‘Disgusting young louts,” muttered one elderly stockbroker as he watched the new breed chanting and popping champagne corks on the eve of the Big Bang in the City of London. The square mile of the City is the oldest part of London, the crossing point of the Thames where the Romans built their town; but for several centuries now it has been chiefly a financial district, Britain’s Wall Street. Its affairs were run like those of a gentlemen’s club, where most people knew and trusted each other, bargains could be made by word of mouth, and standards of integrity were self-imposed. What the City called the Big Bang, which occurred on October 27, wrought a cataclysmic change in this traditional way of life.
Some change was inevitable anyway. Even Lloyd’s, which epitomized the old club-like system and became insurer to the world because of its members’ absolute commitment to a bargain, had been shaken lately by more than one scandal. It had expanded too fast, indeed the whole City had expanded, and the new arrivals didn’t always abide by the old standards.




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