‘He didn’t mention that, Sergeant,’ I had to say. ‘He just said the house had not been broken into and the man had fixed his garage roof for a fiver.’
‘Listen to this, Rhea,’ said Blaketon. ‘Your man has had a visit by a new gang of Leeds con men.’
‘There was only one man, Sergeant,’ I told him.
‘Only one man went to the house, Rhea, the others would be waiting out of sight. Now, this is what they’ve been doing, a new technique. A charming young man in a white van calls at a house just as the householder is leaving — they watch their target houses to establish this — and he then points out some defect on the building. That is usually fairly easy — blocked guttering, cracked or loose roof tiles, a chimney with the cement missing . . . almost any house in the country has some kind of minor defect, and that young man offers to fix it. He says he’s spotted it while passing and will repair it free. He persuades the householder to let him borrow a ladder and so the householder agrees — if the householder insists on being present and watching then the defect is repaired and usually a token payment is made. Clearly, no attempt is made to steal anything in that case. But if a householder is rushing off to work, or somewhere, they leave the charming man to carry out the work — after all the rest of the house is locked. The confidence trick is achieved when the man says he will fix the defect for no payment. That establishes his trustworthiness. And once the householder is safely away, a lorry arrives at the house, with two or three men on board.’
‘And they clean up?’
‘Steal from the garden, from outbuildings and lead from the roof. The lorry then disappears with its load.’
‘And the man in the white van?’ I asked.
‘He remains a while to further establish his bona fides, by popping into the post office or shop to say he’s done the job at Honeysuckle Cottage or wherever, so perhaps the shopkeeper or postmaster or whoever would tell the owners when they return? Everyone thinks he’s a wonderful young man. No one is suspicious of him and in the meantime, the lorry with its load of stolen property is heading back to base, totally unsuspected. The way they operate gives the gang time to get well clear of the scene before the alarm is raised.’
‘This is a departure from the usual way they operate, they don’t steal things as a rule, just demand exorbitant fees for shoddy work, so are you saying the Osbournes’ house has been raided, Sergeant?’
‘It’s a very distinct possibility, Rhea, so get yourself down to see Mr Osbourne immediately, and ask him if he’s lost any lead flashing from his roof.’
‘Can I ask how all this has come to light, Sergeant?’
‘Through good police work, Rhea, by Ashfordly section I might add! And through a piece of good luck involving Mrs Ventress. She had unexpectedly called on a friend in Slemmington, but the friend was out and a man with a white van was working on the roof. Because Alf had mentioned the Leeds con men, she noted the number and as she was leaving she saw a lorry parked along the road, so she took its number as well, then told Alf. When Alf checked, the householders told the story of the white van and the charming young driver who had offered to clear their gutters without payment, but when they checked the garden, a statue of Eros was missing.’
‘An expensive one, no doubt?’ I added.
‘Worth in excess of five hundred pounds, Rhea. Anyway, thanks to Alf and Mrs Ventress we circulated neighbouring sections and Force Control Room informed all mobiles — and our traffic patrols caught the white van and the lorry on the A19 just south of Thirsk, heading for Leeds. Both vehicles are registered at a Leeds address. We’ve got four men in custody and we’ve recovered Eros, along with a motor lawn-mower, two garden rollers, a selection of gardening tools, a hedge trimmer, a pair of garden shears, a wheelbarrow — and a supply of lead. We’re trying to find owners for those items — and it occurred to me your man might not have noticed he had lost the lead from his roof tops. I think he would have missed the gardening items, so we’ve further enquiries to make about the ownership of those.’
‘Great stuff!’ I said. ‘Right, I’ll go straight away.’
I told Mary I would not be away for long and headed straight for Waterfall View where I found Bertram slaving over a hot stove in the kitchen. I could see he was not too pleased to be interrupted in his culinary duties, but he halted his work, removed his apron and came outside to talk to me.
‘Mr Osbourne,’ I said, ‘following the visit of that young man you told me about, can I ask you to check your roof?’
‘I did check it, Constable, I told you so. The tiling work was done most satisfactorily.’
‘I mean the roof of the house, not just the garage. What about the lead?’ I asked. ‘The lead flashings?’
‘Lead?’ His face fell, and I knew he had never given it a thought. He hurried into the garden to gain a vantage point and together we walked completely around the house as we stared up at the range of roof levels. It was a big house and the garage stood apart from the main building, but he’d never even considered anyone might strip his roof of its lead flashings. It wasn’t the sort of crime you’d notice by chance. But as we stared aloft I could see the tell-tale clean patches from where the lead had been removed — where some of the roof abutted walls and where other sections joined roof levels of differing heights. They had done a good job. Every square inch of lead had gone.
‘Oh my God . . .’ he said. ‘Constable, what are you going to do about this? I shall write to the chief constable. I should have been warned . . .’
‘You were warned,’ I reminded him gently. ‘And we have caught the thief in possession of your lead. That charming young man with the white van was an accomplice, Mr Osbourne — now, if you had listened to my advice and noted his registration number . . .’
‘I don’t know what Pru will say about this,’ was all he said. ‘I just do not know . . .’
‘I’d like to take particulars from you, please, for my crime report.’
‘You’d better come in then, Constable.’
He led me into the kitchen and I settled at the table with my file of blank forms, then Prunella Osbourne returned while I was taking the necessary written statement from her husband. I must admit I was surprised at the anger in her voice when she realized what Bertram had allowed to happen. But as I located the right forms I couldn’t resist saying, ‘I need a formal complaint from you, Mr Osbourne. That will authorize us to take action against the suspects.’
‘He’s very good at making complaints!’ snapped Pru.
‘But this time,’ I couldn’t resist adding, ‘he does not wish to complain about the quality of the workmanship, do you, Mr Osbourne?’
‘It looked very professional to me!’ he snapped.
‘You did say the tiling work to the garage was extremely well done and I can see that the stripping of the lead has been equally well accomplished,’ I smiled. ‘It was so good in fact that you never noticed its absence. But the culprits have been arrested — or should I say the suspected culprits have been arrested? However, I don’t think you can complain about police action in this instance, Mr Osbourne.’
‘I thought you people were considerate of the property of others,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve left some dirt on the floor. You should have wiped your boots before you came into the kitchen, PC Rhea, you’ve paddled soil in from the garden.’
‘Shall I write that into your statement?’ I asked him. ‘Or would you like to write to the chief constable to complain about it?’
Chapter 9
While I was dealing with the range of duties just described Sergeant Blaketon was preparing for his retirement. Police officers were obliged to give at least one month’s notice of their intention to retire on pension, but in Sergeant Blaketon’s case, he had reached the statutory age limit. Unless he was granted an extension of service, he (like all constables and sergeants) had to retire at the age of fifty-five — extensions were sometimes granted upon request, for one year at a time, provided the officer pas
sed a medical test to confirm his or her fitness to continue serving. I did hear that Sergeant Blaketon did not wish to submit himself to such a test because his heartbeat was giving him minor problems. His doctor had suggested he take his retirement at the first opportunity, albeit with some less strenuous activity to keep his body and mind occupied. It was that advice which had prompted him to buy Aidensfield Post Office, and it was the fact he was approaching the age limit that enabled us all to become aware of his impending departure some time before it actually happened.
I must admit that none of us really wanted him to leave. Bluff and unyielding though he was, Oscar Blaketon was a thoroughly honest man, as reliable and trustworthy as anyone could be, and he was a very good supervisory officer. He did have a soft spot, especially where children, the handicapped and old folks were concerned, but he could not tolerate fools, law-breakers and thoughtless behaviour. On more than one occasion during my service with him his rather stern exterior had revealed a true heart of gold.
He expected his subordinates to fulfil their duties with complete professionalism and woe betide any of us who let him down, and yet if a mistake was genuine and not done through carelessness or a lack of preparation, he could be sympathetic and helpful. All of us hoped his successor — as yet unnamed — would be equal to the standards Blaketon had established.
An example of this was shown when I discovered that Oscar Blaketon had decided to continue serving until the very last minute, i.e. the day of his fifty-fifth birthday. Some officers allowed their annual leave allocation to accumulate so that their last day on duty was two or three weeks before the official retirement date. But, over the months, Blaketon had used most of his leave entitlement for golfing holidays and walking trips to the Yorkshire Dales, as well as a week in the Austrian Tyrol, so his official last day of service would also be his last day on duty.
Happily, that was a Friday which meant it was a splendid time for us to arrange a farewell party in his honour. If it was properly organized it could be a nice, relaxed occasion, something he would remember with affection and, if the party was fixed for that Friday, it meant some of the guests could have a lie-in on the Saturday morning — unlike police officers who worked round-the-clock. It would also mean that Blaketon could start his first Saturday as a civilian in a leisurely way, and then set about finalizing his departure from the police house he currently occupied, the one which adjoined Ashfordly Police Station which would be needed for his successor. Blaketon could then move into the post office house at Aidensfield over the weekend to begin his new job on the Monday morning.
As I discussed his forthcoming retirement with my colleagues we began to outline our ideas for his farewell party and decided we should include the presentation of a farewell gift to which we would all subscribe. Because I had offered to organize the party it was decided to hold it in my local pub at Aidensfield, and part of the deal would be accommodation overnight for Sergeant Blaketon and his wife, so that they would not have the worry of driving home after having drunk alcohol. And, of course, because that event would also be his birthday party we hoped we could give him a rousing send-off, one he would remember. For his farewell gift we thought he might appreciate a two-wheeled golf caddie. Our research showed he did not own one but sometimes borrowed one from a friend or hired one from the club house. If his heartbeat was not as sound as it had been in his youth then it might make his games that much more pleasant and enjoyable. He could wheel his bag of clubs around the course instead of having to carry them. I felt we could raise sufficient money to buy one, provided his friends among the public made a contribution, as we knew they would.
And so we began to crystallize our plans, with me booking a private room in the hotel, arranging the food and ensuring there was dance music. There was an invitation list to compile and I needed someone to make the presentation along with a farewell speech — the divisional superintendent was the obvious choice. So far as the guest list was concerned, I felt we should include not only police officers and their families, but members of the public with whom he had worked over the years, including some Ashfordly townspeople — and, of course, Claude Jeremiah Greengrass.
As the arrangements neared completion I told Sergeant Blaketon that we had fixed his farewell ‘do’, confirmed the date which coincided with his final day of service, and asked him to ensure he turned up, along with his wife. He promised he would be there. I knew he would not miss it for the world! The final day of one’s police service is unavoidably emotional, particularly after serving for some thirty years. Such intense work among members of the public is sometimes more of a vocation than an ordinary job and these farewell parties did help soften the blow of departure. If nothing else, they provided the outgoing officer with an opportunity to reminisce with colleagues whose careers had mirrored his own. However, that final day heralds not only the end of a long and worthwhile career, but the beginning of a completely new style of life. Sometimes, that new life is an anti-climax because police work is unrivalled in terms of powerful human interest, variety and excitement. Few jobs can compete with it in terms of worthiness and all of us knew he would miss his work.
One of the saddest aspects of that final day is the surrender of one’s uniform, which has to be returned to the police stores along with accoutrements like one’s truncheon, whistle, various books and statutes, and, of course, one’s warrant card. It is the handing in of the warrant card which marks the final break — without it, one is no longer a police officer. In return, one receives a certificate of service and the return of one’s fingerprints on a white card — these are taken from every recruit upon joining the police service and returned upon leaving.
On that final Friday, however, Sergeant Blaketon was due to officiate at Eltering Magistrates Court where he would be clearing the last remnants of his work by prosecuting his final few cases — motoring offences mainly, such as careless driving, or driving without third party insurance. The magistrates would wish him well in his new career and thank him for his past and efficient service. In those days, the police prosecuted most of their own cases in magistrates courts, the local sergeant being the one who presented the facts to the bench.
And so it was, on that Friday afternoon, I took some papers into Ashfordly Police Station for signature by Blaketon before he departed to Police Headquarters to hand in his uniform. His court duties had concluded before lunch and he had been treated to a farewell meal by the magistrates, but he did return to work! Business-like to the end he’d told all his rural officers to ensure they submitted any outstanding work because he wanted to clear his in-tray before he departed to Police Headquarters on what would be his final act as a police officer. He did not wish to leave any outstanding business for his successor, who by now had been confirmed as Sergeant Raymond Craddock of Brantsford, and so I went along with a couple of completed accident reports, a report for summons, two reports of minor crimes and a request for an officer of Leeds City Police to interview an accident witness for me. All routine stuff.
While I was finalizing some paperwork, Blaketon, now dressed in civilian clothes, was loading his private car with items of his uniform. As Mrs Blaketon was packing household goods for their move to Aidensfield, I offered to help him.
It was amazing how much one accumulated during one’s service — we loaded two summer uniforms each with two tunics, two winter uniforms also with two tunics, four spare sets of trousers, one greatcoat, one waterproof overcoat and leggings, one British warm, two capes, countless pairs of white cotton gloves, countless pairs of black woollen gloves, umpteen blue shirts, some still in their wrappers, black ties in their wrappers, two peaked caps, a night duty helmet which none of us wore, a truncheon, a whistle, booklets of all kinds, including a copy of Standing Orders, Police Regulations, Disease of Animals statutes, North Riding byelaws, a Civil Defence manual and a list of police stations throughout the county. There was enough to fill the rear seat, the boot and the passenger seat.
‘Not quit
e all my worldly goods, Rhea,’ — he spoke softly, and I could detect a note of emotion in his voice — ‘but it does clear a lot of space in my wardrobes.’
‘You’re not hanging on to your old uniforms for gardening then, or working about the house?’
We were allowed to buy some used items of clothing, but all unused items had to be returned, such as shirts and ties.
‘No, I could have bought some of my better shirts and trousers, but I think it’s best if I make a clean break, don’t you? I think it’s best to get rid of the lot!’
‘I think so,’ I nodded. While helping with this task I did feel rather sorry for him — I was the only person with him during those final moments of his service, although there would be a large gathering at his party. Somehow, though, I felt those last moments at his own station were rather sorrowful.
When everything was loaded into his Hillman Minx he took a deep breath, climbed into the driving seat and closed the door. The window had been lowered.
‘See you tonight,’ I said, because I could not think of anything else.
‘Yes,’ was his brief reply. ‘Eight o’clock-ish?’
‘Fine,’ I nodded.
‘I’ll be there. Now, where’s Ventress?’ he asked as he started the engine. ‘He’s taken the section car, I see, so I’ll use my own for this last job. After all, when I hand in my warrant card, I’ll not be a policeman anyway. I don’t want to be driving a police car when I’m a brand-new civilian — you never know what I might have to deal with. But soon I’ll have no power to involve myself with any police matter. It’s a bit like a one-way ticket — copper one way, civilian the other.’
‘I asked Alf to check the food for tonight,’ I told him in answer to his question. ‘He asked me to hold the fort here until he got back, he’s due soon. I thought he’d have been back before now. Something must have delayed him.’
In fact, Alf had gone to collect the golf caddie for tonight’s presentation and needed the car to transport it back to his home address where he’d keep it until this evening, secure from Blaketon’s sight.
CONSTABLE AROUND THE HOUSES a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors Page 20
