Wednesday, April 18, 2018

On connections between the 2nd Global Economy and our current one

A Victorian survivor in fund management - Buttonwood

A Victorian survivor in fund management

A tale of cats, Christie and copious chaps

WHEN the Foreign & Colonial Government Trust was launched in 1868, The Economist had its doubts. "The shape is very peculiar," we worried, adding that "the exact idea upon which it starts has never been used before." Some of the trust's promises were "far too sanguine to ever be performed". Nevertheless, we concluded that: "In our judgment, the idea is very good."

That turned out to be one of this newspaper's more successful forecasts. One hundred and fifty years later, the trust is still going strong, having delivered a compound annual return of 8.1%. It now looks after a portfolio of £3.5bn ($5bn), rather than the £588,000 it raised at launch.

In its own way, the trust is an example of how much the financial sector has changed—and how much it has stayed the same. The idea of a pooled portfolio seems commonplace now, but at the time it was revolutionary.

This was the 19th century, when Britain was confident of its worldwide role. The first portfolio comprised 18 overseas bonds, some in markets, such as Argentina and Peru, not ruled by Britain (the foreign element) and some that were, such as New South Wales and Nova Scotia (the colonial). This diversity allowed the trust to offer an initial dividend yield of 6%; not bad given that the prevailing yield on British government bonds was 3.3%.

The 20th century saw not just the decline of empires but the rise of inflation, which made a bond portfolio hazardous to investors' health. The fund moved into equities in the 1920s; its first holding was in Shell, the oil giant, and the shares are still in the portfolio today. A century after its formation, the fund was almost entirely invested in equities.

The most recent shift has been into private equity, with the hope that a long-term focus can deliver superior returns. The approach is more systematic than the fund's occasional forays into unquoted investments in the past; a stake in a musical, "Cats", bought in the 1970s, is still paying royalties today.

If the portfolio has changed hugely, one feature of the fund has stayed the same. It is an investment trust, or closed-end fund. Unlike a mutual fund, assets under management do not rise and fall in line with customer demand. Shares can be bought and sold only on a quoted exchange.

At times this structure has been unfashionable. In the 1970s and early 1980s the trust's share price traded at a big discount to its asset value. Other trusts succumbed to takeovers and the sector seemed doomed to disappear. F&C was the first trust to introduce a savings scheme and the first to advertise in the press, and it gradually lured back private investors. The discount is now a modest 2%.

The investment-trust format has also given managers flexibility, as in the aftermath of the crash of 1987, when the fund was able to borrow money to buy shares on the cheap. Neither mutual funds nor the trendy modern alternative of exchange-traded funds (ETFs) can do this.

F&C has also favoured continuity. Between 1969 and 2014, just two managers (Michael Hart and Jeremy Tigue) were in overall charge of the fund. That must have allowed them to take a long-term view. Another incident in the fund's history illustrates the theme. The only time the trust's offices were raided by police was in 1926. They were looking for evidence about the disappearance of Agatha Christie, the crime novelist. Her husband at the time, Archibald, was a fund manager for the group. Mrs Christie turned up safe and well in a Harrogate hotel. Her soon-to-be ex-husband remained an F&C director until his death in 1962. Even at that date the group had on its staff one person who had served in the Boer War and another who had fought in the Battle of Omdurman of 1898.

Less happily, this sense of tradition meant the trust was an old boys' club. The first female director was not appointed until 1988, 120 years after its foundation. And the group is only now dropping the word "colonial" from its company name, and adopting the shorter F&C. That should have been done long ago.

After 150 years the trust is now one of the better adverts for active management. It has beaten its benchmark over the past five years and increased its dividend for a remarkable 47 straight years. It has a modest annual fee of 0.37%.

There is another way in which things have changed, yet stayed the same. Given current high valuations, an equity portfolio will not deliver the same returns as in the past, but it will still beat bonds and cash. And, as we said in 1868, diversifying globally is a very good idea.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

On America as a Pacific power from a long time back...

Lessons from history at a Pacific Ocean outpost - In America's Wake

Lessons from history at a Pacific Ocean outpost

A reminder that America chose its global role

A reminder that America chose its global role

"GLOBALIST" is a fashionable term of abuse in American politics just now. The world is full of haters, cheats and ingrates, powerful voices declare. Walls are beautiful. Openness is for fools.

To turn inwards, thanking providence for a homeland shielded by two oceans, is a tradition with deep roots. But it is not the only American way. To land at the United States Air Force airfield on Wake Island, a green and turquoise speck of coral in the dark vastness of the Pacific, is to be reminded that America has been a global, maritime power for more than a century. Openness is an American tradition too, of a swaggering, risk-taking, profit-mixed-with-patriotism kind.

Your blogger landed on Wake Island aboard a blue and white air force jet carrying the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, General Joseph Dunford. This is American territory, claimed by a naval gunboat in 1899 and maintained today as an aircraft refuelling stop and test site for missile defence systems. It has fewer than 100 residents, all of them either military personnel or government contractors, and its ruler is a polite young air force captain, Marc Bleha. 

At the height of the Korean War, more than 100 airplanes landed on the atoll each day. America's most senior officer, General Dunford is a marine, dubbed "fighting Joe" as a hard-driving commander in Iraq. Squinting at the surf as his plane is refuelled, he points out memorials and bunkers that bear witness to the marines, navy personnel and contractors who held off a vastly larger Japanese force for 16 days, at the start of the Pacific war. To his left stands a whitewashed monument to those marines, inscribed with a terse wartime message: "Enemy on Island, Situation in Doubt". Long-ago crashes and wrecks are recalled by rusting aircraft engines and anchors, lined up on the coral foreshore. 

But the island is more than a fortress. It was claimed for the United States at the height of America's flirtation with imperialism, soon after the annexation of Hawaii and the capture of Guam and the Philippines from Spain. From the start it was examined for both military and commercial potential, as a possible telegraph station and coaling stop for warships and merchantmen. A brief taste of glamour came in the 1930s, when Pan-American Airlines blasted a channel for flying boats in its coral lagoon, and built a hotel, pool and resort for passengers taking its island-hopping Clipper service to China. The US Navy quietly encouraged PanAm's work, as admirals fretted about an increasingly assertive Japan and planned for war.

Today it has a more spartan feel. The flight movement board in the passenger terminal is blank, beneath a line of clocks that show the time in such far-off spots as Auckland, London and Washington, DC. With no passengers to serve, a baggage handler cheerfully offers to stamp passports with a Wake Island arrivals stamp. The resident workers (there are no children) report excellent fishing and scuba-diving off the reef. Still, this is an island of ghosts, says Barbel Graham, a contract cook from Texas who has spent three years there. "You respect what happened here. You can feel the atmosphere sometimes," she confides. From her window in the housing camp known as "downtown", Ms Graham can see the beach where 98 American prisoners of war were lined up and machine-gunned by Japanese occupiers in 1943.

Not all the history is so dark. Back in 1975, as Saigon fell, the atoll was used as a refugee inspection station for some 15,000 Vietnamese airlifted to new lives in America. That act of (limited) generosity paid dividends. Captain Bleha volunteers that his commanding officer, who is stationed in Alaska with the air force unit that oversees the atoll, was himself a refugee from Vietnam. Born to an American father and a Vietnamese mother, the captain's commanding officer remembers passing through Wake Island as a child.

This improbable scrap of American rock, with its sun-faded airport fire trucks, yellow school bus and tiny post office, speaks to a history that some would forget. America is a Pacific nation, though rivals such as China wish otherwise, yearning to push a weary superpower out of its region, and back towards its continental fastness. It was not naïve idealism that led America to project power far beyond the horizon: entrepreneurs and military men share equal billing in Wake Island's story, and those adventurers made their home country safer and more prosperous. America was not tricked into a global role, it chose one.