Much to my surprise, I was invited, along with my wife, Mary, and I think the only reason for our inclusion was that I regularly patrolled the area, often calling at Andre’s with warnings about bed-and-breakfast guests who fled without paying in addition to ensuring the place enjoyed a continuing aura of peace and calm. I accepted, made sure my suit was cleaned and pressed, and wondered if I could afford a new dress and hairdo for Mary.
On the celebratory Monday night at 7.30 p.m. therefore, we arrived at the function which was a drinks party and buffet. We were adorned in the finest clothes that could be purchased upon the pittance which was a constable’s salary, were welcomed at the door by Andre himself and ushered into the close-packed throng. It is fair to say that I had never previously seen such a glorious spread of food nor so many drinks which flowed freely as waitresses and waiters fussed over the guests, ensuring that no one was ever left without a drink in their hand. Word passed around that we would be invited to help ourselves to the buffet at 8.30 by which time all the guests should have arrived.
And then, after about three-quarters of an hour, there was a commotion at the door with Andre apparently in the thick of it. At first, few of the guests took any notice of the altercation thinking it was perhaps some good-natured banter, but as voices became raised from a loud to a very robust shouting level, most of us halted in our drinking and chattering and turned to see what was happening. Andre was at the entrance and there was a massive, thick-set, lank-haired man clad in a less-than-smart multi-coloured open-neck shirt and dark-blue trousers that did not seem to have been pressed for years. I recognised the fellow, although I had not had any close contact with him. He was a self-made millionaire called Tom O’Reilly, a dealer on a massive scale who specialised in agricultural machinery and equipment. He had depots throughout the north-east of England, ranging from Humberside up to Tyneside, and his home was at Seavham Manor, on the edge of my patch.
In addition to his agricultural dealerships, he had shares in many other businesses, from hotels to department stores by way of farms and grocery chains. I wondered if Andre realised with whom he was dealing.
“Our invitation was quite specific and it is also a house rule,” I heard Andre shout. “Smart ties and jackets must be worn. I have standards to maintain!”
“But this is a party, goddammit, and I’ve just got back from Scotland so I thought I’d look in before I settle down for the night . . . I have my invitation . . . O’Reilly’s the name.”
“I’m sorry, Mr O’Reilly, but I cannot make exceptions. If you would care to return with a smart tie and, of course, a smart jacket, then I should be pleased to welcome you to my restaurant.”
There followed a moment of terrible silence as everyone present had now realised what was happening, and each of us wondered who the victor would be. I found myself wondering if my services would be called upon — there were occasions when police officers were invited to functions so that they were available to sort out disputes should they occur — but I had no wish to spoil my own night off with a confrontation or battle of any kind. I hoped one of them would back down — and as the seconds ticked by, it was clear that it was not going to be Andre. He stood in his imposing entrance with his feet apart and his arms folded across his chest, almost as if he was defending his castle against invaders.
“Then you’ve just lost a customer,” said Tom. “Lots of customers, in fact.”
“I am sorry if you feel like that, but I am sure you will appreciate that I must maintain standards . . .”
But Andre was talking to himself because Tom O’Reilly had already turned on his heel and was striding across the forecourt to his parked Jaguar. There was a moment of hushed silence tinged with just a hint of embarrassment and then people began to talk among themselves as Andre took a deep breath, closed the outer door with something of a flourish and resumed his air of command. He had won that skirmish — but I knew that O’Reilly could have given him lots of future business.
The chatter and drinking resumed and then, after twenty minutes, we all heard the crashing of the outer door. It sounded as if an elephant was attempting to force an entry, but it was Tom O’Reilly; he was pushing open the door, with his body because both hands were engaged and then he crashed into the main area of the restaurant. By this stage, Andre was too far away to prevent him getting this far, but as a second hush descended, we could all see that O’Reilly was holding up a pair of dreadfully diseased and mangled rabbits. Each was dead and had been for some time; each had clearly been suffering from myxomatosis because their heads were swollen to grotesque sizes, their eyeballs protruded and in their blind distress, each had been killed by passing cars. They were a dreadful sight, and Tom O’Reilly dangled his fists as he held them aloft for everyone to see.
Even Andre halted at the awful sight, and then, as every single one of the party guests stood in silence, Tom flung the rabbits to the floor and called, “Andrew, these are the last two you’ll get from me until you pay for the others!”
And then he stalked out.
It is very difficult to assess the full impact of Tom’s drastic action, but there were a few feminine screams at the awful sight, quite a lot of embarrassed laughter and some genuine hilarity but, later as we tucked into the buffet, there were some queries as to whether the chicken dishes were really chicken or whether they were rabbit with chicken flavouring. Tom had made a memorable statement, but he never patronised Andre’s restaurant. I later learned that Andre discovered the identity — and the wealth of that man — but he did not send an apology. Neither did Tom O’Reilly.
Following the incident, it must be said that Andre’s restaurant lost a lot of customers and for some time afterwards it was rumoured the place might close. It didn’t however; it survived, albeit with slightly less rigid rules — but ties and jacket continued to be part of the scene. So far as that evening was concerned, most of us knew the prank was Tom’s idea of a lesson-teaching joke, but it might never be known whether the loss of trade was due to Andre’s stance against unwelcome dress standards or the possibility, however slight, that he might use diseased rabbits in his dishes. It had long been said that rabbits with myxomatosis were edible. However, I heard there was a decline in requests for his rillettes de lapin and also his famous rabbit, beef and pork casserole curiously known as sauce au vin du Médoc, although some experts considered this to be la grosse cuisine de la campagne (the rough, coarse cookery of the countryside) — hardly the sort of dish for a sophisticated restaurant.
* * *
The Ashfordly district hosted two important social functions every year. One was the annual hunt ball in the autumn and the other was Ashfordly Section’s annual police dinner/dance in the spring. Both attracted the elite of the area in addition to their own supporters and members, both were held in the fashionable ballroom of the Ashfordly Hotel and both were arranged to raise both the profile of their respective organisations and to raise funds. Much of the income raised by the hunt ball was spent on conservation of the countryside within the hunt’s area and in the case of the police event, all profits were given to the Police Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund.
In the case of the police dinner/dance, planning was the responsibility of a small committee chaired by Sergeant Blaketon and it provided an ideal opportunity for him to display his organisational prowess and his social skills, particularly as the superintendent and his wife were invited as guests and especially as the chief constable himself would very occasionally decide to grace us with his presence. Other high-ranking police officers from police headquarters would come too, such as the detective superintendent, the superintendent from Force Administration and even superintendents from neighbouring divisions. Most of them would stay overnight in the hotel. There is no doubt the event was the finest of its kind in the county, hence the patronage we received from important people both within the Force itself and from the community — they included magistrates, county councillors, the coroner, forensic scientists and sur
geons, solicitors and barristers, high-ranking hospital staff, important fire service and ambulance personnel, representatives of the armed services and even members of the local gentry and aristocracy.
The fine ballroom, coupled with the splendid dinner and overall happy atmosphere of the event combined to create a huge demand for tickets with the inevitable waiting list. Tickets were snapped up a year in advance; the number of guests was strictly limited but there was always an allocation for what might be termed ‘the rank and file’ — ordinary police officers and their spouses. Members of the public could attend if they could acquire a ticket and, in fact, the raffle at the dance always gave, as a prize, a pair of tickets for the following year’s event. It was a prestigious and enjoyable occasion with the men dressing in their dinner jackets and the women in their long gowns. Mary and I always attended for we regarded it as the highlight of our social year — chiefly because one or other of our own parents came as babysitters and slept overnight but also because it was such a splendid, dressy event and an occasion to meet old colleagues and friends.
If there was an operational problem, it concerned the policing of Ashfordly and district while the dance was in progress. If all the local police officers wanted to attend the dance — which they did — there was no one to patrol the town or surrounding countryside. The answer was arrange for the town centre to be patrolled by special constables — most of the public did not know the difference between the uniform of a special or a regular member of the Force, consequently the deterrent value of a special was quite acceptable. Whether or not such a volunteer civilian could cope with a major crisis remained to be seen but such dramas rarely happened in Ashfordly. Besides, a special constable who required assistance or advice could always call divisional headquarters if the need arose.
The countryside surrounding Ashfordly was patrolled by mobile officers from neighbouring sections and they were equipped with radio in their motor vehicles. They could respond rapidly to any major incident. Thus the policing of Ashfordly Section continued even if all its finest were letting their hair down on this one happy night of the year. And so it was that Sergeant Blaketon called each of his officers into Ashfordly Police Station for a meeting prior to the twelfth annual ball.
“Right,” he said. “I want this particular dance to run as smoothly as all the others, and if possible, better. It is a very important event for me, more important than any of you realise just now. There will be some VIPs to look after, too, table settings to arrange, car parking for official guests to be planned and a host of other minor tasks to perform on the night, from folding raffle tickets and drawing the raffle, to making sure all members of the dance band get their supper. I shall allocate tasks to each of you. But before all that, there is one important announcement: the new chief constable has indicated that he wishes to attend. Now, this will be his first social function of this kind in his new posting and he has chosen Ashfordly — it means we must all be at our most efficient and on our very best behaviour. I need not say how important it is to me, as the officer in charge of the section, to be honoured by such a visit. It places Ashfordly Section, and all the officers who serve it, very much in the spotlight.”
I could not remember any previous chief constable or even the deputy attending our annual dance, although I understood they had done so in the past, and so this was indeed a most prestigious event for Sergeant Blaketon — and for us all.
“Right,” he was saying. “Policing of the town centre — outside the hotel, in other words. Normally, as you know, this has been undertaken by specials, but on this occasion we are very fortunate. A new constable will be arriving at Ashfordly two days before the dinner/dance; he is a single man with a couple of years’ practical experience to his credit and he has indicated he does not wish to attend the function.”
“Very neatly arranged, if I may say so, Sarge,” beamed Alf Ventress.
“Well, as the chief constable will be arriving I felt it was wise to have an experienced and capable person on duty outside the hotel. So PC Bellamy will be that man, David Bellamy. I shall brief him about his precise duties to ensure the chief is accorded the kind of welcome befitting his status. First impressions are lasting, Ventress. Specials will patrol the outskirts of the town.”
It seemed that the new chief constable did not think it right that his official chauffeur drove him to social events, and so he would be driving himself and his wife to Ashfordly and he would stay overnight in the hotel to avoid having to drive home after a drink or two. Bellamy’s job was to ensure there was a space for him and his wife to park outside the main entrance and alight from his vehicle immediately upon arrival; Bellamy would then indicate with hand signals to the constable on the door (an off-duty volunteer) that the chief had arrived, and this was the sign for another constable to step forward and escort these important guests into a small reception room for pre-dinner drinks. While all this was happening, Bellamy would drive the chief constable’s car into the carpark behind the hotel and position it in a reserved place, return to the hotel and hand the keys to Blaketon.
Blaketon would pass them to the reception where a lackey would go out to the car and fetch the chief s luggage inside, then take it and the car keys to his room. Blaketon was aware that the chief and his wife might want to use the room prior to being officially greeted and contingency plans were made for that eventuality. Blaketon stressed how important it was to ensure those first few moments were achieved with perfection, style and grace. Blaketon himself would be inside the reception room to hand a glass of sherry or other aperitif to the chief and his lady when they entered; other VIPs would be shown into the room and introductions made. This was particularly important on this occasion, because the chief constable was new to the area and would be keen to meet as many influential people as possible.
The volunteer hosts for this important role in the reception area were specially selected constables from the Eltering Section; those from Ashfordly had other pressing duties within the hotel, the dining room and the dance hall. Blaketon was sure everything would be all right on the night. After briefing us, he asked if we had any questions and after responding to one or two, he closed the meeting. The next meeting would be on the night itself, in the hotel an hour and a half before the dinner was due to start — PC Bellamy, whom I did not know, would attend that final briefing.
On the day of the dinner/dance, Mary and I arrived at the hotel in good time. It was a foul night, bitterly cold and very wet. Heavy rain was pouring from a leaden sky and we had to make a dash from the carpark in all our finery. We hoped things would improve before the VIPs arrived, but the forecast was not good.
Blaketon had to make last-minute arrangements to borrow half a dozen large umbrellas to ensure the VIPs arrived from their cars as dry as possible. Then it was time for our final briefing. Those of us with responsibilities gathered in an anteroom on the ground floor. Apart from one man, we were all dressed in dinner jackets and black ties, looking more like waiters awaiting orders than off-duty policemen about to be briefed. I guessed the uniformed man was our new constable, Dave Bellamy, but no one introduced him. Without bothering with such niceties, Blaketon went through his checklist of duties and responsibilities. Most of us knew our role by this time, but he repeated his briefing, checking our understanding of important matters as he proceeded.
“Now,” he said eventually, “this is PC Dave Bellamy,” and he invited Bellamy to step forward.
“Hello,” said the embarrassed young constable, a young man in his early twenties. With light-brown hair and a round face with a permanently happy expression, he appeared to be enjoying his temporary role.
“Bellamy is the newest member of Ashfordly Section. He arrived the day before yesterday and this is his first spell of duty. I have already briefed him in considerable detail about his duties outside the hotel, and we do appreciate you volunteering for this, Bellamy,” said Blaketon. “It means we can enjoy ourselves for this one occasion in the year in
the full knowledge that matters outside the hotel will be in very capable and professional hands.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Bellamy was slightly embarrassed at Blaketon’s effusive gratitude. “It’s one way of meeting all my new colleagues at the same time and I’m sure there will be no problems.”
“Bellamy will meet the chief constable outside the main entrance,” thundered Blaketon. “He will open the chief’s car doors, ensure he and his wife alight, beneath umbrellas if it is raining, and escort them into the front entrance where it is dry. He will ask the chief for his car keys as he offers to drive the car around to the rear and into the hotel carpark.
“As he approaches the main entrance with the arrivals, Bellamy will signal to you — PC Gardner. You will open the door to admit the chief and his lady, then you will direct the chief towards PC Letts who will be hovering in the main body of the foyer. He will show the chief and his lady into our private reception suite for pre-dinner drinks.”
Bellamy nodded. “Got it, Sarge,” he said with confidence.
“We must be aware that the chief and his lady may wish to go to their room before joining us and they may wish their luggage to be brought into the hotel immediately — in that case, PC Gardner, you will offer to carry the luggage to the hotel reception desk and you, PC Letts, will await his return from his room and then show him into our private reception suite. Now, any questions?”
“Just one, Sergeant,” said Bellamy. “How will I recognise the chief constable?”
“You’ve not seen him yet?”
“No, Sergeant.”
“Has anyone seen him?” asked Blaketon.
Everyone shook their heads.
“Right,” said Blaketon. “I have not seen him either. He will be dressed in a dinner jacket and black tie like the rest of us, but he is not coming in the official car, Bellamy, so don’t spend time looking for AJ 1.” AJ 1 was the registration number of the chief constable’s official car. “He will arrive in his private car, which is a pale green Rover 2000, brand new, and the registration number is HAJ 575F. That should not be hard to identify. All I know from contacts at headquarters is that he is about average height with greying hair which is thinning on top, and a round face. Once the chief and his lady are inside the hotel, Bellamy, your main duty is over — you may resume normal patrolling duties, but, as a gesture, there will be supper for you in the hotel. Have words with the manager, he will be expecting you.”
CONSTABLE IN THE FARMYARD a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors Page 20