(J) Oswald John Thorne - Highs And Lows.

The Arrest Of Harry Roberts.

Unbeknown to me I was entering another low period of my life. Maria felt a lump in her breast so we quickly attended our Doctor, who said it was a cyst. My continuous worries about Maria were only side tracked by some serious events at work, such as the shooting incident at Shepherds Bush in the Metropolitan Police area that made headlines throughout the country. On August 12th 1966 three men, Duddy, Witney and Harry Roberts were stopped in Shepherds Bush, London, by three plain clothed detectives to question them about their activities. Shooting followed, resulting in all three officers being murdered. All three perpetrators escaped, all went on the run, but the first two named were arrested fairly quickly. Some while later while on duty at North Watford a message was received, instructing me to report at Bishops Stortford the following morning. Transport was to pick up firearms officers en route. Returning home, Maria had to be told I was leaving early the following morning but, as usual, I did not tell her what my early start was for. She was used to me going on such tasks and knew they could be a bit dangerous. The questioning by her usually started on my return when the danger had passed. Knowing what I had been during the War and over the years enlightened her somewhat, so she could take a reasonable view of such matters.

Not until our arrival at Bishops Stortford did we have any idea what we were in for. Gossip indicated that Harry Roberts had been seen in the area. All of us with firearms, assembled in the large hall which most Stations have for such purposes. Many of the group were old timers who had served many years in the Armed Forces. About eight of us were issued with our rifles, the remainder revolvers. All these officers were proficient in the use of such weapons, myself in both types. Ammunition was a bit sparse, we were all given five rounds, somehow I found myself with an extra five rounds of .303 suitable for my rifle. All weapons and ammunition were handed to us on signature, the control of them being strict. Such a large number of weapons had never been issued in Hertfordshire Police District before.

Information provided to each Officer on Harry Roberts.

Information about Roberts previous experience in field craft while serving in Malaya came to light, bivouacs and other hide outs found in the area of Sawbridgeworth old RAF aerodrome and surrounding areas provided enough evidence to warrant a full scale search. Hundreds of Metropolitan Police Officers had been conveyed to a start point to assist in the search in combing a large area of woods, fields and farm buildings. A line of searching officers with long sticks were interspersed at intervals with other officers armed with rifles and revolvers. Sergeants were in control of groups and responsible for searching. I was one of those Sergeants handling one of the groups. Places such as war time pillboxes, farm buildings and old fighter plane blister hangars were given extra attention. Our orders with regard to our weapons was that they were to remain unloaded until such times as our lives were likely to be in danger. The first occasion I found that necessary was when an ex-wartime pillbox came within my line of search, these concrete structures had open sight slits around the sides, but with only one entrance. Bright sun outside caused the interior to be very dark, making it a walk into the unknown. My Army training in the PBI (Poor Bloody Infantry) assisted me in making up my mind as to how I should enter. Before putting a foot inside I loaded my rifle with the precious five rounds, then hesitantly cocked the weapon inserting a round of ammunition in the breech. Rather cautiously I forced my feet forward, heart pounding much faster than usual, it took me some time, some seconds for my eyes to focus in the near darkness. When able to see a little better I rushed round the narrow interior until I reached the entry/exit where the sunlight again glared in. Relief on seeing my fellow officers allowed my heart to return almost to its normal rate.

Captured!

Our next obstacle was an old blister hangar where during the war fighter aircraft sheltered. At the time of the search a farmer was using this old hangar for storing a number of straw bales. Climbing over these I saw a built up shelter high above ground level, they were in layers forming a shelf on which I saw at least three loaded revolvers in a row ready for use. Before having a chance to search properly my attention was drawn to the end of the blister hangar causing me to rush to that part, on looking alongside it I saw, who later proved to be, the wanted fugitive, Roberts. He was near to Sergeant Peter Smith. His appearance was typical of a person who had been living rough and on the run for ninety six days. With the two of us as armed Police Officers each side of him we walked almost silently towards other searchers. As we crossed the field he, Roberts, appeared almost thankful to have been captured. However, during a brief conversation I clearly remember him saying, “I’d have had a go at those peashooters but not at that artillery,” pointing to my rifle. Continuing to walk across the field we saw, and waved to, a Landrover, driven by a farmer, William Morris who, on seeing us, drove towards us and offered his assistance. We all three climbed aboard requesting Morris to convey us to Bishops Stortford Police Station. Travelling slowly over the rough ground and farm tracks we passed numerous Police searchers with their long sticks. As soon as some of them realised that Roberts was in the vehicle with us they rushed forward pushing their sticks inside striking out at our prisoner. Sergeant Smith and I were nearest to the back of the vehicle so we got most of the punishment! During our journey to the Police Station I kept thinking, how could a person kill three people just to escape arrest. But at the same time if he had tried to get away it was my duty to, and I would without hesitation have shot him just as he had done to my three Police colleagues.

PS Peter Smith and PS Oswald Thorne After Roberts Arrest

Unexpected Consequences.

Hordes of pressmen surrounded the Police Station awaiting for a statement re Roberts’ arrest. Later in the afternoon we two Sergeants were the centre of a photographic session, including television cameras. Both of us were glad to get away from the centre of attraction. Unbeknown to me the news had already been shown on television, my children had heard of the arrest at school, so were together watching it with Maria before my return. My children ribbed me for eating while being interviewed, however as I explained to them we hadn’t eaten all day. The following morning we were front page news in all the daily newspapers together with our photographs, the whole nation must have known what we looked like. Within a matter of days I had aged a number of years it you can believe all you hear and see in the media! I had a hectic few days following the incident, interviews with the Chief Constable and reporters of local newspapers. Letters were received from various ex-colleagues who had transferred to other forces. Even a letter from the Rector of Hunsdon Parish Church passing on good wishes from the Parishioners and another one from my old army friend and best man at my wedding, Steve, whom I had lost contact with and who was now running a guest house in Blackpool. Also, at that time my health was drunk in most public houses in Bierton where I spent my early school days.

Tony, Irene, Noreen, Maria and Oswald Thorne photographed at home following Roberts arrest.

The Worst Kind Of News.

All the excitement came to a sudden halt, Maria attended her Doctor who very quickly referred her to the Royal Marsden Hospital in London, one of, if not the leading Cancer Hospital in the country at that time. After numerous examinations and tests a biopsy was completed resulting in both of us being told that the growth was in fact, malignant. Maria was kept in for an immediate operation to remove her left breast the following morning. Leaving her behind at the hospital equalled a similar traumatic time when leaving her behind at the Peace Memorial Hospital, Watford, after her serious accident at Garston some years before.

My journey back to Hemel Hempstead alone was dreadful, there was nothing I could do to help her but put my trust in the Doctors and pray. How useless I felt, she had helped me so much during the war, even when she did not know me, but there was no way that I could do anything. For every mile nearer to Hemel Hempstead I travelled my stomach got tighter and tighter. Somehow it was my task to tell the children of her condition, they asked so many questions that it was impossible to answer, I can’t remember if I slept at all that night but life had to go on. Thank goodness the children were old enough to get their own meals, stay at school for lunch and generally look after themselves. My Inspector arranged for me to work 9 to 5 p.m. at the Station doing correspondence. This allowed me time at home in the mornings and to leave work at 5 p.m. to travel to London. Seeing Maria for the first time after the operation was very difficult. She was very concerned that she no longer looked like a woman. I had a very hard job to convince her that it made no difference to me, and when an artificial breast was fitted other people would not take any notice. After three weeks a routine of sorts was got into. On the last Friday she was well enough to take home for the weekend but had to return to the hospital on Sunday evenings for radiation treatment the following morning. This treatment continued for five weeks before I fetched her home where she quickly tried to get into the way of running the house, although she was always tired due to the radiotherapy.

On returning to the Marsden Hospital a month later for further examination it was confirmed that the malignant growth had not stopped, it had spread to glands in her neck, so she was kept in again and surgeons removed other parts of her body. The old routine started with nightly drives to and from London until she was released to a Nursing home in Essex. The journey there took too long for a daily visit so we had to be satisfied with seeing each other at weekends and with nightly telephone calls. After this long period of upheaval my stomach was getting even tighter as I tried to stop myself crying, this period of tension made me feel unwell but somehow we kept going. Six months later Maria had another operation again keeping her hospitalised for another three weeks. This was followed by convalescence at a Civil Servant’s Home in the Isle of Wight, she being A Civil Servant by reason of her employment with the Air Ministry. The distance away made it impossible for me to see her more than once a fortnight, so once again we had to make do with letters and the telephone.

After this Maria had two or three periods fairly settled but by now it was difficult for her to walk easily, this resulted in her having to walk with a crutch on one side, the cancer having spread to her bones, including her hip on the left side. This made it very difficult for her to climb the stairs so it became necessary to have the bed downstairs in the living room. With her crutch she managed to walk to the kitchen to prepare some food when I and the children were not available. I am afraid she was left alone more than I would have liked but we had neighbours who called once a day. At times it was possible to divert some of my journeys and assist her. During the next two years numerous hospital visits had to be made for examinations plus radiotherapy which usually took five days in a week so more journeys to and from Marsden Hospital. During the latter part of 1969 poor Maria underwent another operation, this time for a hysterectomy. To be honest the end result was now inevitable. How much more could she take?

A Final Holiday.

Somehow, we managed to get through the first half of 1970, it was then that Maria said she would like to go abroad for a holiday. I personally thought she could not survive the journey but her determination got her through. During the weeks prior to the trip she did the booking with the travel agents who really laid things on for us, such as wheelchairs, food and other facilities. Somehow, I got her on the plane with the wheelchair provided by the airline which she used in Yugoslavia for the whole of the fortnight. By this time she was unable to walk far, just a few steps with the aid of her two crutches. She was also getting very weak so it was necessary to help her wash and dress. We both enjoyed ourselves although her pain had become very hard to control, however she never gave up. This determination caused us to make a trip to an open air theatre, Maria had read about it on the notice board. It was three miles away across very hilly country so I expected it to be a hard journey with the wheelchair. On our arrival there it was very pleasant sitting under a starlit sky in shirt sleeves. One thing we overlooked, the show did not end until it was dark so the long return journey was rather hazardous, having to push Maria along the road when vehicles were passing!

The success of that trip out gave Maria more determination than ever, the weather was glorious sunshine so when she saw numerous people using the swimming pool she decided she wanted to have a go. Putting her swimsuit on alone was a major operation, but worse was to come, many steps had to be negotiated before we gained the same level as the pool edge. She was sure if I pushed her alongside one of the numerous steps and rails giving access to the pool, entry would be possible. This she did, pulling herself out of the chair by holding the rails, she let herself go entering the water with a huge splash, not only did she enter but disappeared below the surface. I jumped in to assist her but she soon reappeared and told me she was enjoying her dip and didn’t want my assistance. Remaining in the water longer than I wanted her to, she coped very well, but I was very conscious of her un-shapely costume. Now was the hard part, getting her out. In my pigeon English a request was made to some very strong Germans for assistance, they were only too willing so all of us lifted her out of the pool bodily. After placing her in the wheelchair we slowly made our way back to our apartment. Having gone to the theatre the night before and then the swim I wondered what to expect next, but it became obvious that she wanted to rest and that’s what we did for the remainder of our holiday.

Within weeks of her returning home we were on our way back to the Marsden Hospital at Maria’s request, from where she never returned.

Life alone was very hard although I had had four years to prepare myself for it. My family had been neglected for a long time and they were growing up fast. The twins had been young ladies when Maria’s illness was first diagnosed. Earlier they had both indicated that they would like to teach, but Irene was to change her mind and trained, with Kodak, to be a secretary. Whereas Noreen was in her first term of teacher training in London. Tony was fifteen years of age and at school. He had friends living nearby, at weekends he had a garage job and it was there he got a liking for motor engineering.

Some ten or twelve weeks after Maria’s death my stomach was beginning to settle down a little when I heard the Police Housing Department had a scheme to move me, together with the adjoining three Sergeants, so as to hand our houses over to the Education Authority, the Police Authority having a number of houses surplus to requirements. We had not been told where we were to move to. When I told Irene and Tony, who were still living at home they bluntly refused to move. This trauma just about finished me. After discussing the suggested move with the Sergeant in the Housing Department I just walked out and went home. At my wits end a long walk was the only thing likely to help, with no direction in mind my legs continued to take me to the Town Centre in Hemel Hempstead. I stopped outside a cinema and on impulse I went inside and fell asleep. On waking the cinema clock indicated that I had been inside for two hours or more. Remembering that Tony would soon be out of school I had to return home. Rounding the corner to Coles Hill I saw Ruth’s Daf, on the driveway. Finding her round the back of the house she asked what was wrong with me, it appears that she had telephoned the North Watford Traffic Base to enquire as to how I was and was told, “He’s off sick.” (a cover up for me.) Thinking that I might possible be bed bound she drove over from Bishop’s Stortford because she could not get any reply by telephone. Satisfying herself that my illness was state of mind not body she left for the longish journey back to Bishops Stortford, where she then resided with her parents and young son, John. Having completed about five years as Superintendent in charge of a Midwifery School she transferred to Essex to be near her parents, who helped to look after her young son.

Changing Roles – Traffic Management.

Returning to work the following day I made a request to change jobs, a new Department covering all aspects of Traffic Management was about to commence. Only four of us were to make up the contingent, one other Sergeant, two Constables and myself in charge. This work enabled me to meet a wide variety of the public, the area covered half of the county and was connected with road construction, road safety or other aspects of Highway improvement.

It was not long after being assigned to my new Department before I was sent to Basingstoke in Hampshire where I gained a new insight into all aspects of Traffic Management. Part of the course included locations where, for years, a traffic problem had caused chaos. My test concerned a crossroad junction with the A3 and the suggestions I made were later used by Hampshire County Highway Department. The improvements coped with traffic flows for years until the M3 was constructed by-passing the problem.

On returning to north Watford among some of the many jobs that the Force found me to do were escorting the Queen Mother when she was visiting Hertfordshire, a county she knew well from her childhood. On one occasion we arrived at a crossroads where our route had been planned to take us to the left, but Her Majesty knocked on the window of her car instructing us to turn right. It appears she had promised children at the local school of her intention to pass that location enroute. She would not disappoint them so right we had to turn.

Traffic Management was not as exciting as patrol work but a variety of jobs kept coming my way. What with firearms duties, lectures at HQ and to the AA, road safety at various places, such as Dacorum College and some of the larger schools. To add to the variety helicopters were being used more and more for police work, they assisted greatly to establish the source of traffic hold-ups, as well as searching for missing children and armed criminals on the run. It appeared HQ had put me down on the list to attend a helicopter observer course but for some reason I had to wait.

Life Goes On.

By now life without a partner was gradually being accepted, the children continued to help a lot. At least twice a week, when on 9 to 5 p.m. shift, I travelled the short distance from North Watford Police Station to Garston Lane where my mother provided me with a good hot meal that often included a favourite suet pudding. Saturday was the day when most of the housework was tackled, thank goodness for our little twin-tub Hoover washing machine that was continually working throughout the day, the twins had become very accustomed to it. As for ironing that was greatly reduced, only items where it was absolutely necessary saw the iron, my Police shirts with detachable collars saw me through the working week, as did the rest of the coloureds.

To break the monotony and to cheer us up a bit our dear Bank sent a letter stating I was about £500.00 in the red, at that time its value was about twenty five weeks wages. After a lot of arguing and unpleasantness they traced their mistake, we had a coal man, a Mr C. Thorne, of Boxmoor, and the Bank’s computer had been putting my wages into his account!

Another Road Death And The Search For The Offender.

Although my main job was then Traffic Management, due to my Motorway experience Traffic Section expected us to help out when necessary. Christmas Eve a hit and run occurred, the injured person, a local from Redbourn, was not expected to survive. Once again the bridges over the A5 Junction were the location, a car had broken down on the southbound hard shoulder, a RAC van attended parking behind it. At the request from the Motorway car I attended. It appeared that the driver of the breakdown vehicle, a Commer van could only alight when the door was slid back, allowing him to step out backwards. Whilst stepping out he was struck by a passing car that did not stop. A thorough search was made of the area by the light of a hand operated torch (no road lighting then) without results, only small particles of windscreen glass were found, but that could have belonged to any vehicle. While searching at the scene a vehicle stopped on the opposite northbound hard shoulder. As a result of what the driver said I ascertained that about an hour earlier he saw a car parked on the hard shoulder, some three quarters of a mile south of the point of impact, there the driver was seen knocking out his windscreen glass. As a result of what the informant told me I walked the three quarters of a mile until in the glow of my hand torch, broken windscreen glass was seen covering a large part the hard shoulder.

Attention To Detail Brings A Result.

On a fairly large piece of such glass was a very thin layer of paper attached, it appeared to be like the underside of a Road Fund Licence Tax disc. My laborious search provided me with two vital clues, on a piece of white plastic, about one inch square, was an embossed part number which was quite legible. A similar sized piece of amber angled indicator glass had letters and numbers thereon. The question in my mind was, “Had I found enough evidence to enable me to trace the culprit?” Bearing in mind that it was now Christmas Day and that most people would be on holiday I felt that I must persevere with my enquiries in case any clues went cold. My first call was at a large vehicle parts firm in Apsley, after conversations with some of the store men we decided that the broken parts had been fitted to a Vauxhall.

The car manufacturers were almost local, Vauxhall’s factory being located at Luton, but how could the necessary personnel be found? A telephone call to the Factory Security sounded very promising but a visit to the premises would have to be made. So my travels over Christmas started. On arrival at the factory the Parts Manager had already been called and was in attendance. Inspecting my two valuable pieces of evidence, without hesitation he confirmed that they were from a 1969 Vauxhall Victor, in addition there was enough paint adhering to the straight edge so when inspected under a microscope it was verified as white. We were now building a picture, but how many such models were built? Numerous ledgers were checked and it became apparent some hundreds of this model had been produced but only fifty of that colour. Forty of these could be discarded, their final destination was such that they could be ruled out. We were now down to the final ten. We quickly halved this to five as they were taken by a hire firm in Scotland who knew their whereabouts at the material time. The remaining five had all been delivered to showrooms in the London area.

Success.

On Boxing Day morning with PC Fuller [PC Frank Fuller Ed.], the officer in the case, we set out for London. Four more vehicles were traced and after inspection they were ruled out. That left one, the index number of that was obtained but we ran into a snag the registered owner could not be gained by the usual route by County Halls. Our only route left was by a person known as the Back Hall Inspector at New Scotland Yard. This officer’s job was to trace owners quickly when necessary. Within fifteen minutes he returned our call and gave us the vital information, the registered owner was a firm who had allocated the Vauxhall to a commercial traveller. A responsible person of the firm was contacted and he gave us the name and address of the driver in addition he informed us that the traveller would have been driving home from Yorkshire on Christmas Eve. We were now like a couple of bloodhounds on the scent but our progress was slowed by getting lost a couple of times around Barnes. The address of the responsible driver will always be remembered as we stood outside awaiting response from our knocking. No response was received after knocking for a few times. Was he at home expecting us but not showing himself? Being one of a terraced block we had a long walk trying to get to the rear, but when we did, it was in darkness.

Enquiries made of the neighbours quickly told us that he was in hospital. Apparently when arriving home late on Christmas Eve he slipped on ice near his home, breaking his leg, resulting in him being detained in hospital. We now knew who the driver was and where he was, but where the hell was the car. The neighbour did not know, it was usually left in the street so we searched there, but without result. We did, however, trace his wife who was staying with her Mother while her husband was in hospital, but she did tell us where the car was – it was left in a garage for repair the previous day. The lady was quite forthcoming and provided us with the name of the garage and street where it was supposed to be. The garage was traced and conveniently the caretaker resided at the rear, but by now he had retired for the night, it being around midnight, so he didn’t think much to being awakened from a warm bed on a very frosty night. While walking to the door for which he had keys we told him the purpose of our visit. A search of the large interior took us some minutes until we found our Vauxhall, the first sighting of it caused my heart to sink, the windscreen had already been replaced, our first thoughts were that the driver got someone to do a quick repair job and was trying a cover-up. On closer inspection we looked at the front near side, it was unrepaired. Our caretaker was then made use of, I told him to look and see what I took out of my pocket, placing the pieces in the missing spaces the two pieces of plastic light covers fitted exactly. By doing it that way the caretaker made a good independent witness. To complete the job we removed the remainder of the light and indicator cover for later forwarding to New Scotland Yard. The chain of evidence was continued when the Road Fund Licence disc was found on the floor of the passenger side and a part thickness of the paper was still missing, but coincided with the part already found at the scene.

We decided a good job had been done, so returned home rather pleased with ourselves. Our evidence was taken to New Scotland Yard where, after the court case, it remained for years as an exhibit in their Museum, where possibly it remains to this day.

During 1971 to keep myself occupied I set to work early in the garden at Coles Hill, Boxmoor, although it was nothing like as large as Hunsdon it provided us with a fair amount of vegetables.

A Fresh Start.

About Easter 1971 I got a telephone message from Ruth whilst at work, although Christmas and Birthday cards were exchanged we had not spoken since she rushed over to enquire about my welfare at the end of 1970. She thought it was time for me to start getting out a bit. Some few weeks later she contacted me again and invited me to a show at the Palladium where Danny La Rue was appearing. We had a very pleasant evening and I accepted an invitation to visit her at Bishops Stortford one weekend. By now my family was quite capable of looking after themselves, the weeks shopping was dealt with by me each Thursday, leaving the weekend free and me with a calm mind, knowing the family would not go hungry if I went away. Starting my journey fairly early on a Friday, I arrived at Ruth’s parents where they and young John, who was then about the age of five, kept me occupied until Ruth arrived from her work in nearby Essex. Mr. and Mrs. Hutchins’s house was located in Red White and Blue Road, Bishops Stortford just on the Essex border. Ruth was not at all a stranger as we had worked well together at Hunsdon and she had always been a good friend to Maria. It was not long before Ruth visited Coles Hill some weekends where she tried out her cooking skills. Being really a country lass she was used to dishing up country like meals, plain but enough to keep myself and Tony well fed.

A Minor Domestic Accident.

One summer’s day while mowing my small area of grass at Coles Hill, the blades of the mower jammed, when trying to free them the cylinder spun round taking a slice out of my second finger with it, this injury necessitated a trip to West Herts Hospital. It was there I met Dr. Saudeck for the second time, he inspected my finger and casually told me a skin graft was required. My knowledge of such procedure and how it was achieved was about nil. He quickly rolled up my shirt sleeve and made sure that no hair adhered to the inside of my upper arm by shaving it. Picking a tool resembling a potato peeler he scraped down the inside of my arm removing some of the top layer of my skin, taking this thin layer he placed it over the skinless area of injured finger, after looking at it he picked the new piece of skin up and threw it in the waste bin, obviously not satisfied. He tried another scrape down my arm and placed another piece over the injury, hoping he would be satisfied that time, otherwise I could see myself leaving the hospital with a skinless arm. However, my worries were nearly over as he stitched the replacement skin over the hole with eight very neat stitches achieved, I might add, without any injection or anaesthetic to kill the pain. It amused my children that hair grew from my finger tip until I could fully use it again. Still Dr. Saudeck must have done a good job as after forty years the repair can hardly be seen and continues to be wear worthy!

As I was about to leave the Casualty Department our dear Doctor asked, “Were you the officer who enquired about an injured girl some six months ago?” After confirming I was he indicated for me to accompany him to a ward. Behind the screens was a beautiful girl about eighteen years old lying motionless, I couldn’t recognise her. I immediately remembered the incident, a small multiple crash had occurred one evening on the northbound carriageway of the M1 that caused about six occupants of various vehicles to be injured. One, this young girl was in the front near side of the Mini, trapped for an hour or two, during that time I assisted ambulance and firemen in efforts to release her. She and all others injured were conveyed to West Hertfordshire Hospital, it was there I originally met Dr. Saudeck where I asked about the condition of those detained. Indicating to each casualty he said, “That one will be ok,” and made the same comment while passing other beds, the last one he said “I’m not sure about her.” It was the same girl six months on, he made the same comment, “I’m not sure about her,” sadly she died about six months later. It is incidents such as that one; remembering holding the girl in ones arms after the accident that leaves a permanent scar on one’s memory.

Helicopter Observer Training.

My experience in the Police Force was about to be extended. As I mentioned sometime earlier Headquarters was about to train Helicopter Observers, as on special occasions these aircraft were hired. Usually the Officers used for such duties held the rank of Inspector or above but at that time I had not achieved such an exalted rank. I wondered if anything could be read into the assignment, the course was held at Denham Airfield, so for several weeks I travelled by motorcycle via Watford and Rickmansworth. To my surprise my Instructor was a thirty year old attractive lady pilot who put me through the rudiments of map reading and of terms used by the pilots while navigating. My knowledge of map reading was first gained when in the Army so it was not long before my memory got working and within a few weeks was able to guide us around the county. A map reading reference was soon found, not only on a map whilst on the ground, but also while airborne. I had in the past flown in Military aircraft and airliners but to leave the ground vertically was a new experience, none of the rumbling one gets from the wheels taxiing down the runway in conventional aircraft. Just a short feeling of, weightlessness as the rotor blades quicken and you notice the ground appears to get farther away.

If you have a good knowledge of the local geography and the road system, it is fairly easy to find your way, but if over strange territory map readings have to be followed then one proceeds on compass bearings. While on one of these trips we were actually over the M1 Motorway when an accident occurred below us. One suddenly saw a gap opening between those motorists who were free flowing in front of the accident and those behind it stopping like a concertina. Although I had witnessed numerous accidents on the Motorway from ground level it is completely different when sitting above it, the overall picture covers a much larger area. At the time when performing observation duty the helicopter pilot had specific locations from where to pick us up, usually a suitable open space near a Divisional Police Station. Hopefully quite close, as a heavy radio had to be carried to the aircraft and quickly plugged in, giving us radio contact via our Police channel at HQ. Although I went through the helicopter observer course, duty in such aircraft did not materialise as often as I would have liked. It appeared the cost of hiring was considered too high until the time came when hiring costs were shared with adjoining counties.

A Decision Is Made To Marry Again.

Both Ruth and I decided that as we got on so well together we would get married. Very conveniently a Senior Midwife position became vacant at St. Albans, as I was still working from North Watford travelling to work for both of us would be quite tolerable. My Mother was quite pleased for us, although my family appeared to be noncommittal, I think in the back of their minds they thought Ruth would be taking the place of their Mother, but this could not have been further from my mind. I had discussed the coming event with the children but they were never informed of any set date on which the ceremony would take place. I did not want a “big do” and Maria was still fairly fresh in my memory.

The ‘Magic Roundabout.’

Before anything could be planned another task came up which was to keep me occupied for a long period. The Plough roundabout at Hemel Hempstead, the centre of the town’s road system was frequently becoming clogged, this was due to a number of factors. Speed once on the roundabout prevented other motorists from entering the system where, in fact, there was plenty of room for them. Bell shaped junctions were very narrow that also prevented access. In addition sight lines for drivers about to enter were not good, this made them err on the side of safety. Certain proposals were put forward by Hertfordshire County Council and the Ministry of Transport, these included a flyover but that was deemed impracticable being too close for traffic to pass close to the great high building of Kodak.

I visited Crowthorne, the Ministry of Transport Research Department, and looked at their various suggestions. At that time a number of schemes at locations in the country were being experimented with, small roundabouts set out on large ones. If my memory is correct a system of five mini roundabouts were operating at Swindon near a Fire Station from where we viewed it from above. On return, a possible similar scheme was put forward to the Hemel Hempstead Borough Highway Department Committee, resulting in them agreeing to what they thought was a temporary system of six mini roundabouts, one more than the five at Swindon. A date was set for temporary island roundabouts to be placed in position quickly, this was achieved by placing large tractor tyres and taped stick-on stop lines at each entrance. To make things fairly easy for drivers (or so we thought) the change of system at the Plough took place in the early hours of the morning. To make sure that the new layout would work I had four Police cars, some motorcyclists, together with Ministry of Transport vehicles to test the road out. Provided each small roundabout was treated as a separate one motorists coped with the idea well. To watch it from the top of the Kodak tower, was fascinating to see, traffic turned right or left whereas it had been normal only to turn left. A Professor from the Ministry of Transport took charge before the normal early morning traffic flow started, his position was high-up on a platform in the centre of the old roundabout that gave him an excellent view of all traffic entering and leaving. Each entry road had been allocated a number and were controlled by Policemen who released traffic when given a verbal command by the Professor through a loud hailer. At first it appeared to be chaos, the first day was very hard work but once the regular motorists such as buses, taxis, ambulances and Police cars got used to it, the other locals soon began to follow. It took about three days for drivers to master it. After a week traffic was flowing fairly freely. As time went on it became known as The Magic Roundabout. It is the only one, I believe, that has six roundabouts and with a river running through the centre makes it unique.

The ‘Magic Roundabout’ at Hemel Hempstead.

Within twelve months of the opening traffic flow was increased thirteen times compared to the old system and it continues to increase. During the first few days it caused the local Council a few headaches because local elections were being held on the Wednesday after the Monday opening, the party in power received a lot of adverse publicity and thought it could cause them to lose the Election. At some stage they demanded that the trial should be stopped but the Ministry had already decided to make it permanent.

A Quiet Wedding.

Both Ruth and I were due for some leave so we thought it would be ideal to get married then, I arranged a date at the Hemel Hempstead Registry Office where only two witnesses were required. Ciss, my cousin, had already told me that if we required a place to stay after the ceremony we were welcome. I told my children we were going away for a short break but nothing about a wedding. Our witnesses were, Wendy a neighbour of mine and Sgt Peter Chapman who I had worked with for years. So, midmorning on a Saturday, I married Ruth Hutchins. Our luggage had already been packed, so, by 11.30 a.m. with me driving Ruth’s Daf 44 we were heading south west to Devon. That little Daf was the most economical and comfortable little car I had driven and it was automatic driven by belts and air-cooled. We found on arrival that Ciss had made a double room very comfortable for us, as a surprise a party had been laid on at the one and only local pub. I think the locals enjoyed themselves as much as we did, they got Ruth drinking some old local cider which she thought was very good until attempting to stand and walk back to our billets. It was the first and only time she was under the influence, needing assistance from me and Ciss. After a week viewing the local scenery our honeymoon passed only too quickly. We loaded up again and started our return journey to face a new life with a new partner. I was not entirely looking forward to facing my children with a new stepmother, especially when they knew nothing until they received a card from us during the week. Still, at least Ruth was not a stranger to them. Young John was still at Bishop’s Stortford with his grandparents so our first task on the morrow was a journey to the far ends of Hertfordshire to collect him and then convey him back with piles of luggage in the Daf.

On the Monday I returned to continue work with Traffic Management at North Watford, from where, at lunch time, my usual visit to mum’s brought her up to date with the news. Ruth started her new job at St. Albans Clinic and with both of us working day shifts it was not long before we got into a regular routine. On Sunday morning when not on duty Ruth and I usually attended North Watford Church where we met up with my mother and when the service was over we conveyed her back to Coles Hill where she stayed with us for the rest of the day. When returning her back to her home at Garston sometimes Tony would come with us for the ride.

Another Fatal Accident.

On one such Sunday I got involved unexpectedly with work that became hectic. We left Garston Lane, after seeing mum home, then travelled to the Three Horseshoes traffic light controlled junction where we stopped. Stationary in front of us was a Ford car containing only a driver, he was obviously rather agitated because the engine was continually being revved fast and slow, when the traffic lights changed he sped off towards St. Albans and the M1. His behaviour was such as to cause me concern, so instead of travelling home via Abbots Langley we went towards the Motorway thinking we might be able to follow the suspect. He was travelling much faster than us so we lost him briefly. When turning onto the northbound access slip road we saw our suspicious car had already been stopped by two of my Motorway Patrol Officers. One was questioning the driver while the other was looking into the vehicle’s boot. As I was about to stop the Ford suddenly sped off to the Motorway proper with a Police car following behind it at a formidable rate. Tony was getting quite excited as I tried to follow the two cars, owing to their speed we were left behind. We had not travelled far along the M1 when in the distance we saw clouds of dust caused by the Ford crossing the centre reservation and colliding head on with another car travelling south. With us nearing the scene we saw the Police car crossing the centre reservation (no crash barrier then) and placing themselves in a protective position with blue lights flashing warning approaching southbound traffic. I stopped on the northbound hard shoulder leaving Tony in our car. Running to the Police car I took out some flares, then raced north placing out the flares warning advancing drivers of the obstruction. There were no street lights or warning lights then, the only warnings were those we carried on the cars. While placing out the flares I saw PC Gale [PC 270 Michael Gale Ed.] reversing North on the hard shoulder to place out Police warnings signs. On returning to the accident scene I could see the young Ford driver was lying dead in the road and inside his car, now a complete wreck, was the mangled remains of his wheelchair. The car he ran into, also now a wreck, contained a critically injured woman in the passenger seat who later died. Also lying in the road alongside his car was the dead body of the second driver and husband of the woman.

After assisting the Police car crew as much as possible, we, Tony and I, continued our journey back home but before our departure a radio message was received from control HQ asking if a senior officer was required as was usual with fatals. PC Gale replied over the air, “We have a Sergeant here in his slippers!” Not having yet reached the exalted rank of Inspector I had to give way to their suggestion. Although an Inspector did attend from an adjoining Division it was left for me to oversee all enquiries the next day. These revealed the poor driver was a cripple who had been continually suffering from physical defects but also a mental disorder. That day he had driven to many locations where members of the public reported his various dangerous manoeuvres. Information room had logged the cars progress throughout the day and from this his state of mind could easily be presumed as well as his possible intentions. His final act being witnessed by two Police Officers who saw him deliberately drive across the central reservation killing himself. This was the second suicide on the M1 we could prove, how many other suicides occurred that we couldn’t prove I wonder?