I am a banking customer, hear me roar 

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A funny thing happened on the way to the bank. Well, not literally, because no one actually goes to a bank any more since your branch is now a Gail’s. But metaphorically.

A few weeks back, your columnist was lampooning calls and texts from people styling themselves as his personal premium account manager so they could upsell investment schemes. I must tell you now that the man who wrote that was a fool, a dunderhead, a dolt. Anyone who wants to be my personal banker can call any time. Literally get in touch now, I’m here for your Isas, Lisas, ETFs, crypto indexes, tulips even.

Why the change of heart? My story starts last March when I discovered that a savings account had — apparently without warning — been declared dormant. This was never my main bank but I had built up the savings over some decades and had left it as a pot for a rainy future, much to the vexation of my wife who gets very Martin Lewis about these things and is constantly telling me about some building society in Pontefract or Coventry offering very competitive rates of interest.

I did not entirely blame the bank. The account was so old that it was opened when the institution had a different name and I had not added or withdrawn from it in years. I got in touch and, after speaking with enough vigour to prove I was not dormant, secured its restoration. 

So it came as a surprise that, just three months later, the account was refrozen and closed. I did not notice right away because there had been no direct contact. I subsequently found a single email in my spam.

At no point did anyone stop to think that an account so recently reactivated might have a human who wanted it still attached. There was no letter, no phone call following up the unseen email, to say,

“We know you told us you weren’t dormant but, on reflection, we think you may be.”

Even now, I might still have accepted some blame. No doubt I should have been more attentive to the money. After all, what kind of bank would want a pot of cash on which it is paying no interest littering its vaults? It was what followed that shocked me.

Naturally, I made a fuss, except there was no one to speak to other than a genial but anonymous customer service agent, and even reaching her was difficult because the automated switchboard refused to recognise my account details. She did find my closed account, asked where I wanted the money sent and promised I would hear back within 10 working days. Then silence.

There followed three more weeks of calling customer agents, starting from scratch each time, asking for a call or email to acknowledge the problem, hearing nothing, having my complaint summarily rejected, calling again. As the weeks passed, I began to suspect my issue was not their top priority. I’d liken it to banging against a brick wall, but for the fact that no one will tell you which wall to headbutt. I complained, but this was rejected without investigation.

In the fourth week of chasing, I was told that the absence of a crucial piece of information was delaying the release of funds. No one had got in touch to find out the missing details. Perhaps this was another test of dormancy. Last Thursday, my main bank’s app informed me the money had arrived. Again, there was no communication.

The bank might argue that the issue was resolved in a month, albeit only because I kept pestering. But what still shocks is the utter refusal to communicate with a customer who would just like to know the issue is in hand. At no point was I connected with the appropriate unit.

I was given no case number or named contact. Nothing was done to retain my business. I was just expected to shut up and wait. In modern consumer banking, it turns out, there is no direct accountability, no go-to person you can pester when you find yours is no longer a listening bank.

Perhaps I was naive not to have realised this. But if anyone can recommend a reputable secure institution where you can talk to a named person when you call, let me know. Personal bankers wherever you are, I take it all back.

Email Robert at robert.shrimsley@ft.com

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