Is your money safe at Santander bank?

A collection of climate stories mostly

A forlorn bank building for sale

From our house, it was a 10-15 minute walk down a leafy suburban road into Oxton village on the Wirral. In 1970, the centrally located Midland Bank (now HSBC), was on the left, with parking for at least 10 cars. The sign said, Bank customers only, but there was no one there to administer and a blind eye was often turned. 

Oxton village

It was a convenient car park for quick comestibles and other needs. The greengrocer, which became the baker was next door, Adam’s the butcher opposite, had been there for years, Cottams for newspapers and birthday cards, the Co-Op, two hairdressers, even a beer in The Talbot - not the best, was on hand. 

I can’t remember my parents ever walking, so the car park proved handy. 

The bank was a modern 1960s creation, not dissimilar to my junior school assembly hall. A glass roof was supported by wooden buttresses in a pleasing geometric shape. A glass frontage was even more welcoming to the bank’s customers. It was at odds with everything else standing in the Edwardian village, but that didn’t seem to matter.

The open plan interior was interrupted by the glass partition separating tellers from customers. There was also an odd rectangular box, tucked away in a corner of the atrium; the bank manager’s office with door but no windows as far as I could see. 

Whenever I went, I sat patiently at a desk, the ones with pens secured by decorative metal bubbles, umbilical links to their bases, while one or t’other parent queued to take out cash, pay in a cheque, both. Mostly, they spent time talking to one of several tellers they liked, even opting for their queue, if it wasn’t too obvious. Business was done as they caught up on local news. Seeing was believing, trust a by-product of the service.

Cash is now, almost no more. Golf clubs liked it, but even they’re starting to avoid it, the benefits of a cashless society outweighing old habits.

Moving cash, even though you don’t touch it anymore, appears to be becoming more rather than less difficult and stressful, if a recent experience with Santander is anything to go by. 

After last week, I’ll be closing my account. I should have done it months ago, when I shut my First Direct (HSBC) one. I’ve just been putting it off, because once upon a time, this bank had been helpful. A real person had intervened.

Any soft spot has gone. They don’t care and neither do I.

We all have preferences about money, banks and how to interact with them. The older we are, the more likely we are, I expect, to visit a branch if there is one, for larger sums, bigger than pocketfuls. 

Before moving from Wokingham, it seemed safer somehow to visit the local Santander branch and speak to another perfectly pleasant teller. Their version of the internet on their screen seemed more indestructible and trustworthy than anything we had access to on our laptops. 

But that was five years ago and challenger banks like Starling and Monzo are well established, especially with our children. There are no legacy systems to interrupt modern day banking. Desks with pens no more. 

I have a Starling account. My experience of moving anything significant has been leaps and bounds ahead of the nonsense experienced at Santander.

In fairness to all banks, there has been a huge growth in scams and scammers. They often pose as the bank’s fraud team with warnings to keep your money safe, advising immediate removal to a far safer account which they can give you access too, but only if you truly want peace of mind.

I expect successful scammers are extremely skilled on the phone and far more plausible and helpful than Santander’s front line defence last week.

Two weeks ago I tried to move some money. It should have been routine because, the mandate was already set-up on my account. The details were correct and I’d successfully used it before.

It didn’t stop the computer saying no apparently. It sounds like a bad joke from Little Britain the irony of which was completely lost on the security person I spoke with. Too young I expect?

Once the front line customer service team, (the telephone version of the branch) perfectly polite and capable receive a computer red flag, a script is read which could include a delay of up to 72 hours. 

I waited 7 days, despite several attempts by me to get my account unfrozen. Someone more senior than the people I could reach was needed to remove the ice. I would have to be patient and wait. 

No one called, service level pledges ignored, forgotten, who cares? I tried again on day seven. Whoever I spoke to in their security team this time made it happen in minutes. She was efficient, cash moved almost instantly. Wonderful.

I tried to move a much smaller balance the following week, sure that it would be sorted the same day. Another freeze, but this time I did receive a phone call. This security operative was different. If he had a jacket it had stripes on the sleeves, full of his own importance, less customer friendly, happy to interrupt. He reminded me of my Asda Crewe interrogation one Saturday morning, when I’d been accused of stealing batteries. 

I was a Duracell battery salesperson at the time, not someone caught by the store detective, pockets weighed down with AA batteries. 

On that occasion, their head of security, an ex-policeman, kept insisting that I must have been trying to steal the batteries which I’d written an uplift note for on the Friday afternoon, part of a regular store visit. I fell headlong into his trap, arguing that if I was going to steal batteries, I’d never choose an Asda because the security was too tight. I was made to feel guiltier than ever.

The security man from Santander was a scouser, also looking for holes in my story. I desperately wanted to drop into the patois, but knew he’d misinterpret my native familiarity as the sign of a desperate account holder, under pressure, prepared to do anything. 

I haven’t learnt much in the 40 years since being banned from Asda Crewe. This time I made the fatal mistake of arguing that it was my money. It immediately lit his touch paper. I’m sure I detected delight in his voice as he explained my fatal mistake. 

Apparently, customers under duress from criminal gangs resort to reminding the bank that it’s their money. I’d argue it’s just as likely when you’re talking to a job’s worth who loves the sound of his own voice.

Despite Santander’s assurances that they’re trying to protect your money, their pre-written scripts, diligently read out on every call, suggest that they won’t be accountable for any loss, if it proves to be a scam.

The technical term for what they’re trying to stop is called push payment fraud and it cost UK citizens (and their banks presumably) £582 million in 2021.

It’s not clear what protection you can expect from your bank, although Santander and other major banks have signed up to the Contingent Reimbursement Model Code established in 2019, providing protection for their customers.

Perhaps this explains why my anonymous security man, they don’t have names, demanded evidence to prove that we had bought what we said we’d bought. Apparently our scam could have been going on for years, even though we’ve signed contracts, stood under the roof, argued over the colour of tiles and a myriad of other stuff which makes up a home.

Starling Bank’s approach is quiet by comparison. Their security department are either shy or rely more on digital tools at their disposal to check for fraud. Customer interrogation and lecturing doesn’t appear to be one of them. 

Instead, I’m encouraged to use their banking app as normal. They reserve the right to hold-up a payment for 24 hours or less, if they believe further checks are needed. The money is released. They don’t call, your app updates, cash arrives. Hard to impersonate a fraud team which doesn’t call or send emails.