CONSTABLE NICK BOX SET 6-10 five feel-good village cozy mysteries

by Nicholas Rhea

  There were many similar instances of Yorkshire canniness in the handling of money; it has often been said that if a coin fell over the side of a ship with a Scotsman and a Yorkshireman on board, the Yorkshireman would be first into the water to retrieve it. There is no doubt that some Yorkshire folk are very careful and this trait was noticeable among police officers and their wives.

  There were, and still are, some very tight-fisted policemen and some equally careful wives. It must be said that the policeman’s wage at that time was very poor and those with growing families did find it difficult to manage, myself included. Many made skilful economies but some went to extreme odds. I knew one lady who bought an electric washing-machine after months of careful saving, and then, in order to use it, sat up until after midnight so she could take advantage of cheap electricity. The burning lights probably cost more than she saved — unless she worked in the dark.

  Another had a similar line of thought. Her parents bought her a washing-up machine, a fine piece of equipment which washed all her pots. But the woman worried about the cost of running it; the thought of massive electricity bills so horrified her that she decided to run it during the night. In this way, the cheaper electricity could be utilised to the full and the machine would be used only when it was completely full of dirty pots.

  The snag was that the family had only one set of crockery. When all the pieces were dirty, they were placed into the machine and the family had to wait until next morning before they could be re-used. The mother would not hear of the machine being used during the daytime, so she bought a second set of crockery. But as one set was used at breakfast, another at lunch and some pieces casually during the day, two sets were not enough. So she bought a third set, with a few spare mugs and plates . . .

  The result was that during the night hours, her washing-up machine, filled with three full sets of crockery from breakfast, lunch and tea, rumbled along on its cheap power. I don’t know what it cost her in spare crockery and I often wonder if she thought she was being economical.

  Inevitably, with circulating tales of such tightfistedness, (a state of mind which is very often regarded as common sense by its perpetrators) there are discussions as to which person, within our knowledge, is the meanest. All men know the fellow who will never buy his round in a pub; who coasts downhill in his car to save petrol or who always uses the office telephone to make his calls. Invariably, though, there is one person who becomes a legend in his own lifetime so far as tightfistedness is concerned. The police service is just as prone as any other profession and in our case, such a man was Police Constable Meredith Dryden.

  Of middle service and approaching his forties, he sported a ruddy, moon-shaped face and a nice head of dark, curly hair. He’d been reared in a village on the Yorkshire Wolds and was as careful as any man I know. He did free-wheel his private car down hills to save petrol, and did switch his house lights off each time he left a room, even for five minutes: what he saved on electricity was spent on replacing baffled bulbs. He grew his own vegetables which he sold to his wife at market prices; made all his family use the same bathwater to save on heating costs, and even cut his own hair.

  When he first came to my notice, he was stationed on the coast, but was later transferred to Brantsford, just along the road from Aidensfield and Ashfordly. His reputation preceded him; long before Meredith arrived, we heard about his legendary meanness and wondered how he would get along with the happy-go-lucky members of Ashfordly section.

  One of his habits quickly manifested itself. He got others to run errands for him on the grounds that it both saved his boot leather and obviated a lot of the aggravation that followed his miserly actions. I came across this one day when I was in the tiny police office of Brantsford. Meredith was sitting at the typewriter and a young probationer constable was at his side.

  As I entered, midway through one of my motorcycle patrols, Meredith said to the youngster, “Paul, nip down to the newsagents, will you? Get me a copy of the Yorkshire Post — I can read it over my coffee break.”

  Eager to please, the lad put on his cap and off he went; I made some coffee as Meredith worked, and by the time the kettle had boiled, Paul had returned with the newspaper.

  “Thanks,” said Meredith, not offering any payment to the youngster. We chatted over our coffee, and Meredith scanned the newspaper. Then, when we’d finished, he handed it back to the lad.

  “Thanks, take it back to the shop. Tell ’em I’d gone when you got back.”

  And so the young policeman was faced with the embarrassing choice of either taking back the paper, or keeping it himself. He kept it, but he learned not to run any more errands for Meredith the Miser, as we named him. In the office, he collected bits of string and old envelopes for use at home and on one occasion when a lady came collecting for the Red Cross, Meredith slipped a threepenny bit into her box, and then made an entry in his official notebook to the effect that he had done so. This was complete with the date, time and place of the transaction.

  “You never know when folks are on the fiddle,” he said earnestly. “I’ll check that the money has gone to the right place, just to be sure.” And he did.

  We had heard that Meredith used his tea-bags several times before throwing them out and that he made his wife wait until the shops were on the point of closing before entering to make her purchases of perishable goods. That way, she often got the tail-end bargains of the day, such as cheap fruit and vegetables, or damaged tins of stuff. On the topic of housekeeping, word had reached us that his wife, Ruth, had to make a weekly request for the precise amount of cash she needed, whereupon Meredith would draw the cash from the bank.

  Just how precisely his mind operated was revealed to me one Friday morning. On another of my motorcycle routes, I popped into Brantsford Police Station with some reports for signature, and Meredith was there.

  I brewed some coffee and brought two cups into the front office. We sat and talked for a few minutes about our work, then I stood up and said, “Well, Meredith, I must be off. I’ve work to do and people to see.”

  “That’ll be tuppence,” he said, “for the coffee.”

  “No,” I tried to correct him, “we pay into a fund for the coffee, both here and at Ashfordly. Sergeant Bairstow collects it — I’m up to date with my payments.”

  “I know, but we ran out of office coffee. This is my own — I brought it in for today, for myself. You owe me for one cup and some milk. Tuppence.”

  For a moment, I thought he was joking, but the expression on that florid face told me he was serious. I handed over two pennies.

  “Going far?” he asked, as I replaced my crash helmet, still smarting from his actions.

  “Briggsby eventually,” I said, “and then Thackerston.”

  “You couldn’t do a job for me, could you?” The request was pleasant enough. From an ordinary person, there would have been an instant and positive response, but as this was coming from Meredith the Miser, I had to consider all the likely consequences.

  “What sort of a job?” I was wary of the things he had asked others to do.

  “Cash a cheque for me at the bank before you leave town?”

  After a moment’s reflection, I agreed. I needed to cash one of my own for housekeeping, and so it would not be a hindrance. Meredith gave me a cheque for £6 13s 2d, and I said I would be happy to cash it.

  It transpired that this was for his wife’s housekeeping that week. I had no problem cashing it for him, but I now realised that it was true that Meredith did calculate the week’s housekeeping allowance literally down to the last penny. Furthermore, he regularly went shopping with her when his duties permitted, his purpose being to ensure that she bought the cheapest goods without exceeding the tight budget he imposed. If possible, she had to save from her allowance. We began to feel sorry for poor Ruth Dryden.

  Then Meredith had an apparent flush of generosity because he invited Alwyn Foxton and his wife for a day’s outing on the moors. Alwyn had
been at training-school with Meredith and was perhaps his closest companion.

  “It’s my birthday on Sunday,” Meredith had told him. “I’m forty. Life begins at forty, so they say. I thought you and Betty, and me and Ruth, could have a day out on the moors to celebrate. I’m off duty that day. We’ll use my car and we’ll stop and have lunch at a pub, and then take things as they come.”

  I do know that Alwyn was surprised by this invitation, as indeed everyone was, and he agreed to go on the outing. For the rest of us, as mere onlookers, it did seem that Meredith had mellowed and that the onset of forty had opened his mind and his wallet.

  The historic outing was scheduled for the second Sunday in May and I recall that it was a beautiful day with clear skies and bright sunshine. The countryside was at its best, with fresh, new greenery along the hedgerows, colourful flowers in abundance both in the wild and in the rustic gardens, and a barrage of birdsong to complete the idyllic picture. The outing should be wonderful; I wished I was going (albeit not with Meredith), but I was performing a local duty that day.

  It would be about a week afterwards when I next saw Alwyn, his grey hair perhaps a few shades whiter and his face drawn with anger. He had an envelope in his hand.

  “Are you all right, Alwyn?” I asked. At that moment, I had forgotten all about the moorland outing and was concerned for his health. He did look pale and sick, and I had a feeling it was connected with the letter in his hand.

  “No I am not!” he fumed. “The bloody man!”

  I did not know what to say or how to react, but he said, “You know that bloody man Meredith the Miser?”

  “Yes,” I said tentatively.

  “You were there, weren’t you? When he invited me and Betty to have a day out with him? It was his birthday.”

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. “How did it go?”

  “It cost me a bloody fortune!” Alwyn snapped, sitting down at the desk. “Meredith turned up in his car, as promised, and in we jumped. We went up to Rosedale and Hutton-le-Hole and after a walk we all went to a cafe for some morning coffee.”

  “That was nice of him,” I commented for want of something better to say.

  “Nothing of the sort!” snapped Alwyn. “By the time the bill came, he managed to disappear into the toilet. I paid, and I was happy to do so at the time. At that point, there was nothing to grumble about.”

  It was evident that Meredith had been on top form that day, and so I settled down to hear more from Alwyn.

  “We drove all over, stopping in villages, pausing to look at views and that sort of thing. In fact, Nick, it was a lovely outing. The moors were splendid and there’s some magnificent scenery off the beaten track. Then we stopped at a pub which served bar snacks for lunch. Well, I paid for the first round of drinks and when the time came for the second, he went to make a telephone call. I paid for that round as well. Then Meredith told the landlord it was his birthday and ordered wine, and we had a smashing meal. And would you believe it, when the landlord brought the bill, Meredith vanished into the toilet again.”

  “He did you again!” I grinned.

  “Yes, I paid. I thought he’d square up with me later, so I paid up. I didn’t want to cause any embarrassment in the pub. I thought he’d go halves at least, but he never offered a penny. Not a bloody penny! He just jumped into his car and came home, and thanked me for a lovely day out. I hadn’t the heart to demand half-shares from him, not on his birthday.”

  “Alwyn, old son,” I said, “you know what the fellow’s like, we all know what he’s like. You should have been wary of him — and now you’ve given him a birthday treat, haven’t you. I reckon he spends hours planning these campaigns.”

  “That’s not all.” Alwyn held up the envelope which had so clearly upset him. “Seen this?” and he passed it to me.

  It was a bill from Meredith. He was asking Alwyn to pay for half the petrol used on that outing.

  In spite of our knowledge of Meredith and his methods, he continued to score against us in our off-guarded moments. At one time or another, most of us found ourselves at the expensive end of Meredith’s guile. He managed on one occasion to get me to buy two raffle tickets for him; as the seller waited for Meredith to finish a telephone call, I paid her, but he never paid me. I don’t think he won a prize but nor did I.

  Then it was time for duty at York Races. The May meeting is always so pleasant, for the course is at its floral best and every one of us wanted to be selected as additional strength to aid York City Police. Extra officers were drafted in from all the neighbouring forces for duty at this busy course on race days. Such duties came around only once in a while, and it was so nice to be nominated. When I looked at the names of the colleagues who were to accompany me, I saw that Meredith was one of them. I made a vow to keep out of his way where money was involved.

  In those days, we travelled by train and had to lodge overnight in York for the duration of the three-day meeting. Our digs were in some old terraced houses which overlooked the racecourse and for each of the three days we paraded at 11 a.m. for our duties. They included car-parking; security of the track, the horses and the jockeys; plus a watch for pickpockets, car thieves and the other unsavoury characters who prey on their fellows at race meetings, with a general brief to ensure that things progressed smoothly. It was a hard, but pleasant three days and we usually finished duty around six o’clock following dispersal of traffic after the last race. During our two evenings in digs, we went either to the cinema or to the local pubs for a drink or two, but if we were broke, we stayed in and played cards or dominoes.

  Although we were not allowed to place bets while in uniform, we did manage to persuade CID officers or other acquaintances to put money on our selections. We enjoyed race meetings; they were a real tonic and a break from our more mundane duties.

  Throughout that May meeting, Meredith’s miserly reputation caused him to be frozen out of many social events; if drinks were bought, he was ignored unless he could be forced into buying a round. And that was a rare event. He was not allowed to play darts, dominoes or cards unless he put his money on the table first and in this cruel way the men, all of us, kept him at bay. Our actions did not make him alter his attitude; he remained as tight-fisted and miserly as ever, and after the final day, as we travelled home by train, this character-trait shone through more strongly than ever.

  Our train journey took us to Eltering where an official car would be waiting to take us home. The trip from York was through some delightful countryside but we were too tired and too broke to appreciate it; exhausted, broke and hungry, we were concerned only with getting home.

  None of us had any money left; we’d either lost it on the horses or spent it on our enjoyment at the pubs or pictures, and so that long journey was pretty miserable. There were no refreshment cars on a trip of that kind — besides, none of us could have found the necessary cash to buy anything. There were eight of us in our carriage, all sitting quietly as we brooded over the past three days. Meredith was one and he was just as quiet as the others.

  As the train chugged along, someone would say, “By, I could just eat a round of fish and chips!” or “I could do with a drink,” or “I’m famished . . . oh, for summat to eat . . .” But no one had anything to offer. We were skint.

  And then, on the final miles into Eltering, our train entered a tunnel; it was about half a mile long, and in those days, the trains did not have lights on for such short trips in the darkness. We all sat there in silence, and when we emerged, Meredith was eating a toffee.

  “Meredith, you sneaking sod!” snapped one of the men.

  “Well, I did pass them around,” he said, chewing contentedly.

  He made no offer to pass them around again, and from that point, I believed the story that Meredith could and indeed would peel an orange one-handed while it was in his pocket.

  But with tales of such behaviour circulating among a group of men like police officers, it was inevitable that they would make
some effort to teach Meredith a lesson.

  I’m not sure how or where the notion originated, or indeed who was the instigator, but gradually there arose a group feeling that Meredith was due to receive some kind of comeuppance, preferably of a financial nature. He had to be forced to pay for all his past transgressions, and we knew that this would be one of our most difficult achievements. Getting Meredith to pay for anything was rather like trying to climb Everest in a swimsuit.

  As this germ of an idea floated around, it produced some good suggestions and some improbable ones; and it was by coincidence that Sergeant Bairstow said there ought to be a get-together for all members of the section. He proposed dinner at a local inn, one to which we could take our wives and meet one another socially and at leisure over a meal and a drink. Getting policemen together like this was nigh impossible due to their varied shifts and periods off duty, and even a determined effort like this would mean that someone was left out. We decided that special constables would man the market towns that evening so that the maximum attendance was assured.

  Basically, it was a good idea. As the notion began to gain substance, it dawned upon us that this was the ideal opportunity to get our revenge on Meredith. We counted the likely numbers who would attend, and included our two sergeants, Charlie Bairstow and Oscar Blaketon. It was important that we discreetly tempted Meredith to attend; getting him there at all would be a difficult task because it meant he must be willing to pay his share. So we decided to invite the Inspector. Almost imperceptibly, the purpose of the occasion changed from a social function to a ‘Get-Meredith-to-pay’ event. We were well aware that he had promotion in mind and therefore regarded inspectors as God-like figures who might help him on his way to the top; Meredith liked to grease around those in authority.

  We reckoned we could make good use of that character-trait and accordingly spread the news that the Inspector was to attend. We also hinted that previous events had shown that promotion came to one of the officers who attended, sometimes within six months. That was enough for Meredith; he put his name down on the sheet.