There was a time, a generation ago, when one's local bank resembled nothing so much as a decent Presbyterian place of worship. A hushed atmosphere; tall forbidding wooden counters with glass screens above them; no colour or decoration; gloomy linoleum floors and a solemn queue.

With deregulation, things began to go terribly high church. At some point in the early Nineties, banks finally morphed into something resembling travel agencies.

One no longer used anything as formal as a counter. You followed paths of swirly carpets to a specific desk where you sat and discussed your needs with a pretty girl, as if you were planning a cruise to the Bahamas. Bright lighting and cheerful posters sparkled around you. Had they had incense, they would have wafted it.

And if indeed you wanted a holiday, why, the nice lady could instantly arrange a big loan. You just had to ask and the money was yours. And while she was at it, she'd get your house re-mortgaged, cater for all your insurance needs, and persuade you to take out a credit card as well. Because naturally she had sales targets to meet.

We weren't customers so much as statistics waiting to be exploited. Today, as we come to the terms with the fact that the State has taken over two great Scottish banks, it is worth remembering the days before banking lost all sense of dignity in the pursuit of growth.

State control is a desperate measure for a desperate time. But ironically it may allow the Royal Bank of Scotland and the Bank of Scotland to save the last tatters of their reputations as repositories of some intangible national values. In a way, these banks symbolise Scotland, and their fall damages everyone, not just in the pocket.

One of the great poignancies of the present train wreck is that a reputation for impeccable caution and safety, built over so many centuries, has been almost totally shredded. And the asset of high moral status, the young thrusters in the marketing department may come to realise painfully, is not something that can be bought.

Anyone over 45 has lived with the banking revolution these past 30 years — witnessing the transition from austerity to the boom under the Thatcher government; the unchecked growth; the ruthless exploitation of the marketplace. And within the space of a couple of months, we have seen the clock set violently back. No wonder we all have a sense of whiplash.

What now of the extravagant construction projects for a luxury Scotland? Will the new Forth crossing happen? The dualling of the A9? The bullet train from Edinburgh to Glasgow? Shall we not instead face public spending cuts, as the absurdity of the way we have been living starts to sink in?

Suddenly there is much to admire at one remarkable little Scottish bank, where the revolution never happened. The Airdrie Savings Bank, with 60,000 customers, seven branches and 106 staff, is the UK's last independent savings bank. Caution is its byword. Founded 175 years ago, it took 81 years before it opened a second branch in Coatbridge. When the TSB gobbled up many other small savings banks in the 1980s, the ASB decided to go it alone.

In its financial year to October 31, 2007, the ASB earned pre-tax profits of £656,000 and reserves increased to £14.1million, with total assets of £130.4million. And in the midst of a global crisis caused by reckless lending, it reported bad debts of just £53,000 — 0.15 per cent of all its £33.5million loans.

Delightfully — and somehow this sums up how the giants have been humbled — one member of staff at ASB reports seeing a customer bend down and straighten the front-door mat, as if it were her own home.

The trick for lasting success — be cautious. Be a little old-fashioned. Be modest and stay close to your customer. It is an essence of Scottishness, perhaps, that all of Scotland needs to relearn.

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