He wished her luck, looking at them; they seemed more interested in making money as they posed for a photograph taken by a man armed with a camera and who had brought in copies of the Copton Herald.
There was silence when the party arrived inside the Banquet room, Matron looked across at Joe and stared, no, she scowled for a moment, which caused him to pick up his book and place it in front of his face.
Claude smiled to himself and thought “Matron certainly intends to make a good impression let us hope the dignitaries are not sitting within view of the twin ladies whom he had witnessed that first day taking out, examining then washing their dentures in the water jugs.”
All seated and waiting in eager anticipation Matron announced “Ladies and Gentlemen.”
She commenced, “I am proud to present to you today our guests of honour, firstly Mr Salisbury the owner of the new Super Market we have all seen being built opposite to The Homestead. Mr Salisbury has been gracious enough to provide all this wonderful food to celebrate the opening of the store. In addition he has announced The Homestead and all those living here plus my good self will be afforded special discounts on purchases from the store. I would ask you to show our appreciation.”
She began to clap, those present followed suite.
“May I now turn?” she continued, “This gentleman,” signalling a tall man dressed in a dark suit with grey hair, “This is Mr Marshall the developer and builder not forgetting Mr Regis a local business man.”
“Finally she continued but by now realising she was on thin ice, seeing the agitated faces of the starving 90 swaying on their sticks, leaning over the frames and moving the wheels of chairs to and fro similar to the start of a Formula one car race.
I would be remiss if I failed to mention finally but by no means least, our Chief Operating Officer from Head Office Mr Danvers Denton and hesitating then leaning over to Sally who whispered to her, Matron continued, “Ah yes, sorry, in the excitement I forgot, yes, a voluntary group, Poets Anonymous.”
The gathering eagerly made ready for words “Go for it” it was not to be, not yet at any rate.
The uniformed servers were patiently waiting to give it all away free of charge and wondering if it would be cold.
“You all know Mr Danvers Denton our very own Chief operating Officer, she gave several claps but finding no response from the floor she stopped and called “Let the festivities commence.”
Matron led the visitors and her husband to the serving tables to obtain their food which at first reminded Claude of those Divisional Dinners many years ago in the police when such was the procedure, the Chief Constable first and so down the line by rank.
Matron led her party away to their designated table, as the main foraging got under way.
Claude smiled and thought, “No sign of the lock keeper.”
The dignitaries now served, it was now time for the masses and wheel chairs, sticks and frames then surged forward.
Claude could see Mr Marshall slightly rise from his seat and on seeing the mass of wheel chairs, sticks and walking frames surge forward he sniggered, sat down and whispered something to his neighbour Mr Regis who looked and laughed.
Claude registered the message, he thought if there was one thing 30 years in the police had given him, it was the ability to judge people and more often than not know what was in their minds no matter what words they used.
The food was delicious and wide ranging from various meats, salads, cheeses, and breads of all nations thought Claude not forgetting the unhealthy but delicious sweets, puddings and cakes of every known variety.
In line with the age long tradition, if its free get as much as you can whether you need it or not, many diners and staff were hastily filling bags and boxes presumably to take home causing Joe to lean over to Claude and whisper
“I just heard the catering manager say.”
“Let them take what they want for today, most of it is out of date today anyway, just smile when the store is open it will be a different matter.”
The eating over it was time for the honoured Guests to meet the clients and residents and so they rose to “Mingle.”
Mr Marshall nicknamed locally as “Mr Land Grab” and Mr Regis honoured with the title “Mr Grabber eventually reached table 30 and looking at Claude he said, “I say,” said Marshall, “I hear from Miss Prim an old fellow member of the Traders Association you intend to write a book.”
Claude smiled and replied, “Yes I am hoping to do so.”
“I wish you luck,” replied Marshall, “It cost me £10,000 to publish my book of poems I was also able to get rid of it in the shop to customers supposedly free but we put a fiver on the bill, in addition I didn’t have to pay out money to a book seller.”
“Was that £10,000 the publishing cost?” replied Claude “I was led to believe you didn’t actually write any poems just copied some Chinese proverbs and children’s fables and paid someone to write it for you.”
There was no reply to Claude’s comment, seeing the visitors were about to move on, Claude chimed in again
“Is it correct you bought my house then successfully had planning permission to demolish it and replace it with several others? I tried but permission was refused.”
“I did actually,” replied the builder, just one of those things,” he stopped in his tracks, didn’t reply turned and left followed by his colleague.
When they had gone Joe said, “He didn’t like you saying that Claude.”
Claude smiled and replied, “We go back many years old Marshall and I, they call him “Land Grab,” I recall it was common gossip many folks attempted to obtain planning permission on land they owned when permission was refused they had to sell at a low agricultural land price, he would buy it and mysteriously he always had planning permission granted, made most of his money that way.
“What about his mate? ” said Joe?
Claude laughed then replied, “Him, Regis known as “Grabber” by name and grabber by nature. He has made his money but would skin a Gnat for its hide. I once recall him in a teashop where they offered a free refill. One day he was called away to his office and on leaving he said to the waitress.
“I have been called away, don’t forget the refill I will have it next time I am in, it will save me buying a drink then.”
Joe laughed and said, “Claude thinking of folks like them I remember the proverb.”
“A thief passes for a gentleman when stealing has made him rich.”
The builder and his associate walked away they could be seen mumbling to each other but Claude and Joe just smiled.
They had no opportunity to escape the proceedings for their next visitors were a group of bedraggled men and women. The women wore long dresses they had bare feet, the men sporting long hair and beards. The man who spoke had bright ginger hair, which caused Claude’s to look at Joe who winked.
“Hello brothers,” said the carrot top man as Joe referred to those gifted with ginger hair.
“Hi,” replied Joe.
Claude nodded.
“I hear from Mr Marshall you are a budding writer Claude,” said the ginger haired man, “I am a poet so are the others here with me, a group of poets we are, know anything about poetry,” he said.
“I don’t know anything,” said Joe “Do you Claude?”
“Not much, just from school the, “Highwayman” and “Home thoughts from abroad” plus the odd modern item I picked on my travels.”
“We are more modern,” said the man “By the way, call me “Ginge,” everyone else does.”
“What type of poetry are you into?” asked Joe.
Ginger smiled and said, “Poetry of life and body or meta poetry,” I have just written one describing my foot they call it Meta physical poetry.”
“Well I never, replied Joe “Hear that Claude, a poem about your foot.”
“Well now Claude,” replied Ginge “As a budding writer, please, before we go tell us of a poem you recall as having been
picked up along your travels.”
Claude replied, "You wouldn’t like them, really down to earth things though such writings do reflect life in the real world.”
“I insist,” said Ginger.
Claude smiled looked at Joe and said, “Are you sure?”
Joe guessed what was likely to come possibly the skeleton of a gypsy was about to rear its head again, and so he stood back so that the visitors could not see him.
Claude thought, hesitated and said “Are you really sure, you may be offended, I found this on a newly decorated wall, a local poet was defacing the building with it.”
“Offended, certainly not” replied a lady in the group “There is nothing in the way of a poetry or rhyme that would upset us, how interesting, you will say it was in a toilet next, novel man, novel.”
“It was,” said Claude “Are you certain you wish to hear it.”
“We insist,” they all said with smiling faces. Claude began.
“My days of youth are over
My flame of life burnt out
What used to be my sex appeal?
Is now my waterspout?
In days gone by it would amuse me
The way it would behave
To stand up in the morning
And watch me have a shave
Now as old age approaches
It fair gives me the blues
To see it hang it’s withered head
And watch me clean my shoes.”
The group turned and left without comment. Joe laughed and said, “They asked for that, what happened to the poet Claude?”
“I locked him up, he got fined, didn’t pay so went down the line for 28 days.”
“That’s where you will end up if you include that in your book Claude.”
The party over Claude retired to his room for the afternoon, as he walked alone through the corridors he thought of Mr Land Grab. He had made so much money on the back of Claude, if only he had obtained planning permission things may well have been different, and the poem well he thought, it did happen and others similar.
Chapter 10
It was a cold windy afternoon the rain was lashing down; on looking through the window he could hear the howling wind the trees were blowing to and fro reminding him of swaying giants. The water on the canal even appeared to have waves on the cold black surface. There was no sign of moving narrow boats on this day. For once, he felt he was lucky to be in such a warm environment. It had been some days of contemplation, he had done no writing.
Today he thought I will commence writing again.
He opened the computer and after some moments he found his last previous page.
“Ah yes now I recall, awaiting my exam results we were he,” finally he commenced, tip, tap.
Having completed the initial application form, followed by a more detailed questionnaire, he had finally sat the entrance examination.
It seemed an eternity before the anxious Friendly family’s hopes of their son moving from the horrid coalmine and his dream of becoming a Police officer were answered.
Claude stopped writing and cast his mind back all the years as to how he nearly ruined all his chances.
He had been interested in shooting there were many rabbits on the Colliery land so Claude sought permission from the manager to shoot there. This was granted and Claude bought a double-barrelled shotgun. In those days there were no police checks all that was required was a gun licence from the post office, it was a formality, more of a local tax. He acquired one and he spent time walking over the colliery “Mount” and land. The very first day he was leaving the land in company with his father a police motorcyclist stopped in front of the approaching men. The officer removed his gloves smiled and put his hand out saying “Licence.”
Claude produced the licence purchased only minutes before; the officer examined it, said nothing but rode away.
Claude’s father said, “Just our bloody luck, out walking only 10 minutes and we get stopped by the police.”
Claude was to later hear of the officer he was reputed to be a stickler and a tough guy. Claude never served with him so the stop check never came up.
A nearer miss happened only days later when Claude was out shooting alone. He shot a rabbit on the colliery land but did not kill it, rather it ran off wounded and could be seen crippled in the field. Putting down his gun he ran into the field and despatched the rabbit humanely. Looking up a he saw a man wearing country clothing, the usual brown and green coat, with “plus four” trousers and cap.
“What have we here now?” asked the man with a pronounced Scottish accent.”
“I shot the rabbit on the colliery land I do have permission, it was wounded so I felt it correct to come and finish it off rather have it suffering,” replied Claude.
“You are on Lord Muckston’s land. I am his game keeper you will have to come and see him.”
The gamekeeper taking the rabbit and gun Claude was marched off the two miles to the “Big Hall.”
Claude now realised he had jeopardised his whole career and so decided to make a plea and explained to the old Scotsman he was waiting to hear if he had been accepted into the Police service.
After some time they arrived at Muckston Hall, Claude was left standing by the front door whilst the gamekeeper went inside.
After some minutes Lord Muckston himself appeared, looked at Claude and said, “I will let you off this time,” and returned into the house, closing the door.
The gun was handed back to Claude but not the rabbit and he made his way home at top speed. Telling his parents of the incident, his father related a story.
“Lord Muckston is a Magistrate, one day a miner was discovered poaching and eventually appeared before his Lordship at the Magistrates Court.” The miner of low intelligence and a heavy drinker pleaded guilty but said.
“May I ask you a question you’re Lordship?”
“What is it?” replied Lord Muckston.
“How did come by the land anyway?”
His Lordship replied, “My fore fathers fought for it.”
The miner replied, “Take your coat off and I’ll fight you for it.”
He was fined and left the Court without the fight or owning the land.
At 8am one morning the awaited envelope and the letter within arrived.
Dear Mr Friendly,
Further to your recent visit to Chester Police station where you sat the police entrance examination. I am pleased to invite you to Copton Police Headquarters for a medical examination followed by an Interview with the Chief Constable would you please telephone me to agree a suitable appointment time and date.
Yours Sincerely
Miss L Caver
Secretary.
Claude recalled the agreed day vividly, it being his 19th birthday. He set out at 8am on the then long journey being the vast distance of 20 miles from Hafod to Copton. The first stage was a green Crossville bus, and then a train journey.
Arriving in Copton, the county town, how strange he thought, he had been to various places in Europe on holiday but the County town, he had never visited before.
He sought directions to the Police Headquarters and arrived in good time.
It was a formidable building appearing to be over a hundred years old; on entering there was no reception desk so he waited in the foyer until someone arrived. It was lady carrying a tray of teacups.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“I have come for an interview for the police,” replied Claude, nervously.
“Please wait there,” she said “I will send someone to you” she continued up the long wide staircase.
Some minutes later a man in a uniform appeared, bearing a shoulder badge, “Cadet.”
“Follow Me,” he said turned and walked up the stairs in the direction from which he arrived, Claude in close pursuit.
Arriving at an office door, a sign displayed read “Training Office,” the cadet knocked on the door and said “Sir, Mr Friendly.�
�
“Come in,” a voice called “Please take a seat.”
Claude sat down on the chair in front of the desk and looked at the tall slim figure of the uniformed officer in front of him. He had two “Button things on his shoulder,” Claude was to realise later he was an Inspector. He was holding a telephone and commenced a conversation.
“Station Sergeant please,” he hesitated obviously waiting for a reply then spoke again.”
“Sergeant, this is Inspector Dan Price training, I have just been into town, when I walked along the High Street there was a uniformed constable talking with someone, when I came back 15 minutes later the officer was still talking to the same man. Get his note book checked, see if he was dealing with anything or just gossiping, if the former Ok, if the latter get a report from him as to what he was doing wasting his time.”
The call ended and he replaced the receiver.
Turning his attention to Claude he smiled and said.“Ah yes, Claude Friendly you are here for interview with the Chief and a medical. We normally do the medical first but as the Chief has to go out, you will see him first and if the interview is successful, then you can go to see Doctor Wales the Police Surgeon and the hospital for an X-ray.”
He rose from his seat picked up a folder, presumably his, thought Claude and within a moment or so Claude and he were standing outside an office door marked “Mark Halford, Chief Constable.”
The Inspector pressed a button on the door and immediately an illuminated sign was visible “Enter.”
Opening the door the Inspector entered and closed the door behind him. Claude was standing alone; looking to the right he saw another door marked Martin Emery, Assistant Chief Constable. Suddenly yet another door opened but on the far end of the landing and a very attractive lady, with jet black hair emerged, walked passed Claude saying hello and smiling as she went. She returned moments later, smiled as she closed her office door leaving Claude to see it was signed Miss L Caver, Chief Constables Secretary.
Police Memories Page 13
