“You fellers leave nowt to chance, do you?”
“No,” I said. “We don’t.”
After I had noted the excise licence details, I said, “I’d like to see Sam now. Where is he?”
“He’ll be in these buildings. I’ll shout him.”
He bellowed Sam’s name and soon the lad appeared looking pale and dishevelled, the legacy of his night out. He was very tall and thin, a serious-faced lad but pleasant to deal with.
“Now, Sam.” I did not smile.
“Hello, Mr Rhea,” and his eyes did not meet mine.
“You know why I’m here?”
“Aye.”
“It’s your car?” I had to ask the formal question for evidential purposes.
“Aye.”
“And you were driving it from Maddleskirk towards Aidensfield in the early hours of this morning, past the Abbey about quarter-past-one?”
“Aye.”
George interrupted us to address his son. “Leeakster, lad, when thoo’s involved in summat like a traffic accident, thoo’s got ti stop and tell t’folks who’s there who thoo is …”
“Aye, Ah know,” said Samuel, “but Ah was scared.”
“Drunk, mair like,” snapped his father.
“Ah’d had a few, not too many, not enough to stop me driving.”
“Thoo’ll nut be having t’lad for drinking and driving, Mr Rhea?”
“No,” I said to his relief. This was before the days of the breathalyser and besides, this youth was stone cold sober now. “He’s not drunk now, and I can’t prove what he was like when this happened, can I?”
George smiled.
“Come inti t’house then, both on you.”
We followed him inside and he produced a bottle of whisky. “It’s Christmas Day, Mr Rhea, so thoo’ll have a noggin wiv us?”
“Aye,” I said, “I will, but I must see this lad’s papers first – insurance, driving licence, test certificate.” I hoped they were all in order, for I didn’t want to get Samuel into deeper trouble.
“Get ’em, Sam.”
I was relieved to find they were all correct, and I sat at the table to note their particulars in my notebook. As I worked, Samuel plonked a huge glass of whisky before me. It was neat and there must have been a third of a pint.
“Sup it up, lad, it’ll warm thoo nicely.”
“Samuel,” I addressed him before I lifted my glass. “I’ve got to report you for various offences – it will probably mean an appearance at Eltering Magistrates’ Court.”
“Can’t thoo settle it oot o’ court?” asked George.
“This is a criminal court, it’s not a civil case,” I tried to explain the difference. “We’ve had a formal complaint about Sam’s driving, so I’ve no choice. I’ve got to submit my report and Sam will get a summons in due course.”
“It won’t mean prison, will it?” The lad’s eyes were wide and fearful.
“No, a fine perhaps, a smallish one. It’s your first offence,” and I tried to put the situation in its right perspective.
“Ah’ll say it was my fault, ’cos it was,” offered Samuel, white-faced and obviously worried. “Ah should ’ave stopped, Mr Rhea; Ah was bloody daft not to.”
“Fair enough. Now listen to what I’m reporting you for,” I advised. “First, there’s bound to be careless driving. Then you failed to stop after an accident, and you failed to report it to the police as soon as practicable.”
“Three, eh?” counted his father. “Three offences.”
“Three,” I confirmed.
“Not drunk driving?”
“No,” I said once more. “I’ve no evidence to suggest he was drunk.”
“Nobody said I was?” Samuel’s statement was phrased like a question.
“Nobody suggested anything of the sort, Sam. It won’t enter my report. You panicked, that’s all.”
“Aye,” he smiled. “Fair enough.”
“Thoo’s a lucky lad, Sam,” commented his father.
“You’ll get a summons in about three weeks,” I told him.
“Serves the young bugger right,” said George when I’d finished. “Ah’ve had a go at him for gahin oot late and driving home. Yon pub needs checking, lad, for boozing late.”
“It’s not on my beat, Mr Boston, but I’ll have words with the sergeant.”
“Aye, well, sup that whisky. This is Christmas, thoo knaws.”
Samuel and Mrs Boston joined us and we chatted as we always had before this incident. We talked of nothing in particular for this was just another friendly chat between the village bobby and one of his farming community. What we had discussed ten minutes earlier was now over and done with. I stayed longer than I intended and had two more massive whiskies. I found the room beginning to move about me, so I made a pathetic attempt to leave.
“It’s a good job thoo’s walking back, lad,” George laughed. “Ah hope thy missus has a nice heavy dinner ready. Thoo’ll need summat to sober thyself up, ’specially if t’sergeant turns up.”
“She’s busy with the dinner now,” I muttered incoherently, aiming for the door. “Thankshh for being sho co-operative.”
“Hod on, lad, thoo’s forgotten summat,” George called me back.
“Forgotten?” I wondered if I had left my cap, but it was perched on my head in approximately the right position. I looked at George. He was holding a massive, dressed duck, ready for the oven.
“It’s thy Christmas duck, tak it.”
“No, I couldn’t, not after reporting Sshamuel.”
“Oor Sam was a bloody fool; he’s lucky he’s not been takken off t’road for ever, drunk driving or summat warse. Tak this duck – it’s thine.”
“I can’t,” I managed to say, “I musshn’t – I cannot accept gifts, it’s againssht the rules.”
“Who said it was for thoo?” he questioned me. “It’s not.”
“Then who issh it for?” I asked stupidly.
“Thy wife and kids,” he smiled. “There’s no law to say Ah can’t give thy missus and bairns a duck, is there?”
I left, bearing the huge bare duck beneath my arm as I wound my erratic way back up the hill and into my cosy house. I was just in time for dinner and spent the afternoon getting over that spell of duty. I sat around, at first in a haze of noise and fun, and then in a clearer atmosphere as I played with the children and their new toys. Nothing else turned up, except a sprinkling of snow. As George Boston would have said, “It snew on Christmas Day, just a strinkling.”
But that ‘strinkling’ became a steady snowfall and I could see the features of his farm gradually vanishing in a desert of white. Walls disappeared against a background of pure white and I was reminded of the lines of Robert Bridges’ poem, ‘London Snow’,
“Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town;
Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing;
Lazily and incessantly floating down and down:
Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing;
Hiding difference, making unevenness even,
Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.”
With that snow, Christmas had truly arrived and the land about grew whiter as evening fell. It was a very pleasant Christmas Day.
We had the duck for New Year’s Day dinner and it was truly delicious, and that Christmas and New Year, Mary received eleven pheasants, two brace of grouse, one hare, two Christmas cakes, several bottles, one umbrella and a bag of anonymous Brussels sprouts.
A month later, Samuel was fined a total of £32 and had his licence endorsed.
Copyright
© Nicholas Rhea 1979
First published in Great Britain 1979
This edition 2012
ISBN 978 0 7198 0504 2 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 0505 9 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 0506 6 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7091 7348 9 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
&
nbsp; Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Nicholas Rhea to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Constable on the Hill Page 21