Death of a Gypsy woman

Taking written statements from people involved in or witnesses to a road traffic accident was the norm when I was a Traffic Officer. The only time when one was not taken, generally speaking, was when the person refused to make one. This would normally be taken as an admission of some degree of guilt.

About fifty years ago I attended the scene of an accident on a main road in a busy northern town. It was late afternoon in the middle of November and the weather was horrible. Cold, drizzle, dark and not at all nice. I was the second traffic car to attend the accident and had a colleague, Pete, with me. The driver of the other Police car, John, asked me if I could take over dealing with the accident as he was going on leave at the end of his shift and the accident had all the hallmarks of becoming a fatal. An old woman had been knocked off a pedestrian crossing and into the road.

She had been crossing from left to right as I approached the scene and carrying two heavy shopping bags. She was on her way home which was about four hundred yards away, on a small estate of terraced houses.

The car which had hit her was parked on the left hand side of the road about fifty yards away. It was a one year old Nissan Micra, a small two door saloon car. The driver was a young man of 18 years, a mechanic who had been servicing the car that day and was simply doing a road test on it prior to the owner collecting it from the garage where the young man worked. He had left long skid marks on the road, indicating that he was travelling at some considerable speed.

The old woman had been taken to hospital and was undergoing major treatment. At that stage it was felt hat she would not survive and so from the outset I decided that we needed to deal with the accident as though she had already died. What I heard from one of the witnesses at the scene convinced me that the driver would be facing trial at the Crown Court as he appeared to be guilty of dangerous driving, and if the woman did die, then the charge would be Causing Death by Dangerous Driving. Trial by jury.

After taking details of a couple of witnesses to be interviewed later I arranged for the car to be taken to the Police garage where I would go over it with a fine tooth comb later. As we booked back on watch prior to leaving the scene we had a radio message to return to the station where a witness was waiting to speak to us.

When we got there we discovered two deadlegs waiting in the front Enquiry office to see us. I’m not certain who was the more surprised, them or us. It was not often these two minor criminals would voluntarily enter a Police station. Most unusual. Normally shouting and fighting was their usual way. Their story was even more unusual. They had witnessed the accident, had in fact been standing by the side of the road close to the pedestrian crossing and seen everything. They were so appalled by what they saw and the speed of the car as it approached the crossing that they felt compelled to come to the nick and make a written statement. So we took statements from them both, and from what they said it confirmed what I had already thought. The driver was driving far too fast prior to hitting the old woman.

After the statements Pete and I went to the hospital to get an update on the woman's condition. It wasn’t good. Severe head, leg and back injuries. She was in her mid seventies and not likely to last much longer. Her son was in the waiting room. We went to speak to him. He was about mid thirties and a well built man, sporting an ear ring. These days that would not cause any comment. In those days it was very unusual and marked him as a gypsy.

We talked to him and as gently as we could broke the sad news to him. He was a gypsy and lived locally with his mother, his wife and teenage son. Needless to say he was very distraught. As best we were able we tried to give him what solace we could, but it wasn’t easy.

About an hour later the woman died of her injuries. Pete and I went to the address of the driver. His mother came to the door and ushered us inside to confront him. He was sitting on a sofa with his father standing by his side. Before we could say anything the father started to tell us that it wasn’t his sons fault, the old woman ran across the road, and his son would not be making a statement.

After listening to him I turned to the son and asked him how old he was. He told me he was eighteen.

I stood by his side looking down on him and slowly took out my official notebook. I made a note of the time and the address where we were. I then cautioned him and told him he was going to be reported for causing death by dangerous driving. He said nothing, but his father had already given us a good idea what his defence was going to be. The father asked us if we were going to take a statement from his son. “Don’t need one” I said, “I know what happened. Don’t need your son to tell me a pack of lies. He’s going to court. Get him a good solicitor.”

The old woman ran across the road. Yeah sure. Mid seventies, loaded with two heavy shopping bags, and sprinting like Linford Christie. I took his driving licence details and without another word Pete and I left. This guy was not going to get away with this.

Over the following two weeks I interviewed the remaining witnesses and put together a prosecution file for the court.

Four days later the main ringroad around the town was blocked with cars, vans and lorries owned and driven by gypsies from around the north of England. There were over one hundred vehicles. I was on duty that morning and stopped the traffic at one of the junctions to allow the whole procession to pass through. It was very moving.

Several months later I was warned to attend Manchester Crown Court for the hearing. Our Barrister spoke to me before the case started and said he could not understand why the guy was pleading not guilty. The evidence was overwhelming.

We filed into court and the youth was called to the dock. The charge was read to him and he was asked how he pleaded. “Guilty” he replied.

And that was it. Sentenced by the judge and given a bollocking for not having notified the court of his change of plea before all the witnesses had been called. His Barrister got a bollocking as well.

A year later the woman’s son telephoned to speak to me. I went to see him at his home.

He was sat with his teenage son – he was about 13. The lad had been up to some sort of mischief and the gypsy’s son wanted me to put the fear of god into him. So I did.

After, we were talking when the son had been sent to him bedroom. He explained that because of the way I had dealt with him, his mother and his family, he respected me and so felt happy to have me talk to his son.

This gave me a warm glow after what had been an horrific time for him.

It's a Fair Cop

 

Many many years ago, when I was a Traffic officer I learned fairly quickly to judge if I was going to book a motorist for an offence or not. For example. If someone was speeding and was only a little over the limit and there attitude when I stopped them was civilised, then they would get away with a caution and not be taken to court. However, if that same offender was stroppy, argumentative or rude, then they would get themselves a summons and their feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

Now. I’m six feet two inches tall, and have been for many years. Actually, I’ve shrunk a bit as the years have caught up with me so I’m a little under that now. I digress, sorry.

Stick me on a motorcycle wearing a big white crash helmet and a white reflective coat and for people with fairish eyesight it should be fairly obvious that I am in your vicinity if you are keeping your wits about you.

So. One Saturday morning I am sat on my Triumph Saint by the side of the A627 Rochdale Road, Oldham watching the world go by and listening to my stomach rumble as I waited for lunch time to arrive. Coming towards me I could see an MGB sports car. British Racing Green and it’s got its hood down. Bit brave of the driver as it was winter time and a bit nippy around the nether regions. I could tell that it was pushing the speed limit a bit even though it was some distance away to my left as the driver pushed on towards Rochdale. I kicked the bike into life and waited for him to slow down. He didn’t, just kept his right foot down on the accelerator. This was a 40 mph area which changed to a 30 mph area about half a mile down the road. He came past me looking somewhat like Mr Toad from Wind in the Willows, hood down, cloth cap, scarf around his neck. I could just imagine him humming to himself, blissfully unaware of me, the road, and life in general. I pulled out to follow and see what speed he was doing.

I sat on his tail, about 50 yards behind him, and checked my speedo. We were doing 55 mph. Naughty. But we weren’t far off the 30 mph area so I left him to it to see how it would be reflected in his speed. It dropped to 45 mph as we came into the new speed limit area and he kept to it, nice and steady. This was a bit too much, and no matter what his attitude was, he was going in the book.

After about three quarters of a mile I pulled him in and pulled my bike up on its stand in front of the car. I indicated to him to turn off his engine. He did. Now, the reason I mentioned my height earlier on in this story is now becoming apparent I hope. The driver didn’t get out of his car, he just looked up at me. His neck must have been killing him. An MGB is not big and he was almost sitting on the floor as I loomed over him. I didn’t want to hear any excuses from him so started right into my spiel straight away.

“Good morning Sir. I’ve followed you along this road for over three quarters of a mile. In the 40 mph area your speed was 55 mph and then in the 30 area you dropped it to 45 mph. You are not obliged to say anything but whatever you do say will be taken down and given in evidence. You are going to be reported for the question of a prosecution to be considered for exceeding the speed limit. Do you wish to say anything?” He paused for a moment then grinning looked up at me and said,

“It’s a fair cop.”

I blinked and was stuck for words for a moment or two.

“You can’t say that.” I said. He carried on grinning.

“It’s a fair cop” he repeated.

“Oh come on, you can’t say that.” He said nothing more, just grinned. He realised that if this went to court I would have to say those words when telling the court what happened. I would look a complete fool.

The bastard.

Anyway, I took his driving licence and insurance details and left him to carry on with his journey.

Later that day in the nick I wrote up the speeding report and plonked it in the Sergeant’s in tray. Then sat back and waited. It wasn’t long coming. I heard the Sergeant laughing his head off and then his head appeared around the traffic office door.

“He didn’t say that?” the Sergeant asked.

“He bloody did. The sod.”

“Let’s hope he pleads guilty in court then.” I nodded my head.

Some months later I was warned to attend court. The driver had pleaded Not Guilt and was being represented by a solicitor. Together with the Sergeant and Inspector we went over ever detail of the offence report. We could find nothing wrong with it.

Came the day of the court hearing and luckily we were in one of the minor ‘motoring’ courts. Not many people there to watch and listen and only one member of the press, a very young reporter.

Sure enough the guy pleaded Not Guilty when the charge was put to him and I was called to give evidence. I went through the whole thing and came almost to the end. It went something like this. I kept my voice down as it was a fairly small court room. No need to shout.

“I told him he was being reported and he replied, “It’s a fair cop.””

Magistrate looked up. “Sorry officer. I didn’t hear you. Could you repeat it please?”

“He said, “It’s a fair cop” your worship.”

Instant laughter all around the court. I look across at the defendant who was sat by the side of solicitor. The pair of them were grinning widely from ear to ear. The three magistrates were choking trying not to laugh.

His solicitor rose to his feet.

“May it please your worships. In view of the evidence the officer has given my client now wishes to change his plea to guilty.”

Fined. Licence endorsed.

I met the pair of them outside the court room. They were waiting for me. The driver held out his hand as I walked towards him.

“I’m sorry officer. I couldn’t resist it. As soon as I saw the look of disbelief on your face when you booked me, I knew I had to take it all the way. My apologies.”

I still don’t know if his speeding that day was deliberate or not. Either way, he had enough money to throw away on a solicitor and a day in court.

55% of Men

The Coronavirus pandemic has a lot to answer for, boredom being one of them. I was glued to the television last night and watched a re-run of a programme first shown ten years ago. I missed it then. It’s a panel game between two teams of three people. I was called 8 out of 10 Cats. The teams have to answer strange or plain silly questions. Very entertaining.

The question master asked for comments on the following statement. “A recent survey in the USA says that 55% of men have done something stupid to try and attract a woman.”

One of the panellists said that as a schoolboy in a biology lesson he laid a bet with the other members of his class that he would eat a pigs eyeball. He won the bet.

My own effort at stupidity occurred about the same age as the panellist, about 14 years old. I was on a school hiking holiday in North Wales. The mixed group of us were away for about five days staying in Youth Hostels and doing some of the mountains in the area. From memory I think it rained all the time, though that is normal in Wales at most times of the year. A very wet place, almost as bad as Lancashire. They do say that you can tell if someone was born in Lancashire. They have webbed feet.

Anyway. We stayed one night at Llanberis Youth Hostel which is at the foot of Wales’s highest mountain, Mount Snowden. The following day we started off up the mountain and soon enough the mist came down. We carried on walking along a very rocky muddy path until eventually we were walking in cloud. Not very pleasant.

One of the girls in the group who was also from my class at school was called Stephanie Sykes. She was tall, slim and had shoulder length black hair and a tanned complexion. And she was beautiful. I had been smitten by her some weeks before and drooled over her in class, as you do at that age.

Part way up the mountain I came up behind her and could see she was really struggling with the rucksack she had on her back. I think we all were, particularly those who had not done any hiking before. I had done a lot, being a Boy Scout at the time, but she hadn’t. I seized my chance and offered to carry her rucksack as well as my own. She smiled, I was hit. I took her sack from her shoulders and placed it on top of my own and started to walk on up the mountain. As I started to walk she said she was going to wait for a few moments to “catch her breath”. I carried on and the cloud became thicker and thicker. In fact it was not until we were almost at the summit that the cloud cleared and we could see in the valley below us a small aircraft flying along the valley, so we threw stones at it. We missed, fortunately.

About a hundred yards from the summit the sun was shining and a crowd of walkers were heading toward the cafe at the summit. I stopped and turned around to see where the rest of the group were. First in line was Stephanie, hand in hand with one of my classmates. They stopped and grinned up at me. I reached around to the pack on top of my rucksack and lifted it off. In one smooth movement I threw it down the hill at the bitch. “You can manage it the rest of the way yourself” I shouted, and carried on to the top. The teacher in charge of us and some of my class mates saw what happened. Nobody said a word, and Stephanie never spoke to me then or ever again.

Living in a Timewarp

It’s the first day of April today, 2020. Since the 14^th March my wife and I have been living in self isolation due to our age and health conditions. We have to live like this for the next three months. Like most people we are not finding it too easy.

We do have some advantages over a lot of other people in the UK. We have a small back garden and an even smaller front one, so that if we need fresh air we don’t have to only stick our heads out of the window. We can wander around the garden and mutter to ourselves, something I’ve taken to over the past week. It’s never a very interesting conversation though.

In addition we have two dogs. One is a 16 month old Irish Wolfhound cross with a Labradoodle. He is BIG. The other recently acquired dog is a first cross with a Standard Poodle and a Golden Retriever. He is as black as the ace of spades and a ‘wick’ little monkey as they say in this part of England. I have provisionally nicknamed him Son of Satan. He is a quick, inquisitive little sod.

Ted and Reggie

For the past week or so we have had no rain, always something to brag about in this part of Lancashire. The result is that both dogs can spend a lot of time in the garden, which they do, running around like loons and generally creating havoc where they can. We have had to buy new fencing to keep the pair of them out of the spring flowers we planted (now long gone thanks to S of S). My wife was hoping to grow some vegetables at the bottom of the garden, that has been put on hold for a few days until the last lot of fencing arrived. Soon I hope.

The local Police have been going a bit over the top in the social isolation stakes. We are not supposed to go out in the car other than to shop or work (if you are still working) and only exercise once a day from your home.

For the past eight years I have been walking the dog (whichever one we have had) by taking them to the local country park one mile from our home. I take them in the car and then walk them around a small lake. The walk takes me between 20 and 40 minutes depending on how good my breathing is. I suffer from COPD. On a good day I am away from home for 26 minutes. Three minutes drive each way.

Yesterday there were two other cars in the car park. ON a normal day there are up to 60-70 cars. A good indication of how people are taking heed to the new rules of life.

As I got back to the car a police car rolled up. Drivers window came down and a rather large part time officer poked her head out. She didn’t bother to get out. We had a short conversation which ended with her threatening me with a fine of £60.00 if I didn’t move. I moved. She did suggest I walked the mile from my home to the car park. I told her about COPD and the fact that a walk around the lake was all I could manage.

It turns out that Lancashire police have issued 132 fines in the past few days since the rules were introduced. The neighbouring force of Cheshire has issued 6. The Metropolitan police covering the whole of Greater London have issued 0.

Over zealous perhaps. Whatever, They are losing a lot of support in this area.

Long John Silver

Triumph Saint Motorcycle

 

Back in the 1970s when I was a freshly minted Traffic Patrol officer, I had the pleasure of eventually riding a Triumph Saint motorcycle after being broken in on a Triumph Thunderbird. A great machine with only one or two foibles, but still good fun.

One day at the end of my daytime shift I returned home to my wife and newly minted sprog. Nothing much had happened that day and my brain had had little to occupy it, so as I took off my uniform and changed into ‘civvies’ I told her a tale. Went something like this.

“Guess what happened today love?”

“Go on, tell.”

“I was riding along Manchester Road in Rochdale when I came up behind a rather nice Rolls Royce. I followed it for a time and then went to overtake it and glanced into the drivers seat. Guess who was driving it”

“No idea.”

“Richard Attenborough the film director.”

“No!”

“Yes. So I had to pull him over and have a chat.”

“We talked about Police stuff for a bit and the films he had been in and was making and then out of the blue he suddenly said, ‘If you want, I can put you in the next film I am going to make. I think you’ll be pretty good.’”

“Well,” I said to my wife. “I don’t know about that. I’ve got a good job here and don’t want to throw it over for a film that lasts a few months.”

“That’s not a problem,” he says, “I can guarantee you four more films after this one.
So if you do alright in those then you will have a lot of exposure in the industry and can make your own way in the future.”

“So I thought about it for a minute or two and finally said to him, What’s the film?”

“It’s a remake of Treasure Island. I think you would do very well in the lead part of Long John Silver.”

“So I jokingly said, But I don’t have a parrot of my own!”

“ He laughed and said, Don’t worry, we’ll fix you up with a good one. There is only one thing though which might cause a problem.”

“What’s that I asked”

“You have to have your left leg removed.”

My wife thought about it for two or three seconds before hitting me.

Day Two With Ted

So. Rita went back to the breeder we bought her from. She was not a happy dog with us, she was nervous as hell, barked at anyone who came to the front door or entered the house and would not settle at all. Did not like going in the car and ran off when I took her for a walk with Reggie. It took 45 minutes and a high speed Reg to find her in the woods above the lake. Not happy.

Fortunately the breeder was happy to take her back (she was almost two years old and had never really been intended to be sold in the first place.) In her place we took one of the puppies the breeder had. There were eight puppies which were the result of a mating between a Golden Retriever and a Standard Poodle. He is jet black and a real bundle of energy.

Reggie is made up. A happy dog once more and despite the fact that he is still officially a puppy, Reggie has taken the little one under his wing. The pair are inseparable – despite the fact that occasionally Reggie wants to have a sleep. Not to be if the little one – who we have named Ted – wants to play.

When we brought him home yesterday the two of them got on very well together. Not too surprising as Ted had come from a litter of eight pups. Reggie was happy from the word go.

The first night we put them together on the landing at the top of the stairs and put a child proof wooden gate in place to stop the little on from falling down stairs. 6.45am the following morning they woke me with Teds’ whinging. No mess on the landing or in the bathroom where they both had access to and apart from a little disruption of their beds nothing untoward. Great!

Last night we did the same thing. Put down their beds, laid out puppy paper for Ted to poo on and put the gate in place.

Awakened by Ted whinging this morning at 7.15am – an improvement. Puppy paper was ripped up, beds all over the place and the child proof gate pulled down. Both of the little so and sos were romping up and down stairs full of the joys of spring and happy to see me. I went in the kitchen to find five small piles of poop and one a puddle of pee. Should I be angry or happy that the little sod had found the kitchen? Obviously at the moment he has decided that is the toilet. So far this morning he has done a pile on two occasions, or attempted to do two. Caught in the act and shown the back door. Some success.

I put the gate in place at the foot of the stairs just now to come out of the way and type this up. Ted and Reggie have just appeared. Seems like he has more brains than a kid.

It is great to see Reggie happy again. He has taken the little one under his wing, plays with him and runs around the garden with him. Incredible to see lthe development of Ted in such a short time, and also to see how Reggie allows the little one to bite his legs, dry hump him and run around like a loon. I feel that his is a partnership which will only grow in the future. Into a really good firm friendship.

Time will tell.

Dogs Behaviour

Dogs Behaviour

Yes, this is me.Reggie.

I heard on a television programme recently that people who like dogs see in them more human attributes than people who do not have a liking for the animals. I’m not too sure how true this is. There could be some truth in it as both my wife and I have loved dogs for upwards of fifty years now and constantly see human traits in the dogs we have owned.

A couple of weeks ago we lost one of our dogs, Cassidy. He was a Labradoodle and was not well when we got him. Sadly he lasted only six months with us, and when he died our other dog, Reggie, an Irish Wolfhound cross with a Labradoodle, showed very distinct signs of distress and depression. The depression lasted until last week when we took him with us on a short holiday to Southerness on the Galloway coast of Scotland. 

A bit wet on the beach at Southerness

 There he was able to run wild and free on a beach close to the cottage we had hired for the week. He loved it! And thrived. The only sign of any sadness came when we arrived home. Although he was obviously glad to be back home he was subdued in comparison to the way he had rushed around the beach and cottage garden in mad enthusiasm for the short time we were away.

Can't stay dry forever can you?

Yesterday we picked up another Labradoodle. This time it is a two year old bitch called Rita. Don’t laugh, we didn’t give her the name, and it’s too late now to try and change it.

Rita looks a lot like Cassidy in many way (apart from the obvious missing bits). The major difference is that she is very very timid and unsure of herself. Perhaps it is too early yet to say that, because she is now in a new home with a new dog for company, rather than the fairly mad house she lived in before where there were at least nine dogs, several horses (not in the house) a multitude of birds and god knows what else.  It could well be that being in the company of so many dogs she had to take second place and was very unsure of herself.  Although well behaved in the car on the way home, she was very very nervous in the house and spent all last night wandering around trying to eat stuff where she could smell food on work surfaces, and generally exhibiting scared behaviour. After a time she would come to my wife and I if we were sitting down, but when we stood up she was frightened and woud not come near.

But Reggie, the massive Wolfhound, took it all very much in his stride. He did not act in any manner of aggression or over exuberance, he simply sniffed and was sniffed, and allowed her to sleep on the larger of the two beds we have set down for them. She was accustomed to sleeping with other dogs in close proximity and for her this was normal. Reggie likes his privacy, but didn’t object, he simply went and slept on the other bed.

Reggie and Rita

She is still timid and will be for some time yet, it’s only 24 hours since she met us. This morning I took Reggie out for a walk, as I have always done, and she whined to come with us, but for this time I felt it too early for her. Maybe tomorrow.

The thing which has astonished both my wife and I is the way in whih he has taken her under his wing, looked after her, shown her around the house and garden and generally been a very gentle kind individual. Not at all what one would assume on first looking at him and his size. I think we have a good one in Reggie, and maybe in time with his teaching she will be just as happy and gregarious as he is.