Being Made Redundant

When I got told, along with my peers, that I would need to go and see the boss the following day to find out what my role (or otherwise) would be in the new organisational structure, I travelled into Oxford Circus with a high level of optimism, even working out in my mind which branches would most likely be in my new patch and how I would get to each of them.

I quickly realised something wasn't quite right when I walked into the main office and the team, who I would normally have some banter with, seemed more intent on focusing on their PC screens and avoiding any eye contact with me than having a chat about the football or the weather or some other unimportant topic. But still, when I walked into the boss's room and he told me that I no longer had a job in the new world, I was genuinely in disbelief. Really? Fuck.

I'd already worked out the reduction in numbers would be very minimal, so in essence, I was being told that I must be the most shit Director in the team. I made this point to my boss but he said that wasn't the case, which was hard to swallow as otherwise, why would I be losing my job? And that's the point at which I started to believe that the decision to make me redundant was a personal, not a performance-related one. But of course, I would think that, wouldn't i?

I knew that I didn't have a great relationship with my boss but it hadn't occurred to me that it was so poor that it would come and bite me on the arse this badly. He demanded loyalty and in retrospect my behaviour may have had led him to believe that I wasn't loyal to him, which wasn't true, but I do understand why he may have thought that -mainly because I wasn't prepared to agree with every fucking word he said, unlike some of my colleagues, who perhaps had less to lose than me, but in my opinion, were too happy to shy away from calling stuff out.

I don't regret having an opinion that was different to his, or ideas that he didn't agree with, but at the time I genuinely didn't believe that I would lose my job because of it. Speaking out (politely and objectively) contributes towards better decision making and avoids the risk of existing in a permanent echo chamber, but if the boss wants things to be done in a certain way and your ideas aren't aligned with those, then you're in danger - speaking out can and does put a target on your back and in my case, I got one firmly between the shoulder blades.

If this had been the full extent of the 'injustice' then I could probably have lived with it. But things got worse when, eventually, i asked to see the assessment which had been undertaken on me and that had effectively scored me as the most shit director in the team. At this point, I wasn't fighting for my job, that train had long left the station, instead I was considering taking the bank to an industrial tribunal - I'd had too much time to dwell on what had happened during my Gardening Leave and as every day passed, I got more and more angry about what I considered to be wrong.

When I read the assessment I wasn't really surprised, - as expected, everything was written through a 'half glass empty' lens, but also it twisted the truth, provided inaccurate evidence, and used examples that I’d been told wouldn’t be used because they weren’t validated, or indeed true. I've exaggerated in assessments on colleagues before, but to help them stay in a job, not to get them sacked. Furthermore, (and whilst this may sound like a pedantic point) the assessment was full of typos and 'cut and pasted' paragraphs in different fonts and colours. To someone, this was obviously such an unimportant task that didn't warrant any care and attention; to me, it was my life.

The assessment I read really did describe the most shit Director I’d ever met, but words and figures differed. I told the bank's HR Director that my assessment was flawed but they weren't interested.. Ironically, I was told that they had to 'trust their Managing Directors to tell the truth' in assessments like this. Yeah, right . . .

So, my departure from the organisation, and indeed 42 years in banking could and should have been more amicable and it certainly wasn’t how I had anticipated it was going to end. I felt as though the bank had tossed me onto the scrap heap and despite me giving them the chance to check their own homework and re-consider, they weren’t prepared to do so. To them, it was merely a neat and convenient way to reduce their headcount; to me, it was the end of my career

I'm incredibly grateful for the amazing career that I had, but nonetheless I am bitter about how it ended. But shit happens. None of us are indispensable. Ultimately, we’re just a number, in my case, 06780787. And despite what those of us who have worked in large organisations for a long time may think, there is no loyalty, and the world most definitely doesn’t owe us a living. If it happens to you, it most likely won't be personal, more a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a time when organisational change is so rife. But, however it happens, my plea to you is this - get over it as soon as you can, remember that your self-worth, however it feels at the time, is as high as it was beforehand, and move on to something new, something exciting, something worthwhile. Every cloud and all that . . .

Panners (May 2026)