Tale in two cities: shock, anger and pleas for a job

In the Tonic sports bar, close to Lehman Brothers' New York headquarters, Christine, a brunette in her twenties, is struggling to hold it together. As she sways on her bar stool, her purse falls from her grasp. Retrieved by a gallant onlooker, Christine thanks him, adding: "You wouldn't happen to have a job as well, would you?"

Christine - like most Lehman employees in New York she refuses to give her surname in the hope she will one day get her job back - had been working in the bank's junk bonds division for three months.

Meanwhile downstairs, five Lehman employees are drinking champagne and eating crab cakes. "We've been instructed not to speak to the press so I can't tell you my name," said a thirtysomething banker. "About 25,000 people don't have a clue what has happened. I'm still turning up to work tomorrow even though there's probably no job to speak of. Apparently we'll get confirmation next week."

Fed up with the questions about what they'll do next, another of the group jabbed his finger at me: "This will end up like a scene in The Departed if you don't go away."

In the bars of two cities last night, the soon-to-be ex-employees of Lehman Brothers were telling the same tale - of fear for the future. The pain of New York was being felt 3,500 miles away in Canary Wharf.

Robert Hilary, 24, was meant to be starting his first week in technology equities risk analysis after completing a graduate trainee scheme. "I never thought I'd be made redundant so soon in my career - my first day," he said. Mr Hilary moved recently from Nottingham to London and was due to receive a £3,000 "golden hello" starting bonus on top of his £35,000 salary. "I will probably apply to other banks, but when you've got so many people on the job market with a lot more experience, my prospects don't look good," he said. As bags and boxes of possessions lined the pavements outside its towering London HQ, many of the bank's employees drowned their sorrows in nearby bars into the small hours of this morning.

An American sales manager, who moved from the US five years ago to work at Canary Wharf, said: "I will be going into work today because I still haven't been told what is going on. The executive committee has messed things up, we all knew what was going on. I will get another job and things will move on. At the moment, though, I'm like a lot of people here - very angry."

An investment banker carrying a packed cardboard box - his only souvenir of six years with the company - said: "This came as a surprise to me, although people were worried about our future. There was no contingency planning, it was like the blind leading the blind."

Saeed Amen, 25, a foreign exchange researcher, is now considering going back to university to study for a PhD in finance to improve his employment prospects and return to the job market when it is in a healthier state.

Mr Amen, from Docklands, said: "I'm single and I don't have kids so it's not so bad for me, but there are people with mortgages and families, who are going to find it tough."

Meanwhile back in New York, it wasn't only the Lehman Brothers employees who were suffering. At Becketts Bar just off Wall Street, Joe Richards had cut short his day to drown his losses. "I won't tell you how much money I lost today or who I work for but it was considerable," he said. "Lehman was my biggest client. We knew over the weekend that today was going to be brutal, but it still feels worse than Black Monday back in 1987. The great thing about the market is that tomorrow the slate gets wiped clean. But today is not tomorrow."

A middle-aged financial consultant, Mike, was despairing over the plight of insurer AIG whose shares plummeted 60 per cent yesterday. "As well as doing a lot of business with AIG, my pension is with them," he said. "It's the 30th anniversary of my first day on the Street next Thursday and I have a bad feeling about that day."

At the headquarters of Lehman Brothers, in the centre of the Broadway district, an executive recruitment consultant, Laura Caputo of Spire Search Partners, was shoving her business card into the hands of departing employees, some carrying boxes containing their possessions.

Across the way, a Lehman Brothers security guard summed up proceedings in five words when he went over to buy a kebab, informing the stall owner: "No money left. Bankruptcy. Finish." It was that kind of day.