Her parting shot was, ‘I shall demand the council does something about the state of your garden, and those others at number fourteen and seventeen. They are a disgrace! I shall demand a response! I shall write to the chairman of the council and demand that he sends someone to examine your garden and those others I have mentioned, Mr Satterthwaite.’
He had not replied, except to curse vilely when the spanner slipped and trapped his finger.
When Robina awoke next morning, however, she was horrified to find her own garden hidden beneath a mountain of household junk and old vehicles. There was an array of scrap cars and motor bikes, old electrical goods, armchairs and settees with the stuffing coming out, parts of demolished wardrobes — in fact, everything she had noted in all the council house gardens. At least, that is what she claimed when she came to visit me at eight o’clock that morning.
‘It’s that man, Satterthwaite!’ she said. ‘He’s dumped all his rubbish in my garden, Constable, and that from the other house. I demand police action. You must prosecute him!’
‘How did he get the stuff into your garden?’ I asked. ‘Presuming it was him, of course.’
‘By lorry, I would think, and delivered from my back lane, Constable, where else?’
‘It’s private, isn’t it? Your back lane?’
‘Yes, of course it is. It gives access to the back of my house, nowhere else. It is not a public right of way, not a footpath, if that is what you are asking.’
‘Then there is no criminal offence under the Litter Act,’ I had to tell her. ‘It is a civil matter between you and Mr Satterthwaite, if indeed it was him.’
‘Of course, it was him! Who else could it have been? I had words with him about his garden and this is his response. It is typical of the man, I would say. You mean you are going to let him get away with this?’
‘Strictly speaking, it’s not my duty but I’ll speak to him,’ I promised her, wondering how one earth he had managed to dump such a huge lot of large and noisy items without arousing her during the night. She must sleep very soundly, and it must have taken an hour or more to offload all this junk.
Before calling on Elvis I looked at the other two junk-filled gardens, and both fourteen and seventeen were blissfully empty. Next, I paid a call on Elvis and also found his garden completely empty. He answered the door.
‘Hello, Mr Rhea,’ he beamed. ‘Just the man. I was thinking of calling you because somebody has stolen all my belongings from the garden. Spare cars, bits of old radiators, fridge spare parts, bits of wood which are part of some old furniture, you name it and it’s gone. And from my neighbours up the road. There’s been a thief about, Mr Rhea.’
‘Isn’t that amazing?’ I smiled. ‘And by some coincidence, Robina Barton has got a garden full of things similar to the ones you’ve lost, they arrived overnight. Old cars, bits of furniture, derelict fridges and ovens . . .’
‘You mean somebody’s nicked it all from me and my pals and dropped it in her garden?’ he smiled. ‘Why would anybody do a thing like that?’
‘Would you like to come and look at the stuff in her garden, just to check whether it is yours?’ I asked, tongue in cheek. ‘I can ask your neighbours too.’
‘No problem, I’ll come now. I know what my neighbours had, we often swopped bits and pieces, you know how it is. If I wanted an alternator for my Ford and only had one from a Hillman, him at number fourteen might do a swap,’ and he walked with me as I returned to Robina’s house. She saw us approaching and hurried to meet us.
‘Well done, Constable,’ she smiled. ‘You’ve found the culprit.’
‘Elvis,’ I said. ‘This stuff in Robina’s garden, have a good look at it. Is it yours? Or is part of it yours? Or does some of it belong to your neighbours?’
‘No, none of that’s mine, Mr Rhea. Nor my neighbours’. Not a scrap. I’ve never seen any of that old stuff before. Sorry. Those folks who took our stuff must have dumped this to make room for ours, that’s what I think. I’d say there was a couple of lorry-loads here, Mr Rhea.’
‘How can you believe him, Mr Rhea?’ she cried. ‘This is his; I saw it last night in his garden . . .’
‘If it is mine, it must have been stolen,’ said Elvis. ‘You didn’t steal it, did you, Miss Barton? You don’t look like a thief to me, does she, Mr Rhea? I wouldn’t want to accuse a lady of stealing if she’s innocent.’
‘You’re not accusing me of stealing from you, are you?’ Robina shrieked.
‘No, because that’s not mine, Mr Rhea. I mean, I can understand her thinking it might be, after all one scrap car’s just like another, isn’t it? When its registration number’s been removed? And can you say that old fridge is definitely the one from my garden? So sorry, Mr Rhea, I just can’t help. I shan’t bother reporting my goods stolen, Mr Rhea, it was just a load of scrap after all, and I know my mates won’t want a fuss making about theirs, although you can ask them if you like.’
‘Well, Robina,’ I had to say, ‘it looks as if you have acquired a lot of scrap and if Mr Satterthwaite and his friends say it is not theirs, there is not a lot more I can do about it. I’m sure Claude Jeremiah Greengrass will move it for you, it is rather unsightly. He might even give you a few pounds for any usable scrap metal he finds among it.’
‘This is appalling!’ and she stomped indoors. In spite of her non-stop grumbling I did feel slightly sorry for her, but she had brought much of this upon herself by her constant interference and I could only watch as Elvis Satterthwaite walked away smiling.
‘It’s a funny old world we live in, isn’t it, Mr Rhea?’ he grinned. ‘But it’s quite nice, having a garden free from clutter. I might even get around to some gardening one of these days.’
‘Don’t push your luck next time!’ I warned him.
‘I don’t think there’ll be a next time,’ he said, whistling as he walked away.
* * *
Among my regular complainers were Bertram and Prunella Osbourne who lived in Waterfall View, Aidensfield. Bertram was a representative for a firm of medical equipment suppliers and his wife worked part-time in a ladies fashion shop in Ashfordly. Bertram’s profession, selling all manner of surgical and hospital equipment, including splints, artificial legs and wheelchairs, allowed him to work from home where he had a small office in a spare bedroom, and Pru’s job also allowed her to spend some time at home. She worked three mornings a week, one of which was a Saturday. For this reason, they were often in and around their house and were always pleasant to people who walked past their smart garden. They were in their early fifties and took part in village affairs, helping with things like garden fêtes, running the village hall, putting flowers on the altar in the church and so on.
Nice and decent as they were, the Osbournes were persistent complainers. Their chief grudge was sloppy workmanship, whether it was in the clothes they bought, the meals they ordered in restaurants, or the standard of workmanship from tradesmen like plumbers, bricklayers and builders in general. Anyone who had sold anything to the Osbournes or done work for them could expect to receive a complaint of some kind and I am sure they received many refunds, exchanges, free meals and cash remedies as a result of their non-stop activities. One counter-effect was that few of the village craftsmen and tradesmen wanted to carry out any work for the Osbournes, knowing that however professional they might be, the Osbournes would find cause for complaint, often with the purpose of claiming a discount.
Similarly, few of the villagers invited the Osbournes in for a meal or joined them at concerts or other outings because the Osbournes would be sure to complain about something. They wrote to the newspapers about sloppiness on radio and television, and about spelling mistakes in the papers; they complained to film producers and television drama makers about mistakes in period costumes, continuity and a host of other minor details, and they wrote to authors and publishers about errors in books and magazines. Those of us who knew them wondered whether they actually enjoyed anything they did, and the ge
neral conclusion was that the only thing they truly enjoyed was making complaints. It seemed to be their hobby.
Fortunately for me few of their grumbles involved the police, although Pru did complain that PC Alf Ventress’s bottom tunic button was undone while he was performing traffic duty in Ashfordly, while on another occasion Bertram wrote to Sergeant Blaketon to say that the Ashfordly police car needed a thorough wash. I received a few complaints too — they said I did not pay sufficient attention to the pub at closing time, that I did not prevent cars parking outside Aidensfield’s two churches on Sundays and that on one occasion my police house noticeboard contained two out-of-date posters.
One day, however, I decided to pay them an official visit because all rural constables had received advance intelligence that confidence tricksters were touring rural areas in the North Riding and offering to do repair work on roofs, chimneys and gutters. These were not skilled operators but were cheap confidence tricksters who persuaded householders to pay high prices for poor and unnecessary work.
Their work was rarely, if ever, required — the men pretended to have noticed broken slates, loose chimney pots or blocked gutters, offering to remedy the defects, but when the job was done they demanded extortionate fees, with violence on occasions. They never gave anyone their names or addresses, never issued receipts or guarantees, and always demanded cash payments.
Invariably the ‘work’ or ‘repair’ was poor in the extreme and sometimes their victims were gullible old folks who paid a fortune for work that any competent handyman could do for a couple of pounds. Because this confidence trick had first been practised in the Leeds area, these characters were known as Leeds con men. From time to time, we received advance notice that they were likely to be operating in certain areas and we would then warn as many people as we could and at the same time keep observations for likely suspects.
One problem was that the borderline between a confidence trick, bad workmanship and an unsatisfactory business transaction was very narrow, and these characters could often operate just within the law, avoiding criminal charges by a careful use of language while knowing their victims could not or would not take action through the civil courts. The police, of course, did not involve themselves in civil wrongs. In any case, the crooks never left their names or addresses — which was why we always asked victims to secure the registration marks of vehicles they used.
Having received a warning that they were likely to visit my patch I decided to alert the villagers because country properties did seem to attract these villains, possibly because of their remote setting plus the fact they could operate unseen.
It was with that in mind that I called at Waterfall View. Both Bertram and Pru were at home and invited me in. They offered me a coffee and as I sat in their kitchen to warn them of these undesirables, Bertram said, ‘Oh, we would never employ people like that, Mr Rhea. We are very particular about our choice of workmen. We take the utmost care before allowing anyone to carry out maintenance on our house.’
‘If you do receive a visit from anyone who might fit their description, could you make a note of their appearance and any other details, like names and car numbers? We want to put a stop to their antics.’
‘Yes, of course, we will do all we can. But no confidence trickster will get a penny out of me, Mr Rhea! I’m much too careful for that sort of thing to happen — and so is Pru.’
We chatted for a time about village matters, with Bertram telling me he had complained to the highways department of the county council about the standard of workmanship on the roads because the most recent resurfacing had resulted in a lot of loose gravel which had not been collected, and he had also written to the rural district council to notify them of a spelling mistake in their latest rate demands. I left him to his little pleasures.
Over the following days I called at many other houses and business premises in Aidensfield and in the other villages on my patch, making sure that the centres of community activity such as the shops, post offices, pubs and churches all knew about the likelihood of a visit by the Leeds con men.
My colleagues did likewise throughout the rest of Ashfordly section and Sergeant Blaketon felt we had all done a good job. If the con men did venture on to our patch, he was confident we would be told about them and he did express just a hint of the pleasure it would give him if we could arrest these villains. It would be a nice conclusion to his period as our sergeant, and of course, a nice way to end his career in the police service.
Over the next few days we received no suggestion that the Leeds con men had ventured into our territory and I began to wonder whether they had somehow discovered our advance interest and had gone elsewhere. Then, as I was walking past the post office shortly before it closed, I noticed Bertram Osbourne heading towards me with a clutch of letters in his fist.
‘Good afternoon, Constable. Very quiet in the village, eh?’
‘Very, Mr Osbourne. Just how it should be!’
‘Those Leeds characters you warned me about never materialized, did they?’ he smiled, almost relishing the fact that I had been proved wrong.
‘Not yet,’ I agreed. ‘We’ve alerted the whole of the population around Ashfordly, so if they do come anywhere near here, we’ll know about it!’
‘You police officers may be tempted to believe that all visitors are wrongdoers,’ he said. ‘I am sure there are people who would alert householders to defects in their properties, and offer to rectify them, without necessarily being rogues and thieves.’
‘I am sure you are right, Mr Osbourne, but that doesn’t alter the fact that there are some very cunning and unscrupulous characters about, men who will readily take advantage of decent people.’
‘Well, I had a young man call this morning, just as I was going out, and he was the exact opposite of what you have led me to believe.’
‘Really?’ I wondered what he was going to tell me. ‘And he was one of these nice people, was he?’
‘Just as I was coming out of the drive in my car, he was passing, and he stopped me to point out that one of the tiles on the ridge of my garage had slipped. He said he had noticed it when he was passing. It would let in the rain and no one wants that. Anyway, Mr Rhea, he offered to replace it for me.’
‘Did he?’ Now I was becoming interested. This had all the hallmarks of the Leeds con men. It was how they introduced themselves to gullible householders. ‘So, what did you do?’
‘Well, I was heading off to meet a very valuable customer and so I thanked him and said I would get a local builder to do the job for me. Then the man said he would be pleased to do it, it was the work of a mere five minutes, provided I could lend him an extension ladder. He said it would cost me nothing — the garage roof is easily accessible. I have a ladder in the shed, Mr Rhea, and so I said I was rushing off, but showed him where the ladder was. I said it was wrong that he should do the work for nothing, so I gave him a fiver, Mr Rhea.’
‘And you went off to meet your customer, leaving him on the premises?’
‘I did, and when I returned, the tile was back in place. That young man has saved me a lot of trouble from water seeping in and he did the job for a fraction of the price I would have had to pay a local man.’
‘You’ve no complaints then?’ I smiled.
‘None at all.’
‘And your ladder is back in its place in the shed?’
‘It is, Mr Rhea, neatly hanging from the wall where I keep it.’
‘Was Mrs Osbourne at home while he was working?’
‘No, she was at work in the shop, and this afternoon she went shopping with a friend in York. I expect her back by six or thereabouts.’
‘And you have checked your house? No break-in? Nothing stolen from the garden or outbuildings?’
‘There you go again, thinking there’s evil in everyone! No, Mr Rhea, I did bear your warning in mind and I checked everything when I got home. Nothing has been stolen, my tile has been replaced entirely to my satisfaction and th
at is the end of the matter. I felt you should know that not every visitor is a confidence trickster.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ I said. ‘But who was this young man?’
‘I have no idea. He had a West Riding accent. He was driving a small white van and he was quite smart with a white coat on, like a fish merchant might wear. In his late twenties, I’d say, with dark hair and a nice smile. A very nice young man, Mr Rhea.’
‘But not a local person?’
‘No, I can’t say I have seen him before. But as I said, I have no complaints about his work. Now, I must get these letters into the post box and then get home to prepare a meal for Pru. We share household chores, you see. My turn to cook tonight!’ And off he went.
I must admit I was rather worried about the mysterious and helpful caller because that visit had all the hallmarks of a confidence trick, but Bertram had assured me that nothing had been stolen and the job had been done to his satisfaction — and that alone was something of a miracle. As Bertram went off to post his letters I turned for home, but even as I entered my office to book off duty the telephone was ringing.
‘Blaketon here, Rhea. Is everything correct on Aidensfield beat?’
‘Yes, Sergeant, all correct.’
‘No visits by Leeds con men?’
‘I’ve had none reported, Sergeant,’ I had to say but I added, ‘although one man did have a visit this morning, from a stranger in a white van.’
‘Did he?’ and I could sense the interest in Blaketon’s voice. ‘So, what happened? Who was that man and why did he see fit to tell you about it?’
I told Blaketon the story which had been related by Bertram Osbourne and when I had finished, Blaketon said, ‘Well, Rhea, I think you had better go and have another word with Mr Osbourne. Ask him to check his roof again — and not just the garage.
‘He said the tile was fixed perfectly, Sergeant.’
‘It’s not the tile I’m thinking about, it’s the lead flashing on his house roof.’
CONSTABLE AROUND THE HOUSES a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors Page 19
