Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘I do – and that’s why I’m going to join the Metropolitan Police.’

  Her mother and sister laughed out loud.

  Jane was incensed at their reaction. ‘It’s not a joke. I’m being absolutely serious . . . ’

  The look of shock on their faces was far worse than she had expected.

  ‘You what . . . ? ’

  Although she enjoyed working for her father, Jane explained, she wanted to become a police officer and felt that it would be a worthwhile and promising career with plenty of opportunities.

  Her mother let out a long sigh. ‘You want to be a policewoman and wear those awful black uniforms? I’ve heard that all they do is menial work and look after children . . . If that’s what you want why not get married and have kids of your own, like Pam wants to do?’

  Jane was surprised and upset by her mother’s reply. She didn’t want a heated argument, but she was determined to put her right.

  ‘I’m not like Pam, and things are changing in the police force. Women will soon be doing the same shift work and patrols as the men; everyone will be on an equal footing.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Pamela smirked.

  Mrs Tennison was close to tears. ‘That’s even worse. You’ll be dealing with dangerous criminals, louts and drunks . . . Anything could happen to you. No, Jane, your father and I won’t have it. You’re much safer working in the office as his secretary. Isn’t she, dear?’ She looked to her husband for support, but he said nothing.

  Pamela picked up her plate of food and stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ her father asked.

  ‘To finish my meal in the kitchen while you and Mum try to make Jane see sense,’ she said bluntly as she left the room.

  Jane turned to her father. ‘I really enjoy working with you, Dad, and I’m sorry if you feel I’ve let you down, but I’m twenty-two now and being a policewoman is what I really want to do.’

  Mrs Tennison tutted. ‘This is ridiculous nonsense. Tell her, dear, tell her it’s not on.’

  Mr Tennison cleared his throat. ‘Are you sure, Jane? Your mother is right in some respects, it can be a dangerous job . . . Maybe you should take a bit more time to think about it?’

  Jane dropped her bombshell. ‘I’ve already submitted the application forms. I’ve been asked to go for an interview in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘You went behind our backs!’ Mrs Tennison exclaimed. ‘How could you?’

  ‘No, I made the decision for myself knowing how you would react, Mum, and I’ve been dreading telling you. Why can’t you be happy and support me?’

  ‘How much will you be earning?’

  Jane, trying to be vague, spoke quietly. ‘About £23 a week, I think.’

  ‘£23? That’s less than your father pays you!’

  ‘It’s not about the money, Mum, it’s about job satisfaction,’ Jane said, realising too late that her words might have upset her father, but he nodded in agreement.

  Mrs Tennison was about to chastise Jane further when her husband interrupted by shouting for Pamela, who had been eavesdropping, to come and sit down at the table. He then spoke, his tone serious.

  ‘If Jane wants to be a policewoman it is her decision and we, together as a family, will support her.’

  Mrs Tennison frowned as she looked at Jane. ‘Well, if you pass the interview and want to stand on your own two feet, then you can wash and iron your police shirts every night while I watch TV or read a book for a change.’

  Pamela grinned. She and Jane had sometimes helped with the cleaning and cooking, but they had never washed or ironed clothes in their lives.

  Jane took a sip of water. ‘I’ve been told that if I pass the interview I’ll start the residential course in September.’

  ‘Residential?’ Her mother looked forlorn.

  ‘I’ll do my training at Hendon but live in the women’s accommodation at Peto House in Marylebone. It provides all the necessary facilities for residents to use, canteen, washing machine, iron . . . ’

  Pamela interrupted. ‘Can I have your room then?’

  Jane shook her head, ‘No. The course is just sixteen weeks, Monday to Friday, live-in, with weekends free.’

  Her mother forced a smile. ‘You’re only a couple of miles up the road then in Marylebone. Will you be coming home for supper?’

  ‘No, you have to sleep and eat on the premises.’

  ‘Could we visit you?’

  Jane couldn’t believe that her mother wouldn’t let it drop.

  ‘I doubt that would be allowed. Now, can we please change the subject?’

  ‘Well, when I’m married with kids I’ll visit Mum and Dad as much as possible,’ Pamela said.

  ‘Because you’d never cope on your own,’ Jane muttered under her breath.

  During the following two weeks Mrs Tennison said nothing more about her daughter joining the police, but Jane knew that her mother hoped she wouldn’t be selected, not out of spite but fear for her safety. Her father was more positive. On the day of her interview he wished her good luck and said that whatever happened she still had a job working with him.

  Jane arrived at the interview wearing minimal makeup and looking smart in a skirt and blouse. She was a bag of nerves.

  She was measured and weighed, only to be told by a rather portly female Sergeant that she was underweight. Jane thought that was the end of her interview process, failed because she was too thin, but the Sergeant declared that it wasn’t a major problem; if she was selected they could always ‘fatten her up’ on weight gain tablets and a daily glass of full cream milk.

  Next came the eye test followed by a medical in front of a male police doctor. Jane had to strip down to her underwear. It was the first time she’d ever been almost naked in front of a man she didn’t know, and she felt quite embarrassed. The doctor asked a few general questions about her health, then told her to hold out her hands and turn them over. For Jane, the most humiliating moment came when he asked her to turn round, bend over and touch her toes. Red-faced, she gritted her teeth and bent down, wondering if this was some kind of sick procedure to test her reactions as she would no doubt have to suffer all sorts of humiliating situations as a police officer. The doctor didn’t take her blood pressure or listen to her chest, or give her any other tests, but finished by asking general questions about her health. ‘Everything seems to be in working order,’ he concluded as he ticked a few boxes on a form and told her to get dressed and wait in the room next door to be called for the interview.

  Jane had never felt so nervous in her life. She was glad that she’d taken the time to visit her local police station and speak with a woman officer about the sort of questions she might be asked. She had been warned that many male officers were opposed to women being integrated into the police force.

  As she went back into the waiting-room, she saw a pleasant-looking man in his early thirties, waiting to be interviewed ahead of her. He turned to her and smiled.

  ‘You alright, luv? You look a bit flushed.’ He spoke with a London accent.

  ‘Making you bend over semi-naked just to see how you’d react is a bit much,’ Jane responded, and the man laughed.

  ‘It’s so the Doc can see the curvature of your spine. Though, come to think of it, he could be a nonce.’

  ‘You think so?’ Jane looked troubled.

  ‘Well, he told me to bend over, then grabbed me by the testicles.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, and then he said, ‘One, two, three, cough’. I thought he said off, so I started to run . . . The pain in me nuts was agonising.’

  Jane gaped in amazement. ‘Really?’

  ‘Nope, only joking,’ he replied with a big grin and she started to laugh, feeling more relaxed.

  The door to the interview room opened and a man in his mid-twenties came out, looking visibly shaken. He had long hair, and was wearing an open-neck frilly shirt, cravat, slacks and sandals with socks.

  ‘I can’t believe i
t. I passed the eye test, but they said I was colour-blind and failed me,’ he said despondently as he walked off, his head held low.

  Jane found herself looking round the room at the colour of the walls, carpet and furniture. The joker nudged her as he got up to go in for his interview.

  ‘He’s not colour-blind. Truth is, they probably failed him because he’s dressed like a poofter.’

  Jane felt increasingly anxious as she waited, clutching her hands together as she went over the answers she had prepared. Twenty minutes later, the man came out with a beaming grin and, holding his thumbs up, told Jane he’d passed and she was to go in.

  Sitting behind a desk was a female Chief Inspector who smiled at her, and a male Chief Superintendent, wearing half-moon glasses, who frowned and pointed to a chair.

  The Chief Inspector opened the questioning by asking Jane about her family background, education and the reason she wanted to join the police. Jane felt more at ease with the Chief Inspector, while the Superintendent glared at her over the top of his glasses. She explained how she had read the article in the paper about the integration of the Women’s Branch and knew then that the Police Force would be a worthwhile career that she really wanted to pursue.

  The Chief Superintendent took off his glasses, placed them on the table and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘You see it as a career, do you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and I feel I am up to the challenge.’

  ‘So you don’t have any intention of getting married and having children . . . as most women seem to do after a few years in the force?’

  ‘Well, not at the moment, sir, and I’m not in a relationship with anyone.’

  ‘Not a lesbian, are you?’ he asked with a sneer.

  ‘No,’ Jane replied, trying not to sound offended yet feeling under pressure.

  The Chief Inspector took over. ‘So you work for your father as a secretary. Do you have much experience of dealing with people?’

  ‘I look after his clients who visit the office and . . . ’

  ‘Very challenging,’ the Superintendent interrupted in a sarcastic tone.

  Jane wasn’t sure if he was being deliberately rude to test her mettle or if he just disliked the idea of women being in the police force. She looked at the Chief Inspector who gave a discreet nod, as if encouraging her to speak up for herself. Jane’s mouth was dry so she licked her lips lightly before continuing.

  ‘As a school prefect I had to uphold the rules and ensure that everyone did the same. I like to think that I helped maintain the smooth running of the school and set a good example to the other pupils in terms of attitude and behaviour.’

  The Superintendent sneered. ‘Well, that should help when you’re dealing with a six foot two verbally abusive drunk who’s just committed an indecent assault and will knock your block off to get away.’

  ‘Personally I feel that would depend on how you deal with him, sir. An unaggressive approach might help to ease and calm the situation, and I’m sure the majority of male officers would call for back-up when faced with a six foot two drunk.’

  The Superintendent was about to make a comment when the Chief Inspector interrupted.

  ‘That was an excellent answer, Miss Tennison, and I have to say that overall I am very impressed with your interview manner. You clearly did some homework before coming here today. I think you are suitable to become a Constable in the Metropolitan Police force . . . Don’t you?’ She smiled as she turned to her colleague.

  ‘If you say so, but time will tell,’ he replied.

  Instead of going straight home to tell her mother, an ecstatic Jane went to her father’s office first to share her good news. He gave her a big hug and, rather than let Jane face her mother alone, he drove her home. Unable to hold back the tears, Mrs Tennison congratulated her daughter. Jane knew they were tears of sadness and sensed that her father had already primed her not to criticise or challenge Jane’s decision. Even Pamela was positive when she heard the news, and once again she asked to have her sister’s room.

  The first Monday in September was the day that Jane started in ‘The Met’. Her father drove her to Peto House, where she left her suitcase. She was allocated a small shared room with two single beds; down the hall was a communal washroom. Jane then went by bus with five other women to New Scotland Yard to be sworn in as a police constable. On arrival they were taken to a large conference room where nearly fifty male recruits were waiting.

  Taking the oath was a moment in her life that she would never forget . . .

  ‘I Jane Tennison do solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that I will well and truly serve Our Sovereign Lady the Queen in the office of constable, without favour or affection, malice or ill will; and that I will to the best of my power cause the peace to be kept and preserved, and prevent all offences against the persons and properties of Her Majesty’s subjects; and that while I continue to hold the said office I will to the best of my skill and knowledge discharge all the duties thereof faithfully according to law.’

  After being sworn in, they were taken by bus to Hendon and given a new uniform, off the peg if it fitted, or measured up for one if it didn’t. As the stores officer handed Jane a uniform to try on, he informed her that it was a new outfit created by the famous fashion designer Norman Hartnell, who had made Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation gown and Princess Margaret’s wedding dress. Jane smiled, thinking he was pulling her leg, but the officer assured her that he was being serious. Jane was lucky: her skirt, jacket and cape fitted, but the pillbox style hat she tried on was too big and there wasn’t one in her size. The hat wobbled whenever Jane moved her head. Laughing, the store officer advised her to stick some toilet paper around the inside rim and promised to order the next size down for her. She was also issued with several white shirts, two black bow ties, a leather shoulder bag, leather shoes, a PE kit with plimsolls and kit bag to carry it in. She would have to purchase her own black tights and would be given a ‘tights allowance’ in her wages.

  After lunch they went to their allocated classrooms and found on each desk a name card with their places set out in alphabetical order, along with two notebooks, pens, pencil and a rubber. A Uniform Inspector and Sergeant, their two class instructors for the course, introduced themselves. They were friendly yet sombre in tone when they spoke, especially the Inspector who addressed them first.

  ‘Having been sworn in today as constables your lives have changed. Before, as a member of the public, you had the choice of turning a blind eye or walking away from something that was illegal or offended you. You no longer have that choice. It is your responsibility to uphold the law, keep the peace and protect the public, on or off duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. That responsibility is something you should always be proud of and never take for granted.’

  A member of the class raised his hand. Jane could see that it was the joker she had met during her interview at Paddington.

  ‘When will we be issued with warrant cards and told what station we’ll be posted to?’

  The Inspector gave him a stern look. ‘You won’t . . . unless you pass the practical and written exams, and if you do pass you will then become probationers at your new stations, with further training and exams for another twenty months. Only then will a final decision be made as to whether or not you are suitable to be fully confirmed as Police Constables.’

  Jane could see that some of the class looked worried at the mention of exams, but it didn’t bother her. Throughout her schooling she had proved herself to be a good learner. She knew that hard work and concentration always brought excellent results, and she actually enjoyed having her knowledge tested through exams.

  Jane’s class was made up of eighteen recruits from different backgrounds. There was one other girl, called Heather, who was a year younger than Jane and a former bank teller. Among the men there was an ex-plumber, an accountant, a labourer and a young man who had given up university where he had been studying to be a doctor. A few o
f the men had joined straight from school and were aged nineteen or just under. Most of the rest of the class were in their early to mid-twenties, with a couple in their early thirties, one of them being the joker. Two had served in the armed forces which, when the class were told, was obvious by their immaculately pressed suits, short hair and black shoes that were so shiny you could see your reflection in them. The Inspector passed comment that he expected all the class to look just as well turned out in uniform, with bulled boots and shoes, for the daily morning inspection parade.

  The Sergeant left the room briefly and returned wheeling a trolley stacked with a pile of thick, black bound books which he placed to one side of the room. The Inspector pointed his finger at the class.

  ‘Any of you lot able to quote me the primary object of an efficient police?’

  There was silence; it seemed no one had a clue. The Inspector rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  ‘The primary object of an efficient police is the prevention of crime: the next that of detection and punishment of offenders if a crime is committed. To these ends all the efforts of police must be directed.’ He paused.

  ‘These were the words of Sir Richard Mayne who, in 1829 at the age of 33, was appointed as a Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and served in post until his death aged 72.’

  ‘There’s hope for me yet,’ the joker said, raising a laugh.

  The Inspector frowned. ‘Only if you can learn things, as we like to say in the job, parrot-fashion.’

  The Sergeant pointed to the trolley. ‘Your new bible The Metropolitan Police Instruction Book. Step forward, take one, and write your name and today’s date in it.’

  Once they had all taken their books the Sergeant continued.

  ‘Turn to chapter one, paragraph two, and you will see the quotation the Inspector just read from memory . . . Now it’s your turn to learn it word perfect for a written test first thing tomorrow morning.’

  There were looks of surprise around the room and a few gasps. Even the joker was lost for words.

  The Inspector looked unconcerned. ‘Cheer up, you miserable lot. It’s the same for every new recruit, and let me assure you, this course will get harder as the weeks progress. There will be those among you who will fall by the wayside, some may decide that it’s not the right job for them, others may feel the studying is too hard, or fail the exams. Some of you may even fall foul of the rules, regulations and high standards we expect. Above all, I’d encourage you to help and support each other throughout the course. Being a good police officer is not just about how you perform as individuals, it’s about team work and sometimes your life may depend upon your fellow officers’ quick thinking and actions. On that happy note, we’ll call it a day so you can return to your rooms and start studying.’