Citizen Survivor Tales (The Ministry of Survivors)

by Denham, Richard

  When the air raid sirens went, that meant two things. First, obviously that bombs were probably coming our way and second, the thieves would be out. The villains loved that sound, it meant the streets would be empty. I remember one time, and we never caught him, there was one lad, with an ARP armband and helmet who was smashed his way into a store and was loading up a van as bombs were falling only a mile or so away and the air was thick with smoke. The funniest thing, and I suppose I have to admire him in his way, he’d even convinced a couple to help him load up the van, must have told them he was taking the goods for safekeeping or some nonsense. He drove off before I could get to him.

  Another time, and you’ll have to forgive me for this, I remember a butcher’s shop taking a direct hit, people were in there. The scum was rummaging around stealing the meat, but, it wasn’t always clear to me what was meat and what was, you know, human remains.

  Coupons, the blaggards loved coupons, clothing coupons, petrol coupons. They’d get their hands on these in any way they could, trading them for people who had no use for their cars, back-handers from dodgy shopkeepers, even taking them right from the warehouses. And spivs, don’t get me started on them, pencil-moustaches, pin-striped suits, trilby hats. Absolute cads and womanisers, suitcases bulging with stockings, sugar, saucy pictures, tobacco, alcohol. All ‘fallen off the back of a lorry’ of course.

  Did you and your colleagues feel able to cope with this new crime?

  It became very difficult, as a policeman, even if we’d never say it; you need to know when to deal with something and when to turn a blind eye. People looting shops hit by the bombs, mixed with, and often the same people clearing the rubble, was one of them. Firemen were terrible for it, I remember a house on fire and the firemen were climbing down the ladder, singing their hearts out, wearing fur coats and jewellery over their uniforms, the men holding the ladders laughing their heads off. We’d look away with things like that. Due to the alcohol shortage, people were brewing ‘Hooch’, god that’d blow your socks off and you could tell when someone had had a snifter of that, but drunkards more often than not, weren’t worth the time.

  Stealing wallets, purses, wedding rings straight from the dead, that was the worst, something I could never stomach and you can believe me when I tell you we’d deal with those we caught doing that in the manner it deserved. Business owners dreaded the air-raid sirens, knowing the villains would do more damage than the bombs often did. Shop windows covered in plywood and boarded up only took moments for a seasoned robber to get past.

  How widespread do you think corruption was?

  Corruption was everywhere, few people came out of all that clean, I’m afraid. Even doctors, yes that’s right doctors, they’d sign people off, for a price, for those who didn’t want to be called up, forging certificates, diagnosing wounds and illnesses that weren’t there and there was simply too much chaos and anarchy to deal with all that, all the time. And the thing about corruption is, when one person sees another get away and profit from corruption without repercussion, it encourages them to do the same.

  Genuine businessmen, with contracts with the government, they’d fiddle their books, make out they were employing people who didn’t exist or didn’t work for them just to get their pay packets, sharing it with their ghost-workers who were real, pocketing it themselves for those who weren’t. Our children, who were evacuated to the countryside, the families that took them in were even guilty. Claiming billets for children that didn’t exist!

  The government would compensate those who had their homes bombed by the Luftwaffe, one cheeky sod claimed his home had been bombed a dozen times! We nicked him, but others were doing it all the time and the Government was drowning under paperwork working out who was genuine and who wasn’t.

  How did this affect you personally? Did you think these criminals were evil?

  Did it affect me? Yes, yes, it’s fair to say I lost a lot of faith in people in those days, can I blame them? No, not at all, but it doesn’t make it right.

  The trouble with evil, and good, is that they are absolutes. Life doesn’t work like that. We are all of us good and evil in our own ways, they aren’t permanent homes, it is a sliding scale each of us moves up and down every day, based on our actions. A youngster poaching or stealing some bread for his siblings, he’s a criminal isn’t he? A man murdering his wife in cold blood of course is a criminal too. A policeman battering a lad to death for a crime he wasn’t even sure he committed, he’s a criminal. Everyone has a different angle of looking at it, a different cut-off point. You’ve got to remember, and it took me a long time to learn this, the police, the police courts, they’re not about justice, they’re about order. They are two very different things. Justice is a dream, an ideal, there’s too much injustice I’ve seen to be convinced otherwise. Order, that’s easier, punishing people for crimes, keeping discipline, and if a few innocent people get caught up in that, well, their voices are soon drowned out.

  Do you think the police’s integrity was affected?

  Oh yes, without a doubt, in every sense. There was a lot of frustration at the station. I remember one young officer telling the Sergeant a young girl had reported being raped. He was very angry, very frustrated with all that was happening, his face was bright red and he slammed his fist on the lad’s desk, ‘Bloody nick her,’ he screamed. So we did, there she was, a young girl who was raped was arrested and accused of making it up and wasting police time, ‘This is what happens we you lie,’ we said. Think she tried to kill herself in the end. The Sergeant and the chiefs didn’t seem to care who was getting nicked and convicted, and on what grounds, as long as someone was getting their collar felt. Once these poor sods were in front of the magistrates they were easy pickings, they didn’t have a chance against the Police Inspectors.

  We covered up for each other. At the time I thought it was a force for good, but I realised how wrong we were, there was one officer who was a womaniser and an adulterer, sleeping with wives whose husbands were off fighting. Well, one day, the husband came home unexpectedly and the officer jumped from a second storey window and broke his leg. We made out he injured himself chasing down the husband who was mugging a neighbour, he got a pasting. I remember one time, someone had made a complaint about one of the officers and, as you can imagine, we don’t look favourably on those who complain about us. He was protesting that he’d been treated unjustly, his earlier arrest was unlawful and his interview was biased and abusive. Do you know what we did? We went through his complaint with a fine-tooth comb, looking for anything to nick him for, and we did. We nicked him for harassment of a police officer, we locked him up in custody without food or drink, freezing his arse off in the cell. That, well, that was the first time I was ashamed. I don’t pretend to be a saint, policemen will always look out for each other, ‘Don’t let the truth get in the way of a good prosecution’; ‘Always choose loyalty over honesty’; and ‘Turkeys don’t vote for Christmas’; I knew the game. But when I saw that chap, stunned and confused, being lead into custody, clearly no idea what he was doing there, simply for complaining, as was his right, about a police officer. When he was in his cell, they blasted ‘The Laughing Policeman’ into his cell over and over. It wasn’t only immoral, it was inhuman. That was the first time I took a step back, and knew we’d gone too far.

  How did things change for you?

  After that, my mind became clearer, I was acutely aware of everything we were doing wrong, but what could I do about it? Being a copper and complaining about your own is a death sentence, trust me. I remember seeing some graffiti on a ruined building saying ‘The Old Bill are not your friends! Say nothing!’ and I realised this is what a substantial number of people thought of us. You see, being a policeman is to be an actor really, you have to believe it, and your audience have to believe it, if either of those parts breaks down then the whole facade comes crashing down.

  We weren’t above the law, we were the law, and if anyone dared speak out or complain, wel
l, we were the ones who dealt with those complaints, and why on earth would we give attention to anyone that was going to condemn our own?

  The way people were treated by us, well, it was on a coin toss really, if we couldn’t be bothered then you’d be fine. If we’d had a bad day or wanted to take our frustrations out on anyone, then, well, we were judge and jury. If we wanted to nick someone, we would, it’s easy, too easy. You just need to poke, prod and antagonise them until they do or say something you can lift them for, it’s just a matter of time. We had a journalist once, who spoke up against the Constabulary, we brought him into the station for ‘an informal chat’, made him didn’t think he needed a solicitor. Kept chipping, chipping away it him, ‘You’re obviously very clever and good at hiding your tracks, we’re very disturbed you have access to children’ we said. That riled him, when he challenged us, well, we had him for harassment of a police officer and you can get away with treating criminals like second class citizens. I remember a group of young lads on a street corner who matched the description of some shoplifters, we went up to them and gave them all a thump. One of the lads tried to fight back, so, with assault of a police officer now committed, we beat him with our truncheons. Do you know what our nickname became among the young lads? The Black and Blues, quite imaginative really, because that was the state anyone we didn’t take a liking to ended up. Being a policeman, particularly through what Coventry was suffering, should have been about fair play rather than the technicalities of breaching the peace and the desire to feel collars. One officer could give a man a verbal warning, and if another officer didn’t like the look of him, he’d go back the next day and nick him anyway. We lost a lot of respect in the community, and I cannot blame them for it.

  As the situation in Coventry got worse, and order was breaking down, we were given more and more rule to apply the law as we saw fit and, well, we fell. We lost all our moral fibre. We became more like an armed gang than anything else. Corruption amongst the police was ignored and seen as acceptable in the circumstances. There was once thirty or so of us scrapping in the streets with a gang of about twenty lads and I remember thinking ‘What is going on?’ Had we backed these lads into a corner so much, made them so desperate, did they despise us so much that they were willing to brawl in the street with us like we were a common street gang? I remember one of my colleagues laughing afterwards, patting me on the back and saying ‘Nice bit of overtime there.’

  Often I’d see people being taken off in the back of a police van, not sure the usual sort, but women and children too. I’d ask where they were going, ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ was the Sergeant’s response.

  I started to despise myself and the uniform I was wearing. Where once I was delighted to see a bobby, it suddenly became very oppressive, like my chest was caving in, and I was one of them, heaven forbid what others thought of us. But the truth is, people believed, or wanted to believe we were the good guys, of course they would, people don’t want to think of the bobby on the beat being a bad apple. People will believe what they want to believe, if they want to believe someone is good they will, if they want to believe someone is wicked they will, and they will ignore anything that goes against that. Do you know what I can’t stand the sound of now? Police whistles; stupid isn’t? But they fill me with dread now.

  What happened to you?

  It was an absolutely stupid thing to do, but I tried having a quiet word with the Inspector, just to explain my thoughts and concerns, let him know what people thought of us. He seemed to take it all in and thanked me. The next day, it was announced that due to my age and the circumstances I was being dismissed. Because of my long-service I would receive a pension and they would ‘overlook any indiscretions’, but that was it, there was something that tried to imitate a leaving party, and then I was gone. I did try to stay in touch with a lot of them as they were my friends, but I was given a quite word that I was considered a pariah now, and my old colleagues had been advised not to have any contact with me as I was a ‘potential reputational risk’, I believe is how it was worded.

  The years passed and when Coventry ended, so did the police force, and my pension. Now I scrape a living with my family here, it’s a hard life but at least it’s honest and, well, as long as I never hear another police whistle as long as I live, then I’ll be grateful. The police that exist this day, they’re a different breed to me. There are even the Blue Lampers the so-called vigilantes who seem to be constantly scrapping with the bobbies, keeping them in check. But really they’re all cut from the same cloth and as bad as each.

  Bill, you may be aware, there are those within the Constabulary that claim it was in fact you who was the corrupt one, which is why you were dismissed. How do you respond to that?

  I can’t take on an entire Constabulary, no one can, it is insurmountable. Remember the role of the police is fluid, flexible. As long as you tick the boxes and ‘satisfy the process’, then anything is possible.

  Do you still believe in justice?

  I agree that justice is blind, and probably deaf and dumb too and her scales are well off kilter. Other than that, the less said the better.

  We need to get something on Bill Dixon, keep digging, throw whatever you can at him. If he’s not dirty, bloody well make him dirty.

  Plant some contraband at his house or something, use your initiative. I’m not going to have the integrity of my officers questioned like that, who the hell does he think he is.

  Go through his records, find someone he has antagonized during his career, get them to make a complaint. Link him to The Roundheads.

  Keep sniffing, we’ll get something on this old, whistle-blowing bastard.

  I want this man in a cell by the end of the week.

  Police Inspector PUGH

  Witford Radio – 1570kHz MW

  Putting the spunk back in Blighty

  Lupino Lane - The Lambeth Walk

  Jack Judge - It's A Long Way To Tipperary

  LISTING OF ENEMIES OF HIS MAJESTY

  George Formby - Andy The Handy Man

  Marie Lloyd - Every Little Movement Has A Meaning Of Its Own

  THE KING’S SPEECH

  Leslie Sarony - Jollity Farm

  Flanagan and Allen - Run Rabbit Run

  DEMILITARISED ZONES UPDATE

  Henry Hall & His Orchestra - The Teddy Bear's Picnic

  Flanagan and Allen - Maybe It's Because I'm A Londoner

  THE LORD WIND-BAG SHOW

  Florrie Forde - Hold your hand out, Naughty Boy

  The Two Leslies - In the Land of Inky Pinky Dinky Doo

  MOS Archives, ref. INF9/636 (endorsed)

  THE STARLET

  Name: Dame Joan ‘Miss Mauve’ Creighton-Ward

  Location: King’s Manor, York

  Occupation: Chairwoman of the John Bull Co-operative Society/Singer

  Threat level: 2

  Article clearance: Silver

  Case file: 55/2935/GBW

  I went to see Dame Joan on a blustery day; my plans to take a stroll in her garden was not welcomed because the wind would tousle her hair. Older readers will doubtless remember Miss Mauve’s few performances with such greats as Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin but younger readers may need to consult a grandparent to find out who she is. Notwithstanding, I was ushered into the presence with much ceremony and certainly it is hard to believe, when in her rather cluttered boudoir, that Dame Joan is not a living icon of cinema rather than the rather sad old lady which I found myself interviewing. She refused a photographer as she had recently had a cold; her appearance in daylight, which she avoids as far as possible, was probably not all she hoped, as the layers of white makeup, applied one on top of the other with little recourse to soap and water in between did not show off to best advantage her celebrated ‘peaches and cream’ complexion. But, when all is said and done, she is a game old lady, marching on regardless in a world which she may not totally understand these days. If the spotlight under which she lives with Mitzi, Daphne a
nd Lulu is not as real as she imagines, it would be a cruel visitor who would tell her so.

  Thank you for taking the time to meet me, Dame Joan.

  Oh, just call me Joan, darling. Excuse the clutter, I really should have the boys clear this out. It’s a bit of a squeeze but we’ll find you somewhere to sit; don’t mind the dogs, they’re old softies. Stop yapping, ladies, this lovely young woman is our guest. There, now, do you like the furniture? Baroque, Parisian, hand-crafted by Jean Charles. Louis! Louis! Get this girl a drink will you dear, some vol au vents, there’s a dear man. (Dame Joan treats her servant like a devoted admirer; happily for the poor old lady, her eyesight prevents her from seeing his expression, which is anything but devotion)

  Joan, is it true you used to be an actress?

  Oh yes, a famous one at that, I was the most beautiful woman in all of the West End. My golden hair, my songbird voice, men would, and did, commit many crimes of passion for my hand. Oh what a delightful game it all was, the turn of the century, the good old days. Here, take this photo album. There’s me in ‘A Chinese Honeymoon’, that one there, that’s my first ever performance, there I am at the Empress Ladies Club too. Oh look, I’m a flapper girl in that one. Wonderful memories darling, absolutely delightful. And then film of course; only silent – I wouldn’t have any truck with those talkies. They’ll never catch on.

  How did you become involved in the entertainment industry?

  Well, you’d never believe it to see me now, but I used to be as common as muck, do you know. I was born into very unfortunate circumstances and a most unhappy state of domesticity; I escaped my family as soon as I could. I had nothing, nothing at all, except my beauty, and my voice. I used to sing in the pubs and was discovered by a cad named Bates. I didn’t know at the time but he was a most vulgar fellow, darling. I was young, and impressionable, with stars in my eyes and I fell for his stories of fame and riches, and he became, for want of a better word, my agent.