Somehow, he manages to wriggle out of Blaketon’s grasp. It is one of Sergeant Blaketon’s great ambitions to secure a conviction against his old adversary. Some of their battles are recounted in my earlier Constable books but the saga continues in the following pages.
2. Antecedent History of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass
. . . antecedents are rum, Romanism, and rebellion.
SAMUEL DICKINSON BURCHARD, 1812–91
When a person is found guilty before a court of law, a brief account of his or her life is presented to the court before sentence is pronounced. This is known as the defendant’s “antecedents” and the document is prepared in advance by the police. Antecedents are not presented to the court when a defendant is found not guilty.
These antecedents are the combined product of the personal knowledge of police officers, the probation service and similar agencies, along with abstracts from any criminal record the accused might have accumulated and, of course, contributions from the accused. Comprising brief details of the accused’s family background, career and criminal record, it enables the magistrates or judge to take into account the background of the guilty person before pronouncing sentence.
The rural beat constables who had worked at Aidensfield before my arrival had prepared useful antecedents for Claude Jeremiah Greengrass but throughout my period at Aidensfield, I had been able to provide details of my own. For the benefit of readers who are new to the phenomenon known as Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, the following notes comprise his antecedent history.
Sergeant Blaketon was always of the opinion that this record was incomplete, firmly believing that Claude had committed many other offences for which he was never convicted. Nonetheless, this list has been compiled through privileged access to police records. Claude’s pre-war convictions, collected while he was a juvenile, are given in the previous chapter.
The reference numbers indicate the year of his first recorded conviction in (a) West Riding of Yorkshire Criminal Record Office, (b) North Riding of Yorkshire Criminal Record Office and (c) the National Criminal Record Office at New Scotland Yard. In the latter case, only the more serious offences are recorded, and thus he did not commit a felony until 1940, his early offences being of a more petty nature, some while he was a juvenile. Records held at the West Yorkshire CRO were on a regional basis, whereas those in the North Riding were purely local.
CLAUDE JEREMIAH GREENGRASS
WRC No. 77645/24 NRC No. 39481/24 CRO No. 674438/40
Home Address: Hagg Bottom, Aidensfield (previously of Mirk House, Elsinby)
Date of Birth: 1st April 1911 Place of Birth: Aidensfield Hall
Mother: Anastasia Fabiola Greengrass (née Knapweed) — fortune-teller/peg-maker
Father: Thundercliffe Jasper Greengrass II — itinerant trader.
Claude Jeremiah Greengrass was born in the potting shed at Aidensfield Hall. Late one evening, his mother was in the shed for reasons which have never been established, and she was startled by a long-eared bat.
As a consequence, she gave premature birth to a son, her tenth child, and he was called Claude Jeremiah. Claude lived with his parents, his brothers and sisters at the family home, Mirk House, Elsinby. Conditions at home were described as chaotic.
At the age of five, he attended Elsinby Village School where his conduct was described as mercenary, apparently because he was always producing moneymaking schemes of doubtful legality. The punishment book shows that at the age of six he was disciplined for playing marbles for money or money’s worth, using the other children’s sweets as currency; Claude always beat the others and then sold the sweets back to the losers.
At eight, he organised a playground protection racket involving bicycle pumps and at ten, he was selling homemade wine to the five-year-olds. At eleven, he was caught stealing runner beans from the school garden, having sold them to the village shop and he was known to have supplied allegedly surplus school slates to a local builder for roofing purposes. He left school at the age of twelve and gained employment with the local blacksmith, pumping the bellows of the furnace and keeping sufficient water available to cool the newly made horseshoes. He was sacked for selling horseshoe nails to a racehorse owner.
By thirteen, he was self-employed, working from his parents’ home and earning a living as an itinerant dealer and scrap-metal merchant. He sold old horseshoes to tourists as good-luck charms, fake horse brasses to public house licensees and false clay pipes to restaurant owners.
At fifteen he was selling water from Aidensfield Beck as a miracle cure to people suffering from facial spots. This enterprise ceased when he was prosecuted under s.72 of the newly introduced Public Health Act, 1925.
Upon the death of his parents in a train crash on Aidensfield Incline in 1927, Claude inherited the family home, none of his brothers and sisters wanting anything to do with the ramshackle old house, and he established himself there as a dealer in old metals and marine stores, specialising in unwanted milk churns, motor vehicle mudguards and anchors. He was awarded the necessary licence by the local authority, being licensed also as a hawker, pedlar, game dealer, pawnbroker, gravedigger and stallion keeper. He also held certificates enabling him to sweep chimneys and to ply for hire with horse-drawn and other non-mechanically propelled omnibuses.
He continued with this line of work throughout his life, mixing with people of doubtful integrity and engaging in schemes of suspect legality. In 1967, a freak whirlwind demolished his home and scattered his collection of hens and sheep, none of which were insured and none of his animals and birds were recovered. As rebuilding his home was impossible, he moved from Elsinby to Aidensfield where he managed to buy Hagg Bottom, Aidensfield, for cash. The house was previously owned by Ashfordly Estate; Lord Ashfordly wanted a quick sale but was understood to be somewhat dismayed when he discovered the identity of the purchaser. Claude’s ability to find the cash (£4,000) was an event which attracted and continues to attract the interest of HM Inland Revenue.
For a man who claims never to have any money, it was an interesting purchase, but no fraud was disclosed nor did Claude’s tax returns reveal any undeclared income.
As an HM Inspector of Taxes said at the time, “How he managed to find that sort of money baffles me.”
Claude Jeremiah Greengrass continues to work as the village odd-job man, gravedigger, gardener, hedge-cutter and ditch-cleaner, along with any other paid employment he can find, while continuing to engage in various deals, including those involving scrap metal, old furniture, second-hand goods, second-hand cars and bankrupt stock.
While never likely to be a successful businessman, he does not commit serious crime but lingers on the edge of honest dealings. In spite of his ability to frustrate Sergeant Blaketon, he has several previous convictions including:
1952 — distilling whisky without an excise licence. Fined £20
1954 — discharging a firework on the street. Fined £2.10s.
1955 — no driving licence, tax or insurance for his van. Fined £15
1956 — exceeding the speed limit (licence endorsed). Fined £25
1957 — wilful obstruction of the highway with furniture. Fined £10
1958 — drunk while playing billiards. Fined £1
1960 — being found at night with his face blackened. Fined £3
1960 — brawling in a churchyard. Fined £7
1961 — maliciously abstracting electricity. Fined £7.10s.
1962 — receiving stolen property, i.e. manure. Fined £5
1962 — malicious damage to a rhubarb plant. Fined £2.10s.
1963 — knowingly uttering a counterfeit penny. Fined £5
1963 — trespassing in pursuit of conies. Fined £15
1963 — fishing without a licence. Fined £2
1963 — no dog licence. Fined 7s.6d.
1963 — trespassing upon the railway. Fined £2
1963 — pound breach. Fined £1.10s.
1963 — reversing an unnecessary distance. Fined �
�5
When I arrived at Aidensfield in the mid-1960s, I was instructed by Sergeant Blaketon to ensure that this list of convictions was extended; Blaketon’s orders were that under no circumstances must I allow Claude Jeremiah Greengrass to escape the weight of English justice.
This book is therefore an account of some of the incidents which involved me and Aidensfield’s resident rogue.
3. Greengrass on Wheels
. . . I cannot mind my wheel.
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, 1775–1864
“The annual Bishops’ Walk is a very prestigious affair, Rhea.” Sergeant Blaketon was briefing me about the following Sunday’s duty. “Very solemn too, as befits the office of those eminent gentlemen. You should be flattered that they have chosen Aidensfield Anglican Church for the Bishops’ Walk service. It brings the cream of the English establishment into your village, Rhea, State and Church are one, as you know, the Conservative Party at prayer and all that. It’s supposed to be a joyful occasion, however, because the idea of the walk is to give the senior clergy an opportunity to relax in the countryside, away from the cares of ecclesiastical office in a very informal atmosphere. Although it’s called the Bishops’ Walk, there are many participants who have not reached that eminent rank, ordinary reverends like vicars and canons. And a very few honoured guests not of the cloth.”
“I know, Sergeant,” I acknowledged, having performed this duty many times. The walk had originally been for bishops only, but small numbers had resulted in other clergymen and a very select number of guests being invited along. “They always enjoy it, Sergeant. It might appear solemn to us, but it’s relaxing for them. And I must admit I’ve never seen so many happy smiling clergymen at one gathering. We usually get about two hundred and fifty of them and none has to preach a sermon, that must be a relief for starters!”
“The archbishop will be there too,” Sergeant Blaketon reminded me. “So I want you to process with the walkers just to make sure everything is right on the day. No trouble, no barracking from silly youths or flak from insensitive tourists, no trouble from intolerant motorists — just keep things nice and calm, Rhea.”
“We’ve never had trouble before, Sergeant.”
“There’s always a first time, Rhea. You must always expect the unexpected. And make sure no members of the public are admitted to the priory grounds until the reverends have gone. Remember, the police of Aidensfield and Ashfordly will be on show — we must do our best, we may need to seek Divine assistance one of these days. I might have to pray for sunshine if we hold an open day, for example.”
“I understand, Sergeant,” I assured him.
On the fourth Sunday of every July, Church of England bishops, canons and vicars from the north of England, with a few visitors from elsewhere, gathered at Aidensfield’s parish church for a service at noon. Their host was a retired bishop, John Goodenough, who lived in the village and it was his fervent belief that all work and non-stop praying made bishops dull and boring. After the service, the clergymen, all clad in casual clothes, walked about three miles through beautiful countryside to the ruins of the twelfth century Briggsby Priory where they enjoyed an open-air picnic tea. The tea was always provided by the ladies of the parish, with considerable help from the ladies of the WI. There were sandwiches and cakes galore.
The priory, normally open to the public, was closed that afternoon so that the clergymen might enjoy a few moments of peace and tranquillity away from the public’s gaze. After the picnic, a fleet of coaches would return them to Aidensfield to collect their own transport for the return journey to their sees, palaces, dioceses, parishes and churches. I assured Sergeant Blaketon that I understood the need for discretion and sensitivity. I promised I would ensure the clergy had a wonderful day, at least so far as my responsibilities were concerned. What the Almighty had in store for them, however, remained unknown, although He was beseeched to produce a fine, warm and sunny day.
“I might just have a drive out there myself, to the priory, for the tea, Rhea,” were Sergeant Blaketon’s parting words. “I have a personal invitation. One of my former schoolmates is a bishop, you know; he rang to invite me along, he’s coming to the walk. Very few non-clergy are invited, I might remind you. Anyway, they reckon my old friend’s in line to be the next archbishop . . . Matthew Timothy’s his name, surname Timothy that is. It’ll be nice to see him again. That’s two of us from Miss Stainton’s class who have made a success of our lives. She always said me and him would get on, make our mark on the world.”
And off he went in his polished black car leaving me to continue my patrol of Aidensfield. I had undertaken duties at the Bishops’ Walk for several years and knew what was required, but I hoped that Sergeant Blaketon’s presence and his esteem for an old schoolmate would not cause embarrassment. Sergeant Blaketon tended to be somewhat acquiescent and over-respectful in the presence of VIPs.
* * *
On the Saturday before the event, I had arranged to meet the organiser, John Goodenough, on the site; we always underwent that annual ritual in the grounds of the old priory for a final check of the plans, covering such matters as car-parking, the seating, access and egress arrangements especially in an emergency.
There were many on-site matters to check too. We repeated our visit every year because, from time to time, things did change. On this occasion, there was a new entrance to the grounds and I needed to see what effect it might have on the incoming and outgoing traffic. Our meeting was to be at two o’clock and I arrived a few minutes early. The priory was open to the public that afternoon and the custodian, aware of the reason for my visit, allowed me into the grounds without charge. John Goodenough arrived moments later and strode across the beautifully kept turf to shake my hand.
“Good of you to come, Constable.” He was an affable and sturdy man in his early seventies who looked more like a retired farmer than an ex-bishop. He wore tweedy suits and brogue shoes and sported a round, red face with a perpetual smile beneath a monkish style of white haircut. “Well, I mustn’t detain you longer than necessary so let’s get started, shall we?”
“There’s one change, Mr Goodenough,” I announced before we moved away, pointing to the new gate. “They’ve installed a new gate over there, in place of the older wicket gate. It’s wide enough to admit lorries now, which means the buses could reverse through here before collecting our walkers tomorrow. It’ll get the buses off the road outside; the lane’s very narrow as you know and a fleet of coaches parked outside will cause congestion. That was always a problem.”
“Yes, I agree. I’ll have them reverse into that space; there’s room for several coaches in the grounds now. Actually,” he beamed, “that new gate will improve the catering arrangements too. We’ve made some changes to the catering for tomorrow.”
“You usually have a picnic tea done by the ladies of the parish?” I put to him.
“Yes, well we have had a rather nice offer this time. A range of dishes has been offered to us, hot and cold, with hot tea, soups, hotdogs even, from a mobile canteen.”
“That sounds promising! I suppose a long walk in the fresh air will give your visitors an appetite?” I smiled.
“Yes, it does and, for some, buns and cakes are not sufficient, particularly as some have had a long journey to get here. This offer sounded infinitely better and I felt it was rather a good idea. That new gate means he can get his catering van right into the grounds, an ideal arrangement. The clergymen will pay for their own meals as I believe we can expect a very comprehensive menu.”
I was aware of the use of the word “he” by John Goodenough, but couldn’t think of any male caterers in this area who owned a custom-built mobile canteen.
“So, who is the caterer?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s Mr Greengrass,” he smiled at me. “You must know him.”
“Claude Jeremiah Greengrass?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “You mean he’s doing your catering?”
“Yes, it appears he’s bought a supe
rb mobile canteen and is setting up in business. He’s going to park it at local beauty spots in the summer, to cater for tourists, and hopes to visit the local agricultural shows and other places of public resort. Because I like to make use of local businesses, I felt he should be given this opportunity.”
I didn’t know what to say. The notion of a hotdog stall run by Claude Jeremiah Greengrass in the hallowed grounds of an ancient priory, even if it was for the benefit of some clerical gentlemen enhanced by the presence of an archbishop did not seem very wholesome. It was a bit like selling ice cream or fish and chips in church. I must admit I was trying to find reasons for suggesting the idea should be abandoned. Anything that Claude Jeremiah touched was usually a disaster, but what could go wrong in selling a range of food from a mobile canteen? The only likely disaster would be the quality of the fare on offer and if it fell below standard, the clergymen would not buy it. The problem would then be Claude’s. It was hardly likely his presence would adversely affect anyone else, unless his food was poisonous.
“You’ve spoken to the custodian of the ruins?” I asked. “About permission to sell food here?”
“Oh, yes, and he’s had words with his boss. Claude will have to pay a small rental for the privilege — only a pound on this occasion — and there is no other problem. As it is private property, he doesn’t have to worry about licences or permission from the district council. It’s not as if he’s selling to the public from a public place — on this occasion, he will be selling to private individuals on private premises during what is a private occasion.”
I had no wish to be unchristian towards Claude Jeremiah Greengrass but I did wonder what Sergeant Blaketon would make of the idea, especially if he was anxious to impress his old school friend. It was tempting to think that Claude would provide a useful service on the day, but the reality was that he’d probably sell unfit food, cold tea and greasy hotdogs. I told myself that it was no concern of mine — if these benevolent gentlemen wished to spend their money on Claude’s version of wholesome food, then it was their decision. Yet I did find myself wanting to protect them against his wiles for there would surely be some drawbacks due to his presence. And should I alert Sergeant Blaketon to this unexpected development?
CONSTABLE VERSUS GREENGRASS a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 16) Page 2