1
Prologue
āHappy birthday, Ranny.ā Rhianydd looked at Debbie, and the two of them started crying again. It was 30Ā January 2001 and we were in the bar at the Four Seasons Hotel in London. Andy Pritchard and I raised our glasses and glanced at each other without embarrassment.
My mobile phone rang. The Four Seasons is a business hotel so there were no hostile looks from the staff. John Berry, our Company Secretary, was calling from his room upstairs. He said he was going to have room service and wouldnāt be joining us for dinner and please would I understand how difficult it was for him. āChrist almighty, whatās his problem?ā I thought aloud. Iād taken the guy on eighteen years ago and had seen him every day since.
āArenāt you even going to have a drink with us? Itās Rannyās birthday.ā
āNo, I canāt,ā he said. āBut I think it will be OK to bump into you at breakfast.ā
āBloody wimp,ā I mumbled.
Apparently the two Bills, Grimsey and Hoskins, were making a point of staying in some cheap hotel and had already told John that this would be the last time he would be staying at the Four Seasons. I suppose he had conflicting emotions. Iām sure he felt a great loyalty or maybe just sympathy for me, but he had the rest of his career to think of. Already Andy and I were bad news in the new Iceland regime. We finished the champagne and moved into the dining room.
I couldnāt decide how I felt. On the one hand there was great relief at being out of the company, which Iād been trying to achieve for the past two years but, on the other, bewilderment and even anger at how it had happened. Ranny was in emotional turmoil. I kept reminding her of our son Richardās words the night before: āDonāt worry about it,ā he said, āhappy endings only happen in fairy tales!ā
Debbie was worried for different reasons: how were they going to make a living? What were Andyās chances of ever getting another top job after this?
Although I stayed in the Four Seasons whenever I was in London, I never ate there. The food was too fussy for my liking and the meal always took too long. Tonight was different. It was certainly going to be a memorable occasion. It was also the last meal on expenses and Andy, ever the wine connoisseur, decided to sting the Bills for a couple of bottles of Palmer ā86.
Throughout the evening we kept churning it all over. āIāve only had two jobs and Iāve been fired from them both!ā I thought this was a great line but the girls kept asking how it could happen and why we hadnāt stopped it.
āBecause I couldnāt,ā said Andy.
āBecause I didnāt want to,ā I said, more than once.
āBut itās your company, you started it, you are Iceland,ā the girls reminded me.
āRanny, Grimsey is welcome to it,ā I said.
The press had been horrific over the past week and I knew over the next couple of days it would get a lot worse. That made it impossible for any of us to draw a line under things. Not unnaturally, the girls thought about their friends and their Mums and what people would think. For myself, I had got used to the idea over the past week and persuaded myself I didnāt care.
The board meeting had lasted until lunchtime; nineteen people around a long table at our lawyer Herbert Smithās offices. Iceland directors, advisers and professionals ā friends, too, I thought, but impotent while the charade was played out. Some of the advisers were already negotiating with their own consciences about where their loyalties lay and where their continuing fees would come from. I just wanted to get it over with. It would have been ludicrous for me to try to take the meeting as Chairman, so I handed over to David Price, our senior non-executive director.
David did a good job in trying to give Andy a fair hearing, even though Bill Grimsey didnāt want Andy to present papers to defend himself. I made a short speech first and then said that, much as I wanted to, I didnāt propose to resign unless the board asked me to. Edward Walker-Arnott, the much respected and now retired senior partner of Herbert Smith, had advised me not to resign when I consulted him privately, as a friend, three days earlier. āIt will look as if you have done something wrong. Under no circumstances should you resign for at least a couple of months,ā he had told me. At the lunchtime break the non-executives did ask me to resign, so I was delighted to oblige. Andy and I both resigned as directors of the company but not as employees. We all agreed we should stay on the payroll until March to give us time to decide on our respective positions. I asked David Price if he would take over as Chairman and he said he would, but only until a permanent replacement could be found.
My recent share sale had now become a potential issue. Before my resignation, Tim Steadman of Herbert Smith agreed that I had followed the correct procedure, but had said that in view of all the bad press an investigation by the United Kingdom Listing Authority (UKLA) was almost inevitable. He also said there wouldnāt be any conflict in his firm advising me personally despite their connection with Iceland. I couldnāt get used to that idea as I had first used them in 1984 and felt that they worked for me. After lunch, Tim suggested I should spend some time with Stephen Gate, their compliance expert, and review all the events around my share sale. Gate worried me. I explained to him how I had telephoned each non-executive director in turn and asked their permission to sell shares.
Iād also asked several of our advisers and no one had had a problem.
āWhat did you say when you spoke to the non-execs?ā he asked.
āWell, I said I wanted to sell some shares and was that OK?ā
āYes, but what were your exact words, what exactly did you say?ā
āI canāt remember but I asked their permission to sell and asked if they had any problems with that, and they didnāt. David Price even remarked that shares werenāt family heirlooms to be kept for ever.ā I was certain I had followed the correct procedure. I couldnāt understand what he was getting at.
The red wine was relaxing me as I repeated the conversation. āThat guy is not on this planet. You wonāt believe what he said next. He said, āWhen you asked the non-execs for permission to sell, did you say, āI am ringing pursuant to paragraph 5 (a) of the model code for share dealing to formally request permission to sell shares in the companyā?āā
āAre you serious?ā I said. āNobody speaks like that. I know these guys well and would never use language that formal.ā
āWell, you should have,ā he insisted.
āPeople like him probably do talk like that,ā said Andy.
The conversation with Gate had gone on for hours and, although he was supposed to be advising me, I felt his line of questioning was increasingly hostile. I was totally exhausted.
I saw Grimsey briefly at about 6.30pm and told him I would clear my office by the weekend. He expressed no regret at what had happened. I told him he had got everything he wanted now and asked him to play fair by Andy with his pay-off. āDonāt ask me to do anything that would jeopardise the interests of the shareholdersā was his only response. I had heard this line so many times over the past few weeks that it held no credibility for me. He reminded me of some kind of religious zealot preaching high-minded religion and burning people at the stake at the same time.
The four of us met for breakfast next morning and John Berry came over to talk to us but sat at a separate table. For the first time in 30Ā years there seemed to be no urgency to get on with the day. A great weight had been lifted off my shoulders only to be replaced by uncertainty. I signed the hotel bill but decided to pay for the wine and champagne personally. I didnāt want to give Grimsey an excuse to make an issue out of it.
Harnish met us in the hotel lobby. As our London chauffeur he always heard enough of what was said in the back of the car to work out what was going on. He looked bleak and visibly upset. He drove us to Northolt airport and gave everyone a tearful hug as we boarded the plane. That upset Ranny. Heād worked for us for years and been privy to many of our adventures.
It takes only 35 minutes for the Citation jet to get to Chester airport and this was of course the last time weād be using it. Weād had a company plane for sixteen years and this had been our first brand new one, bought in 1995. It was still immaculate. Weād always made a profit on selling them and while company planes are often considered an emotive issue, Iād long since given up caring what people thought about it. As a national retailer weād always found it an invaluable business tool and Iād defend it to anybody. I couldnāt imagine Grimsey keeping anything as extravagant, though. My lifestyle was going to change dramatically now but I couldnāt have been happier about it.
Kathy Wight, my PA, had packed 30Ā years of personal files into boxes and wrapped up all the accumulated clutter in my office. Sheād organised a Transit van to be there the following Saturday morning to take the stuff home. The office was deserted but Janet Marsden, our Personnel Director, was there. Iād employed her twenty years ago as the youngest member of our team. She was obviously embarrassed and upset to be there. Grimsey had asked her to watch me take my possessions out of my office and ensure I didnāt nick any company papers. She said if I took any company documents she was required to make a list of them, but then she offered to go to her office and wait until Iād gone.
Andy was packing up at the same time but he had a lot less junk than me. Iād tended to keep a lot of my personal files at the office. So many adventures over 30Ā years had generated a lot of memories. We had a librarian who worked four hours each week keeping the archives and all the memorabilia and old photographs carefully filed. A few years earlier Iād realised that most of that kind of stuff had vanished over time and weād decided to conserve what was left and also keep current items of interest for the future. I left it all behind without much thought.
Weād built a company from nothing to annual sales of over Ā£5Ā billion. We employed over 30,000 people and probably as many again among our suppliers and support companies. Weād paid hundreds of millions to shareholders and at least Ā£10Ā million to charity and made many people very wealthy, including some of our staff.
Then the letters and emails started to arrive from friends and colleagues in the business and I had plenty of time to reflect over the next few weeks about how it all beganĀ ā¦
2
āYouāre Fired!ā
A.V. Green was God. At least to Woolworthās trainee managers he was. Iād been in his office only once before when I was promoted to deputy manager of Woolworthās Wrexham branch. It was the biggest office Iād ever seen, dark and wood-panelled with his massive desk in one corner. It was certainly impressive. Last time it had been a handshake and a word of congratulations: the motivation factor of ten minutes with God was deemed to be worth a day out of the store with petrol expenses for the drive to the regional office in Dudley, Birmingham. Head office in London was something too important and remote for me even to contemplate. This time my visit was to get fired. It apparently didnāt occur to anyone to wonder why Johnnie Walton, the Wrexham store manager, couldnāt do it. Deputy store managers were important in the hierarchy and firing one was an event that required some drama.
Peter Hinchcliffe and I drove down to Birmingham together. Peter was called into Greenās office first and I had to wait in the corridor outside. It was only five minutes before it was my turn and I was given a speech about wasting an opportunity. I told Green that the company owed me about 10,000 hours in unpaid overtime but he didnāt seem impressed. His parting words to me were: āSo, go and run your fish and chip shop or whatever it is.ā It was 27 January 1971, almost 30 years to the day before I was fired for the second time.
We drove back to Oswestry. Peter was deputy manager of Woolies there and that was where we had opened our first Iceland store three months earlier. We were both earning Ā£26 per week at Woolies but our dismissal package had included our holiday pay and pension money so we figured we could last the next few months without drawing anything from the new business. Iād worked at Woolworthās for seven years, the only job Iād had since leaving school, but I was glad to be out of it. I was bored and I wasnāt doing very well in the company. I was a little scared about the future but also excited: I was 24 and ready to make my fortune.
I joined Woolworthās after a conversation with the careers teacher at school.
āWhat are you good at?ā she asked me, obviously knowing it wasnāt academic studies.
āI like organising things,ā I replied.
āIn that case you should go into retailing,ā she said. So I did.
I was born in 1946 and brought up in a mining village called Grange Moor in the West Riding of Yorkshire. My Dad was a colliery electrician but he was also something of an entrepreneur. He ran a smallholding of eight-and-a-half acres in his spare time. He grew vegetables and also kept poultry. He was one of the first to install the new battery cages, which were rapidly improving egg production at the time. I used to help him on the farm and like to think I developed my work ethic from him in those early days. In 1955 Dad had an accident at the pit when a coal-cutter crushed his foot, and he then went full-time on the poultry farm. Eventually he set up a small grocery shop near Huddersfield with my Mam and sold a lot of home-grown products and the sponge cakes Mam baked at home. He died young at 52, from cancer, when I was fourteen.
Although I f...