My father said, “Do your best lad, don’t stay in this place.”
During the late 1950s and early 1960s there was full employment throughout the United Kingdom. After the Second World War, there had been much rebuilding. The production of goods for home and export brought in funds to rebuild the Country and its wealth, as a result wages in Industry became higher and the working hours shorter. The powers of the workers and their unions had never been stronger. The coalmines, were working at full capacity, so were the Iron and steel works, the vehicle manufacturing Industry and many others.
Service Industries such as public transport, domestic work and catering and the National Health Service, which paid low wages, found it difficult to recruit labour. To alleviate the problem the Government turned to the then British Empire later the Commonwealth and encouraged large-scale immigration into the United Kingdom to fill the vacant posts.
The police service was among those who paid a low salary, worked long hours with no payment for over time. The main benefit of the “Job” as it was referred to in those days by serving officers was that a free house was allocated, which included council rates and free house decoration. There was a pension scheme although high in cost 8% rising to 11% of Gross pay, to which Income tax, national insurance were added amounted to 41% of an officer’s salary. It was years later this afforded retirement after 25 years officers would be aged only about 44 years old, some a little older, on retirement. The maximum age for a serving officer was 55 years applicable to those in the rank of sergeant and constable, 60 years of age for Inspectors and above. Many officers retiring at that age were able to follow other professions. It was accepted that low pay and harsh conditions of service was eventually compensated by a good pension, though costly to contribute it provided a secure old age.
A change was blowing in the air during the early 1960s the workers in Industry had formed strong unions and made more demands for higher pay, shorter working hours plus many other benefits and restricted practices at work. Strikes were more frequent and in some industries there was misuse of the system. Dockers bringing out items from work, such as sides of meat or bacon stolen from ships were permitted to get away with it. In fear of a strike if they were detained or stopped so a blind eye was turned. In some instances, workers invented staff that didn’t exist and shared their wages.
The coal, electricity and gas Utility and transport Industries such as the railways were running at a loss receiving large subsidies from the Government and thus the taxpayers. The Country’s` finances began to suffer and a successive Governments of those years attempted to curb the Unions and there was much internal industrial unrest.
Police forces in line with other public service bodies generally were 40% to 60% under strength. This then was the reality of the situation when Claude Friendly looked forward to attaining the age of 19 years and commencing his ambition to become a police officer.
Chapter 8
Claude looked up at the clock he had been on the computer for two hours, time for a break he thought. He closed down the machine put everything away and was about to have a shower when he glanced through the window he saw Matron Raving and the lock Keeper in a rather compromising position after which they retired to the hut and showing no discretion Claude felt obliged to record the scene.
After a quick shower he made his way to the lounge near the dining room, as he was about to enter he met Mavis and Ned Edwards his postman saviour. Mavis was upset and Claude could see the sign of a tear.
“Hello,” said Claude “How pleasing to see you here again, I think I saw you both leaving last week.”
“Not so pleasing for us,” said Ned.
“Oh dear something wrong,” replied Claude.
Mavis looked up and said, “My mother has been here for the last two weeks, she is not a private resident, the Council are paying her fees. We have not been very happy with things in her block, which is for non-private patients and residents. She doesn’t seem to be getting the care we had been promised by Social Services.”
When Ned and I, and, my two sisters have been in we, and them have noticed no one seems to bother with mother. She seems to be losing weight and occasionally she is not very clean.”
“Oh dear,” said Claude “Have you spoken with Matron Raving about it.”
“That is the upsetting thing,” replied Ned, “We had an appointment to see her about half an hour ago, and when we spoke with her asking her questions such as, “Does someone have time to speak with mother?”
She turned and was making the motions of dusting a photo frame of her in army uniform and said “Oh yes, of course, that is bound to be the case.”
Mavis asked, “Does someone check to see if she needs help in the toilet?”
She sat at her desk and opened a drawer whilst looking in it said, “I am sure they must do, we wouldn’t want anyone smelling now would we.”
I said, “Do you have a carpenter that could shave some wood from her wooden leg?”
Continuing to look in the draw she replied, “Wooden leg if it’s anything in wood I will get Charles the handyman to deal with it.”
It was obvious to us she wasn’t listening she had her mind elsewhere.
Claude thought yes and I know where and what, “Um I must make sure I keep that film I just took, and note the times and date when it all happened.
Mavis burst into tears and said, “In the end I said she is 99 years old do you think it would be better for you and social services if we had her put down?” “It would save on the cost of a card from the Queen.”
Still looking in the draw Matron smiled and replied, “Do as you see fit, take any course of action you feel would be the best.”
When she looked up she glanced at the clock and said, “Come now I am busy I have another appointment, it is Friday I am not usually available on a Friday. I came in to check my mail and that is all. Is there anything particular that is bothering you which required you to come running along here today.”
Ned laughed and said, “I said to her, no, just the splinter from the wooden leg.”
She replied, “Wooden leg, whatever are you going on about man?”
Mavis said to her, “We will take mother away, things are so bad where she is, we will look after her at home.”
Matron Raving looked and replied, “She is Council paid isn’t she?” then looking up at the graph on the wall continued “Oh yes that will be fine, we are extending the private rooms so the additional room will be much appreciated. Move her as soon as possible if you can. Now if you will excuse me it is time I was gone.”
“We left and here we are,” said Ned.
“I am sorry to hear about this, old Raving is very abrupt why not make a complaint,” answered Claude.
“No, it’s not worth the hassle we will take Mum home, this is typical how things are going with the National Health Service,” replied Ned. “God knows what will happen to us,” he said finally.
They turned and left.
Claude made enquiries with Sally who had a sister working at the hospital and discovered that two weeks later the old lady was no longer a problem to anyone.
She had moved in with Mavis and Ned but after nearly two weeks she collapsed and was admitted to hospital but died that night from a massive stroke.
How sad it all was thought Claude, maybe if and when his funds ran out he may receive the same treatment. If only, he thought, he had come across Matron Raving in his younger days, yes how things may have been different.
There was always something people did wrong and he would have done his best to have been there and brought old Raving to book, for something if not her professional misdeeds.
He continued into the lounge sitting for a while, then later to dinner, after which he returned to the isolation of his room. He undressed and put on his night attire, before retiring he gazed down at the moonlight on the canal the towpath and the hut all was silent of anyone or their misdeeds and thoughts.
Once
in bed his last thoughts he hoped would be of what he would write next in his book but instead it was of the loss and hurt experienced by Mavis and Ned who had been such good Samaritans to him in his time of need, one day he may be able to repay them, maybe.
The following day Claude spent the early part of the day printing out what he had written it was now time for the scrutiny of his proofreaders. It took some time to set up the small printer but eventually he managed it and the frustration of setting up a new device when one is in their mid seventies. It was however moaning aside, he thought, soon done.
Meeting Angelina Prim and Scouser Joe at breakfast he produced the first part of his masterpiece. Joe looked over the top of his current book, between swallowing what he was eating and drinking his morning coffee, he frowned and said, “This is a proper and interesting book I am reading I can’t read that for a while.”
Claude and Angelina looked at each other smiled but made no comment; experience had shown Joe would read it as and when he was ready.
Angelina took the papers, looked and said “Claude I will bind these together for you to prevent them dropping. “Never thought of that,” Claude mumbled to himself.”
Claude went for a walk in the gardens of The Homestead, and then sat for a while on one of the seats placed to remind current sitters of those who had already gone and to where they would soon be destined to journey. He thought the book writing was affording him some comfort, casting his mind back to his youth, thinking of his parents and his schools, the police stories he had recalled, some of which he had been a part of, appeared now to have been an indication a career in the police service had been his destiny.
How sad he recalled of the two officers who had spent a similar time doing the same job but looked upon their career as a burden and worse with such memories or anything they achieved cast from their memories, there was the possibility thought Claude they had in fact hated the job even then, so done and achieved nothing of value.
He thought of the one he had seen that day and since, aged only in his late fifties, it appeared to be the highlight of his day to head for a pub on a Sunday lunch time wobbling slowly on his pedal cycle negotiating the small incline, sad, he thought.
Looking back over the previous weeks, he realised with some surprise how writing the book, possibly any book was very time consuming. He was a two finger typist and now a slow thinker and even slower typist. He was writing three two hour sessions each day at the rate of four pages per session, the book he thought at that rate was likely to take six months. That would suit him fine, far better it was to sit contemplating and producing something which he hoped would interest others than to sit in the rooms down stairs among the snoring and viewing the open mouths, not a criticism he thought of those involved they were very aged and could do nothing more, but thought Claude it was rather depressing.
His moral destroying thoughts were interrupted when he saw Charles and Joe arrive in the garden they were smiling and they were clearly sharing some cash, “Coin” as Charles, a Londoner referred to it, clearly the couple had just had a win on the “Ponies” as Charles would say.
Claude’s attention was drawn to an upper floor window when he caught a glimpse of Matron Raving stampeding passed the windows at break neck speed, oh dear he thought I hope she didn’t witness the happy event between Joe and Charles for she would not approve of staff being in league with a gambling man, wasting funds the tax payer might well make better use of. Time will tell he thought as he rose and made his way back to his own real world.
Chapter 9
He sat most of the day in his room making notes, it was evening before he felt he had sufficient information to commence writing once again and on this occasion he was fairly confident it would take him some time, still he thought “What else do I have to do with my time?”
His recollection was that it was just after Christmas he was reading the local newspaper the Oswald Tree Advertiser that he saw the advert.
He obtained a pair of scissors and carefully cut around the dotted line, after all, one had to give a good impression and a tidy application form was the first step to fulfil his life’s ambition.
He thought, and then commenced to write, making all efforts not to make a mistake or he would have to purchase another newspaper at a cost of four pence in old money to quote a phrase, about two pence in new coinage.
Once the form was completed he walked down to the post office, a converted miner’s house in the village. A stamp purchased and the enveloped passed over the counter to Mrs Humphreys, the postmistress who placed it into the waiting postbag and all was done.
It was about two weeks before he received a reply, arriving home from work at the colliery one afternoon he discovered his mother had placed the letter addressed to him on the sideboard as it was referred to, in reality it was a large chest of drawers in the combined living come dining room.
The envelope eagerly opened it contained an official application form or forms, he was faltering. It was so long ago recalling the exact details were proving to be more difficult than he had first envisaged. A moment or so passed then he did recall that it asked for his full name, date of birth, his height, to be not less than 5 feet 8 inches.
He stopped as his father had also just arrived in from the pit, rising from his seat Claude went into the kitchen, opened the cutlery draw and took out a long pointed knife he returned to the living room. His father had just seated himself in the fire side chair after a hard day from 6 am, it now being 4 pm. He had been shovelling around ten tons of coal in the dark dirty conditions of the coalface but was about to be disturbed.
“Dad,” Claude smiled as he recalled he always called his father Dad.
“Would you just come over here a minute?”
Harry looked up from the Daily Mirror Newspaper he was reading and simultaneously noting the open form and the official looking envelope on the table, he guessed the subject but Claude always suspected not the reason as he stood there armed with a long carving knife awaiting the arrival of his father.
“Would you please measure me?” asked Claude, handing Harry the knife.
Standing to attention against the closed door making himself as stiff and upright as possible to get the maximum height, his father took the knife and placed it on the top of Claude’s head and then pressed in, saying “OK it’s done.”
The job done the measuring was next; Claude opened various drawers but could not find a tape measure. Forced once again to disturb his father whom he could see was nodding off to sleep; he did pluck up courage to ask.
“Dad, have you any idea where the tape measure might be?”
His father looked up in his not too pleased expression that is, over the top of his spectacles. This was always a warning sign to Claude. In the Friendly household father worked whilst mother did not, in line with most “Housewives” of those days.
As a consequence mother dealt with the entire house running such as shopping for groceries, washing with the old fashioned coal fired boiler in the kitchen, ironing and bed making and nuisance problems which included Claude.
It was mother who normally gave permission for him to go out to play with whom, for how long and where during his childhood. Chastised him when he was “Naughty” which usually consisted of one warning which if went unheeded was rapidly followed by a quick smack.
On the occasions this failed to persuade Claude to desist from his misconduct the next sentence was “Harry, will you deal with this Claude.” Claude always knew the reaction from his father, he would put down his head and look over the top of his spectacles if the misconduct continued Claude knew he was for it, usually if his dad began to rise Claude ran off.
This intermission from the form filling caused him to think of the only occasion he had a thrashing from his father. He had been visiting Mary Jane his grandmother he was aged about 10 years old, whilst there he asked her a question never to be asked again, or any similar to it.
“Nanny, are you going ou
t today?”
She had replied, “No.”
Claude then repeated something he had heard outside in the village, “Lend me your face to go ratting.”
He thought no more of it, not for several days when he found himself once again at the home of his Grandmother but on this occasion with father. He recalled not exactly what was being said but he vividly recalled the chain of events.
Mary Jane was laying down the law as to the crime this “Cheeky bugger” had committed, that of saying such a thing. Father then turned to him and told Claude to apologise, which “I did,” he thought.
That was not the end of the matter, father then lay on with a will and Claude received a “Good hiding” after which he was led home at a brisk tempo, crying his eyes out all the way. Meaning nothing at the time, he now recalled as the story was in his mind, how his father had whispered to his mother what had occurred and ended with, “I thrashed him to please her, I will never hit him again.”
He kept to his word thought Claude but there were one or two close shaves as on the day he was out with his dad and they were attempting to collect conkers. Father was bending down picking those he had knocked off the tree; when Claude had thrown up a piece of wood after his father said, “Don’t throw anymore.”
Claude began to run for cover as he could see where the object was definitely about to land; yes it hit Dad on the top of the head. Taking only a moment to recover the old man then aged the frightening age of forty years, looked up and was soon running and closing in on Claude. Jack the Jigger who lived by the canal unknowingly came to Claude’s` rescue when he looked over the hedge and called “Hello Harry, nice day.”
Father stopped in his tracks and replied in the affirmative he then continued in conversation with Mr Jack the jigger, a nickname as he operated a digger machine on the canal. By the time the conversation was completed father had cooled off.
Police Memories Page 11
