's business and comprised our home. My request was graciously and regretfully turned down.
How cool was that? £1000 was a lot of money in the early sixties. My starting salary was two pounds ten shillings a week. To me it was a simple matter. My dad was in need. My employer was in the money. Perhaps surprisingly, neither my importunate request, nor Mr Eccles' gentle letdown, made my later relationship with him the least bit uncomfortable. What a gent!