‘So I wanted to show you all this. It’s our history. Where we’re all from, if you like.’
The paper had a large family tree on it, in scrawly writing, and there was a typed letter.
‘From America,’ she said proudly. ‘This man in Philadelphia, turns out he’s our relative, cousin or something. He dug about into the family history, and you’ll never guess.’
‘What?’
‘We’re related to Bonnie Prince Charlie!’
We all gasped.
‘Really?’
‘Well, almost.’ She laughed. ‘Actually one of his troops. You know the cottage?’
‘Your cottage?’
‘Yes. Well, this man found out that our ancestor, Joseph Bayley, he was abandoned as a newborn baby at the side of a well. His mother was with Bonnie Prince Charlie when they came through the area in 1745, on retreat from a battle.’
‘What would they want with Hanging Heaton?’ asked Dad, looking up from his newspaper.
‘I think it was just a stop, for the night, you know, a campsite sort of thing.’
‘And?’ I was getting interested now. It seemed exciting to be part of history in this way.
‘Well, one of the soldiers, his wife was with child and she’d accompanied them. And she had the baby right there in the camp. In those days they brought their wives and girlfriends along. But she didn’t want to take the child back to Scotland, in case it died on the way or something.’
‘Did she abandon it then? By the well?’
‘Well. She did it for the child, I like to think. Anyway. She left the boy by the side of a well. No bigger than a kitten, poor lamb. Joseph, that was his name. He ended up in the poorhouse, then got work for a local farmer, and eventually got his own piece of land and a built a little cottage. My cottage.’
‘Heavens. I didn’t realize it was so old,’ I said, trying to imagine how it would have been then.
‘Anyway, they became weavers, and millers, and farmers and such like, and Joseph Bayley, he was my great-great-great-grandfather, I think. Eventually he built up a nice little smallholding.’
‘And what about his mother?’ I asked.
‘She came back, nineteen years later, from Scotland. Knocked on the door, right out of the blue, and tried to persuade him to go back with her. But he refused. Said his home was there now. But she gave him his name, Bayley that was. So next time you come round, you’ll have something to think about, eh?’
But I didn’t have long to dwell on my ancestors. The next day I was in court, and back to some very living stories.
I had never been to York before, so this was a first. It was a lot bigger than Scarborough, and surrounded by a real Roman wall. York Assizes, the main courthouse, was a very grand and beautiful building, like a huge Roman villa, and it was worth the trip just to see that. I walked up the stone steps and into the courthouse, where a court official came and met me.
‘Miss Rhodes?’
‘Yes.’
‘First time in the big smoke?’
‘It is. It’s so grand,’ I said, looking up and around at the huge building.
‘You wait ’til you see inside,’ he said and we walked down the corridor together.
The walls were made of elaborately carved sandstone, and there were arches and decorations like a huge Gothic cathedral.
‘Do you know what we’ll be doing?’ I asked.
‘The courtroom is in there.’ He pointed through a doorway. ‘You’ll stand behind the defendant and call in the witnesses. Have you done that before?’
The room looked so imposing. There was a great desk and an elaborate chair at the front, where the judge would sit, and separate areas for the jury, the defendants and the witnesses. Even the air felt formal in there and it sent a shiver down my spine. I sat down to wait in the chair the official pointed out.
After a few minutes, loud voices could be heard coming along the corridor, then the judge came sweeping through into the courtroom in his gown, officials scurrying along behind him. He walked right past us into another room, where he sat looking over his glasses, taking notes from the case, before a clerk shut the door. He looked a bit scary to me.
Eventually the official led us into the court room, and then the jury came in nervously one by one, and were shown up into their seats. There were two women, one quite young and another in her fifties; the rest were men of varying ages, one in an army uniform. Once we were all seated, the judge came in, and the whole court stood up until he sat down in his seat. He took ages arranging his gown and shuffling papers before opening proceedings.
Eventually, they began to call the witnesses up. There were two defendants, a man and a woman who had been caught in a compromising position in a car parked along a road north of the city. It was an indecency case. Two police officers were called up to testify that they’d happened upon a man and a woman in a car (‘having it off’, as someone had said to me before we went in).
The first policeman came up to the stand. He was tall and thin and spoke so quietly hardly anyone could hear what he said.
‘So, PC … Holder. Tell the jury what you saw that evening.’
‘Well, I was on my beat, about to make a point up Greylag Road, when I saw a shape. It was dark and I got quite nervous, as I know the road well and it’s usually very quiet.’
His voice trailed off.
‘What?’ asked the judge. ‘Can’t hear a word he’s saying,’ he said to one of the court officials.
‘IT’S USUALLY VERY QUIET,’ said the policeman loudly, and the members of the jury jumped in their seats. ‘Anyway, so I approached and it was a car, a Morris Minor, green. And … well, I saw a woman in there first, then I realized she was with a man and, well, her buttocks were bare. So I knocked on the window. And they got dressed, hurriedly, like, and that was when we took them in.’
‘Thank you, constable.’
Next they called up his colleague, PC Finch, who had a similar story.
‘And so when I got to the car, I saw the young lady in question, and her buttocks were bare,’ he said, and I thought it was very odd how they had both used the same expression.
Next they called up the woman, who was claiming that she hadn’t consented to be in the car at all in that situation, and that in fact the man had tried to rape her. The young woman, about twenty-two years old, was led up. She was smartly dressed in a sensible suit with gloves.
‘You claim, Miss Shields, that you were forced into this … position … by the other defendant.’
‘We had been walking out for about a month,’ she started. ‘We packed a picnic and everything. Then he changed his mind, Martin did. Said it was about to rain, so we should pull up the car and have the picnic there instead. Right in the car. Well, I was a bit dubious. You know, I hardly knew him really. I mean we’d danced together and that, but it was early days.’
The more she spoke, the less she allowed herself to breathe, and the story came out like a torrent, getting faster and faster.
‘Anyway, after we’d eaten the sandwiches, he brought out a hip flask, one he had in the car, he said, and it was full of brandy. Well, I’m not much of a drinker, but he, you know, persuaded me it would be all right. We played a game, and before I knew it we’d drunk it all. I was feeling quite sick and dizzy, you know, and I got up to go and leave the car for some fresh air. But before I could go he …’
She hesitated at this moment, and pulled out a gigantic hankie from her pocket and blew her nose loudly.
‘He pulled up my skirt and …’ At that point she exploded into tears.
The barrister for the prosecution didn’t relent.
‘So you allowed yourself to be taken into a car by a near complete stranger … Can I ask, then, what you expected to happen, Miss Shields?’
‘I tried to stop him.’
‘Really, Miss Shields. A complete stranger, and you were surprised? I put it to you that you planned the whole thing. And you had no shame about it whatsoever; th
at you led this man, this complete stranger, on.’
‘No!’ she shouted. ‘It wasn’t like that. Anyway, I didn’t say he was a complete stranger. I mean, we’ve been to the pictures twice. I trusted him, I suppose. I thought we’d be having a nice picnic, that’s all. We brought Scotch eggs!’
‘Really?’ said the barrister knowingly. ‘No more questions, Your Honour.’
After that the young man was called up. He was only about nineteen, and had the short crop hairstyle of someone on their National Service. He stated his name and swore his oath, before being cross-examined by his barrister.
‘Can you tell me what happened that evening?’
‘Betty … Miss Shields … said she wanted to go for a picnic. So we packed it up and she insisted I took the car, in case it rained. I wanted to walk but she was very … persuasive.’
‘Go on.’
‘She made me park up, on a verge by the old farm. I thought we might get into trouble, you know, so close to the road, but she grabbed out at the steering wheel. I thought we might crash. She insisted we stop there. She said she knew it was a good place.’
‘What happened then? Tell the jury.’
‘Well. She pulled out this flask. Like what you use for shooting and things. One of her dad’s, she said. She said it was full of brandy and we should drink it. I didn’t think it was such a good idea. What with me driving and all. But she forced it to my mouth and said she’d give me a treat if I drank it. So … well, you know what it’s like, and I … well, I gave in, didn’t I?’
‘Did she force you to drink the brandy?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Well, it all happened so fast, but before I knew it she had ripped off her … skirts … and was climbing on top of me. That was when the officers knocked on the door. I tried to push her off, but she’s a strong lass, you know.’
‘And at any stage did you force or try to engage Miss Shields in any kind of sexual activity?’
‘Never.’
‘That will be all.’
After all this, my head was a confusion: they both sounded so convincing. Next they were cross-examined by the woman’s barrister, and they gave the same stories, equally convincingly, except her barrister made the man sound more like he was in the wrong. How the jury would ever decide, I had no idea.
In the end, in a master stroke, the young man’s barrister produced the hip flask in evidence, and managed to convince everyone that it couldn’t have been his, because it was inscribed with the initials P. S., which was supposedly the young woman’s father, who was called Peter Shields. But then her barrister counterclaimed that the young man had bought it from a secondhand shop, and those initials could be anyone’s …
At the end the judge summed up and looked sternly at the jury, reminding them that their decision could affect someone’s life, and that they could only find the defendants guilty of sexual indecency if they were sure beyond all reasonable doubt.
He then excused them to make their decision. Another young PC and I walked behind them along a passageway and into a small room where they would discuss the case. They weren’t allowed to talk about it outside the room, so we had to stand guard together outside, making sure no one came out or went in. As we waited we could hear their voices rising and falling inside the jury room.
‘Looks like we might be here a while,’ said my companion, who’d introduced himself to me as Jeff. He was leaning on the wall, looking at his fingernails.
‘Yes, looks that way.’
‘Hey! Do you like dancing?’ he said suddenly.
‘I do, yes. Why?’
‘How about it?’ he said and held out his arms as if to start a foxtrot or something.
‘Are you sure?’ I said, looking around warily. ‘Mightn’t the judge or someone come along?’
‘Nah. They’re all upstairs having lunch. The jury might be a while. So, how about it anyway?’
‘OK, why not!’
So Jeff led the way and up and down the corridor as we danced; first a military two-step, then a bit of a tango and we even tried a waltz, but ran out of space. We’d almost collapsed into a heap of laughter when a voice called down the hallway.
‘Ahem. We’ve reached our decision. When you’re quite ready.’
It was the foreman of the jury, a large man with a huge Edwardian-style moustache, standing in the doorway of the jury room. I went bright red, having been caught out dancing, but Jeff didn’t seem to care at all. He just walked casually over to the clerk to the court and informed him that the jury were ready to return.
When we were all seated, and had gone through the procedure of standing and sitting on the judge’s arrival, he looked up from his notes.
‘Well. Has the jury reached a decision?’
‘Yes, Your Honour. The jury finds the defendants not guilty,’ said the foreman grandly, his moustache twitching. And that was that.
Neither party showed much emotion at the result. The girl just looked down, then left the courtroom with her barrister. The man didn’t smile either, though, and I got the feeling it had been a horrible experience for both of them.
I never quite got used to the contrast between work and home life. I would come back to my landlady’s house after a day interviewing a young girl who’d been assaulted, or back home to my parents’ after listening to a court case about possible rape, and then have to come in all smiles, as if everything was normal.
When I got home that evening, sure enough, Granny, Mam and Dad were all sitting round the wireless listening to the Light Programme. Dad was laughing, an enormous great chortle which welled up from deep down in his belly, as a bumbling policeman tried to solve the mystery of a missing diamond.
‘I don’t get it,’ said Granny. ‘I just don’t understand this new comedy … if you can call it that,’ she sighed, and got back on with her knitting.
‘Oh, Pamela, have you heard this on the wireless?’ Mam asked. ‘PC 49. It’s hilarious. Your father and I are hooked. You can tell us all whether it’s true.’
‘No. Not really. I mean, no, I haven’t heard it.’
‘How was your day?’ asked Granny as I kicked my shoes off.
‘Fine,’ I said, deciding not to mention the courtroom and the description of the woman’s bare buttocks. ‘I danced in the corridor with one of the PCs. Jeff. That was funny. While we waited outside the jury room. I’m pretty tired, though.’
‘We never could stop you from dancing,’ said Dad. ‘Remember how you used to tell me you were off to the cinema, and then you’d trot out of the house and collect your shoes from the bushes and go dancing at that ballroom anyway. Don’t think I didn’t know what you were up to!’
‘Did you know about that, really?’ I asked, amazed by my dad’s powers of deduction.
‘Can’t fool a Rhodes.’
‘Oh, leave her alone,’ said Mam. ‘I couldn’t be more proud of you, of what you’ve done. Did she tell you she’s saved over a hundred pounds already?’ she said to my granny.
‘Do you get what the lads get, do you? As far as wages go?’ asked Granny.
‘Nearly. We get five pounds and ten shillings a week. They get about six, I think, plus a boot allowance for repairs. So not too bad. One day maybe we’ll get the same, though. Who knows?’
‘How you’ve saved that much, I’ll never know. Anyway what are you going to do with it all?’ asked Granny, looking over her glasses.
‘Who knows!’
And in truth I hadn’t really thought about what I was saving for. My mind flickered back to Malcolm. We’d been walking out now for some months, but the word marriage hadn’t yet come up. A hundred pounds wouldn’t half come in useful if it did, though.
As I made my way up to bed, the sounds of PC 49 sleuthing for diamonds and questioning a lady in a mink coat and crocodile shoes drifted up the stairs, followed by another of Dad’s great guffaws.
On the way back to Richmond,
thinking about my time at the assizes put me in mind of other court cases. I thought about the local magistrates court in Richmond, at the town hall, and my weekly duties there if there were any cases with women involved. There was also the court in Leyburn, which involved a lovely drive through the countryside. After a case there we’d go to the Sergeant’s house for a midday meal cooked by his wife. This was always a treat, and a chance to catch up on what the village bobbies had been up to. On one occasion there, I remember hearing that one of the lads had applied for a police house for him and his new wife, but there were none left so they had been given two rooms to start their married life. I’d been told I would be going on a refresher course at Bruche, and wondered if any of the old gang would be there too.
Every court case was different. One of my first was for a milk van that had crashed with an insecure load. I had taken the driver’s details and told him he would be reported. When he was in court there was a solicitor present and I had to appear and answer some questions, which was a bit nerve-racking. Where had the bottles landed, on the road or pavement? What was the road like? ‘Wet,’ I answered. Was the road straight? ‘It had a camber to one side,’ and so on.
Other cases were held at the juvenile court, which was more relaxed than an adult court, but often more shocking. One case which sticks in my mind, even now, was an indecency case, in which two little girls were asked if they could see the man who had allegedly abused them in the room. They both said no in the court, but when I spoke to them later on they said he had been there, but they hadn’t dared say anything. There was nothing I could do about it, though.
I also remember taking a statement from a little girl in another indecency case. She said a man in khaki had asked her if she wanted an ice cream, and when she closed her eyes and opened her mouth, he had presented her with something quite different. All these cases could be quite shocking; I never understood how someone could do that to a child.
When I get back to Richmond, I thought to myself after the drama of the courts, it’ll be back to doing reports with my usual two-finger typing. ‘Sir, I beg to report,’ they would all begin. But I’d be glad to be back.
Bobby on the Beat Page 25
