I have done my fair share of nights. It is worked on a shift basis, one week in four. It is worse a night shift in the winter as the park is a cold and bleak place. Wide open and completely deserted. Not a place for one hindered with a good imagination, I would say. The park of a night can be a beautiful but also a terrifying place when there is no form of illumination at all. All you could hope for was a starry night at best. Though we were all equipped with a torch, of course. Yes, a torch and a whistle, which would come in especially useful for the ritual that was the locking of the park gates. This always takes place exactly one hour after sunset. The gates are of course so far apart that it is quite impossible to be able to communicate with the constables locking the other entrances. Yet the Sergeant is a stickler for it. The gates must be locked at exactly the right time. So this is when our whistles come in especially useful. We would give a long burst on the whistle, about thirty seconds or so which is then responded to by your colleague at the next gate, and so forth. Somewhat like a chain of beacons being lit in days of old, I dare imagine! Then the gates are locked for the night and the Parks Police night shift takes over.
It is quite a popular ritual in Liverpool, is the locking of the park gates. Some people mark the beginning of night in Liverpool by the sound of the constable’s whistles, I believe. Some folk even gather to watch from time to time, and even every now and again some of the wealthier families and perhaps a guest or two. If this is the case I often make a show of it and give a small salute to the people there when done. Always seems to mark the end of a shift nicely, does that. Then it’s off home. Unless it is a night shift, of course, and it is at that juncture that your shift is beginning. As I have noted earlier, the night shift is not my favourite shift. For all sorts of reasons. What I am about to tell you however was most certainly the most unusual yet fascinating night shift of all. It was very probably the most frightening as well. “
***
I paused at that point, putting down the Journal, my ancestor’s words still rattling around in my head. I had not read this particular section before and I was intrigued to see what happened next. Perhaps some details of crimes that had taken place in the park. Murder or worse. I am more than a little shame faced to say that I was eager to continue the next passage, but with disappointment I noticed that my glass was empty. Returning to the kitchen I decided to prepare the evening meal before continuing with my reading. It was therefore nearly half an hour before I returned to the garden, a casserole now in the oven.
Before I continued I paused to consider the part played by these now mostly forgotten policemen. How sad it was that they had served for so long and now were no more, in an age when perhaps they were needed more than ever. I felt that it had been no coincidence that just three years after the disbanding of the Parks Police force in nineteen seventy two that the first murder in the one hundred and five years history of the park was discovered there.
As I liked to think of myself as somewhat of a local historian, even in a limited way, the thing that I found most abhorrent was that on the day that the Parks Police were officially no more, all of the records detailing the long service of those loyal men were removed from the office and destroyed. One hundred and five years of historical information destroyed instantly. As far as I was concerned this was tantamount to an act of vandalism! Picking up my great great grandfather’s journal I started to read once more. Perhaps this was one of the very few first hand records detailing the day to day routine of a Parks Policeman that was left? Shivering with the very thought of being a custodian of such a document, I turned the page.”
***
“Nights, then.
As I have said already, it is a strange place, the park at night. Even though it is surrounded by railings and the gates are locked there are rarely more than four of us on duty during the hours of darkness, and it is a large area to cover. What would be a delightful place in the sunshine, children playing and the like, takes on a more sinister form once night has fallen. The railings are not an insurmountable barrier either. Quite often we would come across an intruder worse the wear for drink who had taken it upon him or herself to take a short cut through the park in the dark to save them some time. We would politely but firmly escort them to the nearest gate before they had the chance to do some damage to themselves or worse, fall in the lake. Our efforts on these occasions were rarely received in the spirit in which we intended them!
The worst thing about the night shifts of course is the weather. Snow I can cope with. In the winter folk are rarely about in the dark, preferring to be wrapped up in bed. Snow almost guarantees that. It is the rain that I find worse. Patrolling the park of a night hardly affords a tremendous amount of shelter, as you would imagine. Of course, once soaked through there is no real way to get dry again. We would be equipped with our rain capes and helmets, but an average patrol around just a part of the park could very easily take us two hours before we got back to the watch hut, or lodge as it is referred to in Sefton Park, and a warm fire. The lodge title comes from when the area was a royal hunting park in medieval times I believe, the title indicating that the lodge was the official hunters lodge. There you are, you see. If you’re a Toff’s Policeman then you can’t help but be a bit of a history buff too!
For the night shift as I have already mentioned there were four of us on duty, but we patrolled in pairs at that time of night usually, intersecting every hour or so with a call of, “Nothing to report” too, hopefully! Looking on the bright side of it, we were equipped with our whistle to summon aid if required, and our long thin batons, or truncheons too. These were rarely used, and could normally only be drawn on the command of a senior officer. The one exception of this was if we found our back to the wall and with no other resort. Whatever that meant. Suffice to say there is many a night when I found my hand straying to the truncheon after I had heard fox or the like darting from cover and then back into the darkness, leaving me with my heart racing before I continued on my way.
Now what I am about to relate you may find incredulous. Unbelievable even. Yet I swear here on my constable’s oath that it is the truth. Nor had any drink passed my lips that particular night. Never did I take a drink either before or whilst on duty. That was instant dismissal, and I was, and am, not one eager to go down such a path. In fairness I have never been much of a drinking man, and never whilst on duty.
The night this happened the rain was beating down upon us mercilessly. I had the joy of discovering some time into the shift that my left boot had a hole in it and by now that particular foot was soaking. It was early autumn and the rain was cold and had been falling for all of the shift. It was approaching midnight now as I and my colleague Tom Worth were making our weary way back to the lodge. Generally we stopped for something to eat at midnight. It seemed as good a time as any, for I found that I was rarely hungry when working nights. It took me several days to adjust in the change in sleeping habits, and even more when I was back on a day shift once again. We unlocked the lodge and hung up our capes to hopefully dry. There did not seem to be much chance of that! They just clung to the hooks on the wall, dripping a large puddle on to the floor beneath them. We gathered around the lit fire to try to get some warmth into us. Poor Tom was not at all well that night! He had a fever and was shivering violently. He should not have been at work at all, but he had turned in anyway. Not being fit for work was frowned upon, and of course he would not get paid for not working. Money was tight and we all had to turn up for our shift no matter how ill we felt. It was just the way it was. We just got on with it.
On this night however it became fairly obvious that poor Tom was sinking fast. I started to eat what sandwiches I had but Tom just sat there looking at his, shivering quite violently.
“Why don’t you get yourself off home to your bed?” I asked him. He was clearly not well enough for duty and would be of no use at all in any kind of emergency!
“I can’t do that!” he mumbled in reply. I noticed that he was
perspiring quite heavily. I thought it had been rain on his forehead, but obviously not! “What if the Sergeant finds out?” This was a genuine concern. We were not allowed to leave our assigned patrol area without informing our superior officer. Of course, that was quite unfeasible in the middle of the night in the park!
“He won’t find out.” I replied brightly. “Sergeant Williams will be safely tucked up in his bed. Nobody will notice and if they do I’ll cover for you.” Tom nodded slowly to himself. To this day I believe if he had continued with his shift that night he would have been in bed with pneumonia or the like by the morning. He knew what I was saying made sense and after a few minutes he gathered his cape again and with mumbled words of gratitude took himself off home and to his bed. I stoked the fire and continued with my sandwiches. After that I had a smoke and checked my hand torch. These were very new, replacing the lanterns we used to use. Although a great revelation and novelty at first, this had soon worn off and they were now just a standard part of our kit. Well, on the night shift anyway. I had missed the good old lanterns at first, but I did not miss the problems we had with them blowing out at exactly the wrong moment, which they were prone to do, even though they were of course shielded.
On the downside it meant we no longer had to carry matches with us to relight them if they went out, so that meant the opportunity of a few crafty drags on a cigarette was even less likely now! Still. Somehow we coped. All was well with the torch, and my cape, although still obviously soaking wet, had at least stopped dripping on to the floor. I tied it back around myself carefully and retrieved my left boot from the side of the fire where I was attempting to dry it out, and removing the newspaper I had stuffed it with, I laced it up once gain. It still squelched horridly as I put it back on. Taking one last regretful look at the fire I left the lodge and locked the door behind me. As I did so I noted that the rain did not seem to have lessened at all. In fact it seemed to have increased! Cursing loudly I put the key for the lodge into my pocket and lit the torch.
The thin beam pierced the darkness ahead of me as I made my way along the wide path heading towards the lake. At first it seemed a little unusual, if not disquieting to be on my own but I soon got used to it. I’m not a man for flights of fancy or anything like that. Our usual patrols would take about two hours and we would usually intersect at some point with the other two constables who were stationed on the other side of the park. I took a different route however, as I did not want to bump into anyone this night in case Tom’s absence was noted. This was not an unusual occurrence, and would not be commented on. Sometimes we went an entire week on the night shift without seeing the other two constables at all. It was a very big area to cover, and our routines did vary slightly. If we caught an intruder or the like, for example. Sometimes though we would see their torches bobbing along the path some way off as they went on their patrol across the other side of the park. Quite an eerie sight it would be, too! On a night like this however I wouldn’t blame them if they were sat in front of their own lodge fire, warming themselves. I wasn’t entirely sure why I wasn’t doing the same! Still, on into the dark and the rain I continued.
The wind was quite fierce now, blowing the rain into my face as I walked along the path. I pulled my cape a bit tighter around me and pulled my helmet down a little, trying to cover as much of myself as I could without at the same time making the mistake of not being able to see where I was going. I didn’t want to walk into a bloody tree or the lake or something! My left boot continued to slowly fill up with water as I went about my duties and I resolved to get the damned thing cobbled in the morning. There is nothing worse than wet feet! So on I went. The area of the park I had to patrol all of this week was the southern end, comprising mostly of the large lake and the quite densely wooded area surrounding its northern end. The other night patrol would be covering the much more open fields that lay that way. Suffice to say the wooded area was often the least favourable beat. More places for people up to no good to hide! It looked like I had drawn the bloody short straw yet again!
Approaching the lake I made my way around it, having first checked that the rowing boats against the small pier were still secured and all present and correct. I gave a little smile at the thought of anybody even thinking about robbing one in this weather, but as they say there is nothing as strange as folk, and so I checked anyway. It was part of my duties so I just got on with it. Eventually I was satisfied that all was as it should be and I continued around the lake in the pouring rain, my torch sweeping the path as I went, my left boot squelching in the dark. It really was a miserable night!
I reached the southernmost extent of the lake and started heading back north once again. The wind felt slightly less fierce as it was now behind me, and this in turn gave me a spring in my step. I was now headed towards the woodland that covers the northern extremity of the lake which then runs off to the Palm House further across the way, even more woodland being to the east. This was more than half way through the beat and I was beginning to look forward to warming myself before the fire back at the lodge once again. Despite wearing regulation gloves I had to continually swap the torch in my hand as my fingers were so cold. Still the rain continued to fall.
The woods were off on my right now so I paused beneath a large tree to have a not so crafty fag. Sod it! Nobody would notice and it may give me a rise in my spirits. I wouldn’t normally do this if there were two of us on the beat. I’d just wait until we got back to the lodge, but as I was on my own I thought what the hell!
I was just smoking my cigarette in the shelter of the trees when I heard what I thought was the wind blowing through the branches behind me. I turned to flash the torch and then, just out of the reach of the light I heard a loud, deep, thump! I’ll tell you here and now my bloody heart nearly stopped there and then. I dropped my half smoked cigarette and crushed it with my leaking boot and slowly made my way forward to investigate. To the left of where I thought I heard the first commotion I then heard another one! It was a deep, loud sound, and reminded me of a noise that resembled something very heavy and perhaps very big being dropped onto wet grass from a small height. The last sound had been even louder than the first, and nearer too. Whatever it was, it was getting closer!
I shouted some stupid challenge in to the dark that I cannot quite remember now but got no reply of course, and so I unholstered my baton and advanced forward once again, now quite a way into the trees. As I held the truncheon before me to push the branches to one side I entered a small clearing, in the centre of which stood a large elm tree. Having worked in various parks over the years, I feel that I am pretty good at identifying one tree from another, even in the dark, and this was definitely an elm. Tall and elegant are elms, short serrated leaves. Very distinctive. This particular one had a large long mark on its trunk that was almost the same size as I was. I stood there in the clearing as the wind and rain swept about me, trying to find the source of the noise with my torch. Yet I could see nothing. I considered that whatever the source of the noises was may be hiding behind the large elm tree and so I moved slightly to my right to try and look behind the trunk. Unlike most elms this one was quite wide and tall with it too.
I was trying to do this when the top branches of the tree began to shake even more violently than the wind could be held responsible for. I focused my torch on the tree itself, considering for a moment that it may be about to fall! I moved forward a little bit, now almost crouching, moving forward cautiously.
Which is when the tree moved.
Now get this right. As I have already stated I am not a man for flights of imagination or strange fancies. I had not been drinking. Yet as I watched the tree uprooted, or almost tore itself out of the ground, and strode on long thick limbs or roots - I couldn’t really tell which - and moved what must have been some six feet to my left. With a huge thump that shook the ground it settled down as before, as if nothing had happened. I found myself crouching on the floor of the woods, my mind racing, when the tre
e did it again, moving another six feet in the same direction, and then it stopped once more, with another loud thump!
I cannot say to this day what was going through my mind at this moment, though the concept of some person playing a practical joke was one thing that did come into my head. Yet surely it was beyond the ability of anyone to move a tree like that, even for a joke? And why would they bother in the first place the middle of a miserable night such as this? As the tree moved the second time I had tried to force myself backwards and had fallen to the ground, pushing myself away from the direction of the elm whilst very, very carefully keeping the beam of my torch full on it. It just stood there as if nothing had happened. The way trees normally do. Yet somehow I could not shake the feeling that it was somehow watching me.
I must have sat there not daring to move for some thirty minutes, the wet leaves beneath me, and the rain falling down still. Yet the tree stayed exactly where it was. No movement or anything otherworldly at all. I slowly began to back out of the clearing and as I edged up against the trunk of another tree I stood back up and slowly tried to hide in the darkness. I still could not shake the feeling that I was being watched however, so I turned off my torch and almost spinning on the spot sprinted through the dark and rain back to the lodge. I will say here and now that I probably bested some form of athletic record that night, so quick was my passage back to what I considered to be safety. Once back at the lodge I unlocked the door and let myself in and began to warm myself in front of the welcoming fire. What the hell had happened out there I did not know, and I am not ashamed to say that I had locked the lodge door behind me when I had entered, which was of course against regulations, but to hell with that!
Paul McCartney's Coat Page 22
