Police Duty At Watford.
My wages for the week were £5/5/0d a drop of a guinea compared to that received at the Litholite Factory. It seemed that job security had to be paid for. There were other things for and against. No longer the steady daytime work and weekends off, in their place four different shifts, early, late, nights and days. One day off during the week, two at weekends which came round every fourth week. Normally housing was provided but in the case of a recruit on probation, as in my case, a rent allowance was granted. In addition to this clothing issues were quite generous, two uniforms, closed neck – summer and winter, three shirts, three pairs of boots, overcoat, raincoat, cape, gloves, helmet and cap. Boots were repaired when necessary and paid for by the Force, and when my pedal cycle was used on duty an allowance of 2/6d (12p) a week was given.
So, I started as a Policeman on three day tours of duty to enable me to get used to procedures at Watford. My first real tour was night duty, why nights I never really fathomed out, perhaps they didn’t want the Public to see us poor self conscious lads in difficulties on our first assignments. No doubt about it, to wear a blue Police uniform was something different, you felt different and you were expected to be an example of correctness and be able to deal with anything from a crying grandmother to an earthquake. To walk down Watford High Street on a crowded Saturday afternoon balancing a folded cape on your shoulder and wearing an eight inch height extension of helmet on your head was something. Either you wanted the ground to open and swallow you up or you felt like King Kong – on top of the world. If the latter you would make it. Even so, being a local lad, incidents involving old school mates or people one knew personally could be difficult and embarrassing, but authority was gradually obtained and accepted.
An experienced officer, with all of three months service, accompanied new constables for about twenty one days to give guidance and moral support. As in all walks of life people are different, some are conscientious, reliable, unafraid and full of confidence. The one allotted to me would not reach a hundred per cent in these qualities.
In the late forties not many shops were fitted with burglar alarms, therefore it was a night Constable’s duty to check the fronts of all properties. Front door handles were tried, making sure they were secure, if the rear was accessible they also would be checked. At 10.30 p.m. nightly one started to walk and check everything, if unlucky only two men covered Watford main central area including shops, so after half of the Town had been checked, your colleague doing the other half should be met. It could be 3 a.m. or 3.30 a.m. before the meeting and by then your feet and legs were just about falling off, so Clarendon Road Canteen was a welcome sight. Half an hour refreshment break was allowed, that being included in the eight hour shift, so this left us two hours or less to finish. If any premises had been found open or broken into report writing would take up some, if not all, of the remaining time.
Dealing With His First Accident.
Sunday was the last nightshift before changeover, no sooner had one had got home to bed and into a deep sleep when the alarm clock would awake me at 12.30 p.m. ready to gobble something to eat and cycle back for the 2 p.m. late shift. I was never a good sleeper during the day and this quick change was hated by me and everyone else, although being a busier shift it seemed to assist the human clock to acclimatise quicker.
With my eyes still half closed I remember one Monday afternoon walking up Watford Lower High Street with my supervisory Constable in tow when the normal peace was suddenly broken by, what appeared to me, as a clap of thunder. Some distance ahead could be seen a dense cloud of smoke or steam that continued rising as we got nearer to it. As I had been taught approach incidents slowly, with caution – I tried very hard to do that, in fact, I almost stopped. Slowly getting closer to the still rising cloud it was evident that a crowd had gathered on the pavement passing funny remarks, as well as advice. When at the front of a snub-nosed van I deduced it has collided with the rear of a private car with some force. The van driver remaining quite still in his cab had his head lying sideways on the steering wheel. Looking round for guidance from my senior colleague my blood pressure rose. Where the hell was he? I raced round the back of the van in desperation to find another blue uniform but none was in sight. Returning to the front of the van, my adrenaline at bursting point, I tried to remember my first-aid training to use on the motionless driver – thank goodness a lady who looked as if she knew what she was doing attempted to rouse him. A pedestrian pushed his way to the front of the crowd, clutching my sleeve he reported he had telephoned for an ambulance. After thanking him I took off my helmet and wiped the perspiration from my forehead. I just thought and thought, until my Sergeant Instructor’s words suddenly came through – “Just do something, even if it is wrong. If those in the crowd had known better they would have done it already” – crowds expect anyone in uniform to take charge, even if it is a dustman. You must have witnesses, yes that is it, witnesses. I called out, “Who saw this happen?” Dead silence, then suddenly within seconds, it was like a retreating stampede. The only people left at the scene were the two drivers, my faithful first-aider and myself. Now, at least, it was possible to breathe. A clanging of bells announced the ambulance’s arrival and within minutes of its departure a breakdown removal vehicle pulled up, the driver, no doubt, touting for business asked if he could remove the mangled wreckage. Only too pleased for any assistance I allowed him to clear the road (not thinking it was contravening Police policy) but releasing a hundred or so frustrated held up drivers from each direction. The breakdown returning quickly for the second wreck, its driver thrusting a card into my hand, stating that was where they would be. At least I knew where to get the additional vehicle details from. These I failed to record before they were towed away. On walking back to the Station it was obvious what was meant by throwing a person in at the deep end. Feeling rather proud of myself, a lot had been learned during that hectic lonely hour, always use what facilities are at hand, just like in the Army, improvise, if they volunteer all the better.
Shift work took some getting used to, working when most people were off. Oh dear, had I done the right thing? All those people free and enjoying themselves on a Sunday afternoon while I, hot and sweating, in a thick closed necked uniform, had to pound the beat. However, it had its compensations, being off in the middle of the week while others were working, free often in the mornings or afternoons.
Quite often on a Sunday afternoon my Beat took me into Cassiobury Park where it made it possible to listen to the Band. After making a quick report to the Station via the nearest pillar (a Police Pillar was used for communication, your attention being drawn to the blue flashing light on the top and a telephone within,) I would return with all speed for the remainder of the Concert. I enjoyed being outside and meeting the Public, I especially enjoyed the unexpected and also the comradeship that the Police force gave.
Sport was encouraged at both Divisional and inter-county level. The occasional running event and training took up a fair bit of my spare time. Annually I could be found pulling on a rope at the tug-of-war contest.
My two year probationary period included many different sorts of training and involved a month’s attachment to the CID where freedom of movement was most felt. Accompanying Detectives of various ranks to interview prisoners detained in prison, awaiting trial or elsewhere taught me how to interrogate. The visits to Prisons gave me an insight into how prisoners were held, also the conditions of buildings built in the eighteenth century but looking back they were not as bad as conditions I lived under while in the Army and I was not a prisoner. Conditions have greatly improved since then.
Other training included observer duty on area cars, how to deal properly with road accidents, drunk drivers, speeding and other traffic offences. In fact, this type of duty was usually busy, much experience being gained. My Driver at times was PC Newton [PC 10 William (Bill) James Newton Ed.] who had dealt with Maria’s accident a year earlier. It was because of his knowledge and expertise I was able to make a very strong claim against the Insurance Company on her behalf. It was early one Sunday morning whilst on motor patrol with PC Blakestone that I travelled at my highest speed so far, on land. On the A412 road between Maple Cross and Denham in a low old Riley car our speed attained was one hundred and ten miles per hour – a speed not often exceeded in more modern cars.
Riley RM patrol car with PC Ron Petts
My next periods of nights also turned out to be rather exciting, firstly, in Queens Road Watford there was a firm named Emily Beale, specialists in ladies underwear. While shining my torch through the window and about to try the door handle, I received my worst sudden fright since the war. Looking along the beam of the torch light I suddenly saw a figure above me, arms outstretched, holding what looked like a spear and about to strike me. My reaction of jumping backwards was so violent I rocketed over the width of the pavement into the open door of a stationary taxi. I don’t know who was shocked the most, me or the taxi driver. Closer examination of the frightening object revealed a naked ladies dummy had been placed high on a pedestal draped in black see-through night attire and holding a fan in its outstretched hands. I can tell you I didn’t think much to the joke some young lady had played on this unsuspecting PC with her “witch.”
A Baby Is Born.
A couple of nights after my fright the Station contacted me just after midnight via the Police Pillar at Queens Road instructing investigation of a woman’s screams in the Lower High Street, near the Gas Works. Walking quickly to cover the distance took me a good five minutes, finding a row of old cottages where the woman was continuing to scream. Cautiously walking up the creaking stairs and expecting to find a battered wife and aggressive husband I came upon a totally unexpected scene. Lying on a filthy bed was a woman of some thirty years in an advanced stage of childbirth. The birth was almost imminent, the head of the baby showing. With a quick glance at the surroundings all standard of hygiene were forgotten. Doing just what I had done years before in the fields at Bierton with animals, the tiny head and body were eased forward until free of its mother. Clearing the nose and mouth, ensuring it was breathing the new born was left attached to its Mother covered with part of the dirty sheet the Mother was on. Establishing no telephone was at hand the woman was assured of my return as quickly as possible when I had obtained the services of an ambulance. To achieve this entailed a quick run to the nearest Police Pillar at Chalk Hill, near Bushey Railway arches, about three hundred yards away. I am afraid my returning speed to the new arrival was not as great as when I left, hoping the ambulance would beat me. However, it was not to be, after slowly climbing the stairs I breathed a sigh of relief on finding both as well as when I left them. After talking to the mother for what seemed an age the hoped for ambulance arrived. Hastily descending the stairs to guide my rescuers to where they were needed, I remained well in the background. As I slowly walked the mile back to the Station my thoughts were of the future, at almost; a thrill a shift so far, could I cope at this rate for another thirty years!
More Academic Training.
To break up the shift, routine courses had to be attended at Headquarters, then located in old buildings at Hatfield. The purpose was to teach us local Bye Laws, court procedures and to establish how well our training was progressing. While listening to our Instructors little did I think that not many years hence “yours truly” would be in the front instructing classes. A week in the classroom was very pleasant with an added bonus of having free midday meals provided. Three quarters of an hour’s journey back to Garston gave me an early finish and extra evenings with Maria.
Months went by and soon a quarter of my two year probationary period had passed without me getting into too much trouble. Prospects of me being allocated a house seemed better, the waiting period was now down to about twenty two months. Both Maria and I were saving very hard towards the furniture and equipment we knew would very soon be required. Our combined wages was then £9/15/0d per week. Maria was a very good knitter so all her spare time, including lunch breaks at work, was utilised in making clothes for us both.
A Sudden Death.
My experiences continued, one in particular was to bring me into personal contact with a well known pathologist. During another late shift I was approached by a man who normally resided with his wife in one of the poorest parts of Watford. Rather anxious, he stated that on his return home he had been unable to find her. My Sergeant was contacted and together we searched the house without result. Being conscientious I searched everywhere including some old out buildings, the last one being an old-fashioned type flush lavatory. The metal catch was lifted and the door opened, in the light of my torch was a woman seated and leaning on the side wall. She was obviously the missing wife – dead. The flat boarded front of the toilet behind her legs was covered in blood and a long, metal pull chain hung loosely across and round the front of her throat and over her shoulder, marks could be seen on the neck and she had obviously been in this condition for some time. After shouting for the Sergeant we left the body to have a talk with the husband and the conversation with him verified his wife was about five months pregnant. The body was removed, together with what appeared to be a foetus, to the Mortuary. We had a number of possibilities to scrutinise. Was it a normal miscarriage and she, died? Did she try to hang herself which brought the miscarriage on or was there some other cause?
A couple of mornings later I attended the post mortem examination conducted by the world renowned Professor Camps, [Francis Edward Camps, FRCP, FRCPath (28 June 1905 – 8 July 1972) was an English pathologist notable for his work on the cases of serial killer John Christie and suspected serial killer John Bodkin Adams. Ed] who was accompanied by his own typist. The Mortuary attendant enlightened the Professor that the Constable – me – had not taken part in an examination before other than at Training College. Hearing this the Professor threw me a pair of rubber gloves and said that this was an ideal time to learn. Starting at the head and working downwards he examined brain, heart, lungs, stomach and contents systematically, explaining what he was looking for. When he wished me to look at any part closely he rather heavily placed the organ into my hands, then proceeded to give a detailed lecture on any defects and what had caused them. At the end, although not officially, he gave his conclusions. The deceased had had a natural miscarriage, but in the painful process and feeling faint, she fell sideways, clutching the chain and pulling it across her throat. This pulling of the chain caused marks on the throat during the process of dying.
In those days all Constables acted as Coroner’s Officers when involved in fatal accidents or sudden deaths. In this case I felt highly honoured to have had the services of such an eminent Home Office pathologist who felt able to treat me as an equal and explain in lengthy detail what was necessary to know. At the beginning of the post mortem his typist put her portable typewriter on the slab adjacent to the deceased’s head, placed a folding stool on the floor on which she sat down to type all the grisly details in a completely calm and detached manner.
After nine months service had been completed I was gaining confidence and numerous offenders had been reported for minor traffic and other offences. On a few occasions attendance at Court required the giving of evidence when being made necessary as defendants pleaded “Not Guilty.” Giving evidence was becoming easier and one tried to give it without referring to one’s pocket book entries.
A Stabbing And His First Arrest.
My first arrest occurred one Saturday evening, the early part of my tour up until then had been quite peaceful. As I walked between the pond and Watford High Street the manager of the Odeon Cinema came to the front entrance shouting for assistance. He hurriedly guided me through the lit up interior to where a youth was lying between two rows of seats clasping his stomach and, from his blood stained clothing it was obvious he had been stabbed. Luckily, once again, help was on hand as he was being attended to by the duty St. Johns first aider. A few quick questions of the youngsters in the area and I had established a good description of the suspect. Leaving the injured person in competent hands to await removal to Hospital, I rapidly searched the close vicinity. In the car park, at the far end I saw a youth desperately attempting to start a motorcycle. Requesting him to take off his motorcycling gloves he did so after firstly protesting. It was obvious my first arrest had almost been proved. One of his hands was showing a good covering of blood which he obviously could not explain. After recovering a knife from the pannier bag of his motorcycle the tearful eighteen year old was conveyed to Clarendon Road Police Station.
Although I had previously been instructed as to the procedure that must be adopted after making an arrest, it was new to me and the form filling seemed endless. Forms in triplicate and fourfold were required to go everywhere including criminal records office at new Scotland Yard and HQ Hatfield. Fingerprint forms, description forms plus antecedent history forms including information from the year dot. If a juvenile, a few more for good measure and some I cannot remember. Not forgetting the statement of admission from the defendant that had to be taken under strict procedures and rules. Also, numerous ones from the injured persons and all other likely witnesses. Entries were required in detention registers, cell books, occurrences book, Charge Sheets made out, property checked and recorded, I believe some of this has been cut down since the advent of computers. I always thought time spent on such things was excessive.
Rampaging Bullocks.
Many interesting things occurred during nightshifts, some made newspaper headlines but some the Queen didn’t know about. When taking refreshments during one early morning break our dear Sergeant shouted, “All get on your bikes and head for Market Street,” where we would get instructions from the area car. On arrival, it was obvious what the problem was, somehow about thirty full grown bullocks had escaped from Fishers abattoir, off Market Street where they were awaiting slaughter. They were everywhere, some charging along the street, some had jumped through shop windows where they stood trapped inside. Others were in the churchyard grazing while a fellow creature stood caught between the rails of a bus shelter appearing to be reading the timetable. The nearby telephone operators were attempting to feed a beast that was half way up the back stairs. Railway drivers returning home reported steers as far away as Woolworth’s in the High Street, one had even decided to lay down and rest on the Regal Cinema steps in King Street. Our Sergeant and his newly formed Mounted Section, for safety reasons decided to use the remainder of the shift to return the animals back to their pens before the roads in Watford Town Centre became clogged with early morning pedestrian workers and wheeled traffic. After each officer had been instructed which streets to deal with, we cowboys mounted our wheeled steeds and holding truncheon lassoes in one hand we set out for the likely extremities of the range. By 5.45 a.m. the roundup was heading via all roads to Market Street with each mounted cowboy driving between two to six steers each. At 6 a.m. the rodeo was over and all escapees were back in their pens. Notwithstanding our Sergeants good intentions he had not allowed for one thing – at road junctions unsuspecting drivers were causing their vehicles to skid into each other on acres of wet-and stinking greasy cowpats. By now we had had enough and our beds were calling us so the accidents were left for the early turn to sort out. Our efforts this time did make the headlines, “Watford Cops held midnight Rodeo.”
Never Ignore A Startled Cat.
Animals continued to have some bearing on my working life. One night my thoughts were turned back to time spent in the front-line, often we had taken shelter in buildings with numerous shell holes in the walls through which we watched. To give us some advance warning of any enemy approaching, trip flares were set out. To ensure a second line of warning, empty, used food tins were carefully placed along the holes in the wall to await any intruder. These cans worked to some extent, but very often the many wild cats knocked them down giving us an unnecessary fright. These thoughts were uppermost in my mind after an incident occurred in Clarendon Road on my way back to the Station. In those days each side of that road was boarded with very large private houses standing back in their own grounds. While passing one of these a suspicious noise was heard that was impossible to distinguish, pausing and watching for several minutes the silence was broken by a cat tearing down the drive towards me. Thinking that had been the cause of my concern I continued back to the Station. A few minutes after my return the Skipper hurriedly despatched me to a certain number in Clarendon Road where Constable Harold Merritt, [Constable 376 Harold Victor Merritt, Ed.] an ex-Navy man required assistance with a violent prisoner. Walking up the very drive the cat has escaped from, Harold was found sitting on top of his captive whose pockets and briefcase were full of jewellery and silver. Our dear burglar had broken into many houses down that street, if I had not ignored the cat the nice little arrest could have been mine. However, I learned my lesson, when animals and birds are frightened or give warning it is for a very good reason, they are as good as a burglar alarm provided their signals are investigated thoroughly.
PC 376 Harold Victor Merritt
Interesting Public Order Tactics.
Paid overtime in the Police Force was hard to come by, usually any worked after the completion of normal duty had to be taken off in lieu when the Sgt or whoever was in charge thought fit. During the winter 1949/50, the normal football season, Watford Football Ground required policing inside and out. Officers on duty inside the ground were normally those who had volunteered, so were paid. As Maria and I were still saving, this type of duty was the only way to earn extra. Not only did one get paid but obtained a first class view of the match for free. Watching spectators were usually quiet but on a few occasions the hooligans had to be sorted out. A good warning would usually suffice but if it didn’t an unofficial procedure was adopted; instant punishment. Situated in the corner of the ground was a corrugated iron shed, the sides of which displayed a swastika – this building was known as the sin bin. When offenders failed to behave themselves after warning they were escorted, by a couple of us, to the sin bin. There it was explained to them that they had caused, or were likely to cause, a breach of the peace. They had a choice, either go in the sin bin for half an hour or be arrested, taken to the Police Station and charged. If they accepted the latter there was no chance of seeing any more of the match, but by electing to go in “the Bin” they could hopefully see the remainder of the match, provided they caused no further trouble. Invariably sensible offenders elected for the half hour confinement and this procedure saved Police and Courts much time, prevented them getting a criminal record and got them off the terraces to cool down. This was instant punishment, unorthodox maybe, but it worked.
Experience was gained rapidly after serving the first nine months and it was obvious my Supervisors had gained confidence in me as they were sending me out alone on more differing tasks. Court Duty came as a change and much could be learned listening to evidence being given or cross-examination by Defence Counsel.
Chasing Burglars.
My first encounter with another Force arose while on Motor Patrol. A radio call sent us to Hunton Bridge where we disturbed three intruders in the grounds of a large house. One was arrested, one I caught after a chase as far as Leavesden but the third disappeared. After some interrogation an address of the third resulted in a trip to Dalston, London. Constables at that time only had power of arrest in their own and adjoining counties, our powers did not extend as far as Dalston. As a courtesy, visiting officers always notified the local Station and in this case, obtain the services of a CID Officer from the Metropolitan Police. He accompanied us to the suspect’s address where we saw the difference in Force procedure. Walking into the room we saw the man asleep, he was quickly and rather violently awakened by a whack round the head with the plain clothed man’s gloves but the suspect made no comment, obviously being accustomed to this type of action. There has always been a difference between Metropolitan Forces and Counties when it comes to handling the public but considering the lowest type of human beings they have to deal with I can understand their difficulties. The culprit soon made a statement, admitting attempted burglary giving us the evidence to take him back to Watford and to charge him.
A Transfer And A Prophecy.
In early March 1950 I had a pleasant surprise. While cycling along St. Albans Road to start a 2 to 10 p.m. shift Sgt Dennis swung out of a side street and we continued cycling towards the station together. He started the conversation with, “You had better start building your pigsties boy.” What did he mean? I just waited thinking he was pulling my leg. “You are going to Hunsdon over Bishop’s Stortford way.” He chatted away adding that, “Everybody who goes into that house has twins.” Apparently he had lived there fifteen years previously and to my knowledge he had twin girls. On reaching the Station I hurriedly looked at the Inwards Messages. Yes, there it was, Proposed Transfer, PC 471 Thorne to Hunsdon, “A” Division.
Any objections; forward to HQ in writing. My first reaction was, “Where the Hell is Hunsdon? Or for that matter, where is Bishop’s Stortford?” It was necessary to get a map to obtain my bearings. That shift could not pass quickly enough for me. It was not possible to telephone Maria, my parents did not have the luxury of a telephone. That night a very excited couple talked away in bed into the early hours, planning what had to be done before a move, the part about the twins I kept to myself. Mother and father had treated us very well during our four year stay, willingly sharing their home with us. However, they were delighted to think that we were about to get a home of our own; that being the aim of any young couple. Furniture would be the problem, lack of money would ensure that it would be kept to the bare minimum, on principle hire purchase was ruled out. Since my demob as money came available small things such as bed linen, cutlery, kitchen utensils and a Sobell radio were purchased. Necessary items of furniture we decided to purchase in the locality of Hunsdon to save transporting them.
Hunsdon Police house was still occupied by a PC Oliver [PC 339 Thomas Oliver Ed.] who was vacating the premises on promotion.
PC 339 Thomas Oliver
A visit to look at the house was arranged, the journey in total taking up a fourteen hour day. Although only about twenty five miles from Watford, the long, round about journey on buses via St. Albans, Hatfield and Hertford seemed endless. Motor cars were then an expensive luxury. Alighting from the bus at Hunsdon Post Office we walked possibly four hundred yards to a gateway at the side of the road where a Police Notice board was displayed. Looking over the gate we saw a fairly large detached house built in the 1920’s and standing in a third of an acre of ground. So, this was to be our first house, it really looked like a mansion to us and quite befitting the position for the “Chief Constable” responsible for the surrounding ten square mile area. Downstairs there were two good sized rooms, a kitchen, part of which was bricked off containing an unplumbed bath, also leading from the kitchen was a pantry. In the other corner of the kitchen, beneath the window was a sink, fitted only with a cold water tap. In the remaining corner was a gas, zinc copper for heating hot water. All the upstairs consisted of was three good rooms. Toilets were non-existent in the house, for such use, rain or shine, light or dark, one journeyed outside for about ten yards to the wooden shed lavatory consisted of seat and bucket. Very pleasant during frosty winters but at least that type of weather cut down the smell!
On our journey home we considered the facilities, they were really a comedown after the modern hot water system and inside flush toilets of Garston Lane but for a village without street lighting it was a good start and it didn’t bother either of us who had had to cope with primitive conditions before. Breaking our journey at Hertford we decided to shop there for the essential furniture which we then ordered. One double bed with mattress, one chest of drawers and wardrobe and two utility fireside chairs. A rug, a table and two chairs had already been purchased second-hand. These items were to be the total contents of our new home to be, plus small items already mentioned. Riding back to Garston on the top deck of the bus we were talking endlessly about plans for this and that, could we afford any more items? No, we couldn’t! Once our plans were made we stuck to them but neither of us could hardly wait for the day to dawn when we moved in to our own home.
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