by Ronald Cove
“Well that’s bloody good thinkin’ my ol’ son, but if you can now just look a little deeper into yer crystal ball, perhaps yer can say exactly where we’ll find ‘is bleedin’ lodgins’,” Dave tried, adding more sarcasm. Nevertheless we were both surprised when DC Willis, the junior member of our team, offered us an even larger smile and astonishingly replied “Well, we know he won’t go back to Hornchurch, he’s obviously done what ‘ad to be done there, and yer can count Bow out of the equation, coz he must know the police there are on to him by now so” DC Willis fell silent for a moment. “Yeah so?” Dave groaned impatiently “go on” he next tried encouragingly, but Willis stood staring off into space in deep contemplation, then suddenly he was back with us “Yes” he went on “the bugger will now keep well away from Biggin airfield itself, yet his lodgings won’t be too far away. Let’s find a bloody map somewhere” he concluded.
*
It had been a long passionate night for Sally, the bogus Cpl: Fletcher’s landlady, it was a night Sally knew she wasn’t likely to forget in a hurry. She realised there wouldn’t be too many more nights like the one she’d just experienced, and that she thought was a pity because he had performed every erotic sexual act possible in bed that night, she’d found to her amazement, the whole experience had been most satisfyingly enjoyable, and now just thinking about it made her blush. However, he had revealed that night that he must exchange the RAF uniform for some civvies. He also added a change of name would be in order, he then announced ‘my name will now be Reg. Martin’ then he went on to explain that all the necessary documents required to prove he, ‘Reg. Martin’, existed were at that moment securely sewn into the lining of a large suitcase he’d retrieved from Biggin Hill. The next thing he had disclosed Sally simply did not want to hear ‘I must consider a change of lodgings at some point’ was his final remark.
*
Having spent some time searching around in the police car DI Selby finally stepped back with a book of maps in his hand. “‘Ere we are Tony me lad” he chuckled handing it to DC Willis. Tony took map book, jumped behind the steering wheel, switched on a small light above his head, took pencil and pad from his pocket, and began searching each page until he found Biggin Hill. “Ah, ‘ere we go” Tony sung out, and began running a finger around the Biggin Hill area. “Now let’s see” he mumbled, then “right sir, I think we’re more than likely find our man in a lodging house somewhere within a radius of five to ten miles from the Biggin airfield” Willis suddenly shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know sir, there’s lots of places he could be, the bugger could ‘ave us runnin’ around all bloody night” he moaned in frustration. Selby looking slightly crestfallen, tried encouraging our psychic junior partner. “Well never mind son just concentrate, yer know on places yer think the bugger might be” Selby put forward in a fatherly tone. “Ok, I’ll do my best sir” Willis replied and slowly continued “Well look, there’s the airfield” his finger stopped on Biggin Hill “there can yer see?” he added as Dave and yours truly leant further into the car. “Yeah right” Selby answered. “Well remember what I said?” DC Willis went on “five to ten miles, so that gives us Farleigh, Westerham and Warlingham” he stopped, sat pondering for a moment then continued “of course there’s New Addington, maybe too far away though, or Keston, blimey could be anywhere in that area sir” Willis concluded, at the same time making a complete circle on the map with his pencil. “That’s alright son, we’ll try the bloody lot if needs be” Selby decided.
20:
MAN IN A BLUE SUIT
I’ve no idea why DI. Selby and I were called back to Bow Road police station, but from what I could gather from Dave, it would appear that the top brass were now considering whether or not they should call on MI5 for help in this case.
As Dave had related to me, at some point the Hornchurch police who were still investigating the murder in Stanley Road, Hornchurch, had somehow got wind of an RAF sergeant found dead in a bombed-out house near a place called Farleigh. It would appear that an autopsy had revealed that although the sergeants’ body had been found buried under a pile of rubble, not one particle of dust had penetrated his lungs. There had also been some talk of a witness coming forward stating he had seen an RAF corporal getting in a car with the sergeant. When asked what type of car it was, the witness stated categorically it was a Vauxhall, which had been found some distance away. The coroner had also found several large bruises on the sergeants’ head, so therefore concluded the sergeant had been killed somewhere else, and at this point would not rule out the possibility of foul play.
After having all this information laid on me, I nearly went stark raving mad. “In that bloody case, why the bloody ‘ell did they bring us to this bleadin’ dump?” I demanded in anger. “Well my ol’ son, the ‘super’ thought it best to inform us that MI5 may now be taking the case over,” Dave calmly reminded me, then further added, “anyway they still want us here for something or other”
We were now sitting at a table in a small room in the Bow Road police station. This room I dare-say, had been used for many things in the past, but at this particular moment served as a tea room. Dave offered me two saccharine for my tea. “One will do,” I told him. “So now what the bloody ‘ell we gonna do?” I asked Dave. He took a mouthful of tea, rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, produced a pack of cigarettes selected one for himself, pushed what was left in the pack across the table towards me. As we lit up, a uniform constable came round and drew the big heavy blackout curtains, and not a moment too soon, for although it was getting dark already, none of us expected jerry to be over so early. Nevertheless here he was once again having another go at ruining our city and also doing his best to break that steadfast London spirit, with them bloody stuka dive bombers screaming down all over the bleeding place.
Dave and I being old infantry men from the first war, found we couldn’t stay cooped up inside for too long. So like the best part of the Bow road police constabulary, we nipped out into the yard, where most mounted officers busied themselves trying to pacify frightened horses. “‘Ere bugger this, too crowded ‘ere Bill” Dave stated. “Yeah, let’s move round front,” I suggested. As we did so, three of them bloody stukas came screaming down releasing their poxy bombs with seemingly specific orders, which were to rid London of the two smartest detectives in England, but of course they missed. Dave and I had legged it, and by the time those bombs exploded, we’d almost reached Tom Thumbs arch, where we stood a minuscule amount of protection from the arch itself.
*
Having completed several alterations to a near new blue suit, which had long since been left behind in a wardrobe by a previous forgetful border of Sally’s lodgings, she had presented it as a gift to her new lodger Mr: Reg. Martin, who had quite recently decided to change his name from Dick Fletcher. Reg. Martin slipped a wallet which contained several one-pound notes along with an identity card, into the inside pocket of his coat, handed a ration book to Sally, studied himself for a moment or two in the mirror. “Well, what do you think of your new lodger now Sally my girl?” he enquired. Sally stood arms folded while running a critical eye over him. “Now let me see, speaking as a woman, I would say ‘what a very attractive man who has such style and charisma which seems to ooze from him’” she cooed softly slipping her arms around him and tilting her head slightly in order to receive his kiss on her full red beautifully shaped lips. After a while she pulled away from him gasping for breath. She kept him at bay with one hand on his chest. “My God” she panted. Reg. Martin smiled then took a step back “And as my new landlady?” he prodded. “As your new landlady” she repeated his words, “I would have taken one look at you in that blue suit and start to wonder how long it would take me to entice you into my bed” she replied then went into a fit of giggling, while Reg. Martin found it impossible to keep his hands off her as he manoeuvred this exciting woman onto a sofa in her front room.
*
Alright, so there we were stuck under Tom
Thumbs bloody arch, and it didn’t take long for us to realise Jerry was intent on keeping us there for a while. Roughly five minutes after our arrival, one of them bloody death on wheels ‘pom pom’ lorries stopped in the middle of an adjoining street, just a stones’ throw away from our sanctuary. Dave shrugged his shoulders, nodded upwards as a steam train rattled its way over this fragile little bridge we were standing under, he also said something which I didn’t hear owing to the noise of the train, then being deafened by bloody gunfire, bombs exploding, sodden air raid wardens running around screaming their bleeding heads off with ‘Put that bloody light out’ and of course, police cars flying about ringing their bloody bells, even coppers on foot blowing their lungs out on their whistles. Add to this those angels of the night; the white ambulances, tearing to newly bombed out buildings and rushing the injured to nearby hospitals with their bloody bells ringing and deafening everyone. In amongst all this fire engines chugging about with even bigger bells clanging away, of course usually by the time they’d arrived on the scene the place had burnt down anyway, all there was left to do was dig out the dead bodies and lay them out on the curb, and some bugger would still stay on the engine ringing that bloody bell.
Nevertheless with all this going on around us we both sat on the ground, lit a fresh cigarette each, while off in the distance we suddenly heard the delightful sound of an ‘all clear’. Still, I daresay like me, Dave at that particular moment was back at Mons, or even on the Somme battlefield, and with me watching, as one friend after another was struck down. However apart from all those ambulances, fire engines and police cars still dodging about clanging their bloody bells, and of course don’t let’s forget the bloody racket of that ‘all clear’ siren which completed the overture, all was quiet, as far as the guns were concerned. Dave gave me a gift of two more smoke rings, then pinched out a half smoked cigarette. I tried returning his generosity, but once again near on choked me bleedin’ self. “Never mind Bill let’s nip back, see if our glamour boy driver Willis is still around” Dave suggested.
As it turned out, back at Bow police station we found DC Willis drinking tea and scoffing buttered toast. “Ah everythin’ alright ‘ere Tony?” DI Selby enquired while indicating to me he could do with another cigarette, which I duly supplied, ‘naturally’. “Yeah, bit excitin’ for a while there sir, but no one got hurt” he informed us through a mouthful of toast, then quickly held up his hand as Dave was about to speak “oh yeah” Willis went on “them buggers came all along the Mile End Road, machine guns blazin’ away, you’ll even be able to see where they hit that bleedin’ bridge when it gets light” he stated with a distasteful look on his face, and pointed through a window next to where he was sitting. “Bridge, what bloody bridge?” I put in. “Cor blimey sarge: where the bleedin’ ‘ell you been?. This bridge across this bleedin’ road” he told me, emphasising his point by pointing through the window again, towards Stratford bridge. “Oh that one,” I offered back as though I’d been joking all along. Dave stepped in with “That means they ‘ave torn up ‘alf of bleedin’ Stratford’s High Street” he informed us, after which he gave me a quizzical look and two more perfectly shaped smoke rings. The smoke rings I chose to ignore. “Why the bloody ‘ell would they machine gun that bridge, or the Stratford High Street for that matter?” Dave frowned.
*
Reg. Martin retrieved the small briefcase he’d left on top of the wardrobe in his room. Inside he carefully placed six hand grenades at the same time thinking how lucky he was to have such an obliging landlady. She not only offered her body for his manly needs, but also supplied him with the right kind of ordnance he required for any mission he may undertake. ‘Yes I’m very lucky’ he thought as he pushed six primers for said hand grenades into his jacket pocket. It was while sitting on his bed smoking, Martin started to contemplate just how he would go about distributing these few kind gifts, his landlady had supplied him with. She had however made one stipulation, which was to stay away from all petrol tankers, because many of the drivers in the past had done her several favours. Nevertheless he had already decided not to leave them out of the equation simply because they had probably slept with her. No, as far as he was concerned, they were all fair game.
21:
CARNAGE AT HEATHWAY
I don’t know why I was so surprised to be on my way back to Hornchurch with DI Selby and DC Willis, after all we did have lodgings there. Still it came as a complete surprise when that phone in the Bow Road police station rang, and some bloody official from Scotland Yard told Dave Selby that until told otherwise he and his team would be working out of Essex, from Hornchurch police station to be precise. Dave cradled the phone, gave me a smile then said, “Right Bill, grab yer belongings because it’s back to Hornchurch we go”. So that was that.
All three of us travelled by train because DC Willis; our driver, had informed us the Bow Road constabulary could not spare a car for us, although this time it turned out alright, as we were travelling in daylight, and not one single bomb dropped anywhere near us for the one hour we spent on that bleedin’ train. Anyhow when we finally arrived at Hornchurch, Dave made a point of speaking to several ticket collectors, until he’d finally netted the one who had been approached by the RAF corporal enquiring about the Hornchurch aerodrome. “Yers, he even gave me his name, Richard something I believe, hang on a minute I wrote it down, should be in here,” the collector said as he sorted through a small desk that stood just inside a room that looked hardly large enough to accommodate the man, let alone a desk. Nevertheless he eventually gave Selby a name. “Yeah, here we are mate ‘Dick Fletcher’ that’s what he’d said,” the railway man told Dave. Dave thanked his informer and slipped back over to us. “There you are, at least we’ve gotta bloody name at last” Dave happily announced. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t look so bleedin’ pleased with yerself so soon, coz ol’ Dickie boy ‘as probably changed ‘is ‘andle and no doubt by now masquerading about as bleedin’ Errol Flynn” I laughingly told poor old Dave, which I’m sure must have ruined any illusions he may have been harbouring about tracking this man down.
*
It was in fact the Fords and Briggs motor plants, these two main car factories in Dagenham, which were now working in conjunction with each other, turning out military vehicles for the British armed forces for the duration of the war, that Reg. Martin had decided would be his next target. Having by now grown a small beard that showed a touch of grey, as did his well-groomed head of hair now reposing under a neatly tilted trilby hat. Mr: Martin also found it to be appropriate to use a heavy strong wooden walking cane, and would constantly remind people how lucky he’d been getting away from Dunkirk with nothing more than just a leg wound.
Early that morning Sally had given her lodger Reg. Martin a thorough inspection. “Yes you’ll pass” she stated, then quickly kissed him on the lips, closed the front door behind him, ran up stairs, flung herself on her bed and began weeping.
As before, Martin made his way back to London using his thumb. Once in London he boarded a train at Bromley-by-Bow bound for Dagenham in Essex.
*
As we’d done a couple of times previously the three of us took a nice stroll from Hornchurch rail station to the police station, and of course as before, we once again passed Stanley Road which this time appeared to be quite normal. Anyway, on crossing the road and approaching the police station, about a further five minutes walk, would you Adam and Eve it, that bloody air raid warning started, blasting our eardrums again, sodden thing. Still one thing we didn’t have to worry about was them bloody guns on wheels contraption. Apparently Hornchurch didn’t possess too many of those bleeding mobile greeting machines. So, all we had to contend with was some serious bombing and a bloody lot of anti-aircraft guns banging away. The racket of all this no doubt causing many a heart attack!
After Dave had spoken to some big wig by phone, DC Willis found himself travelling back to Elm Park in order to retrieve our car, while Dave and me started on a
nice stroll down town back to our lodgings. However, whilst in town we decided to have a pint. We therefore stepped into the ‘White Hart Hotel’. Because darkness was starting to creep in, we quickly manipulated our way through the heavy pub door, and smartly drew the blackout curtain hanging inside. Dave walked straight to the bar and ordered two pints of Old English ale, then very subtly informed the bar lady who we were, after which it didn’t take him long to learn that an RAF corporal had indeed popped in for a pint, and very strangely had asked how he could catch a train to London, without the bother of walking to the Hornchurch station.
We continued our travel going by the Odeon cinema, on passed the ‘Grey Towers’ down towards Harrow Lodge park, we crossed the road heading towards our digs. It was then Dave gave me the benefit of some very shrewd brain work on his part. “Yer see Bill, that’s something else we’ve learnt”. “‘Ave we?” I queried. “Look, this bleedin’ RAF bloke is obviously operatin’ from London” he handed me these few snippets just to keep me interested I’m sure, but then suddenly my brain started working. “‘Ang about Dave, remember what Tony said, within a five to ten-mile radius from the aerodrome the bugger works from” I reminded Dave. “Right so that means the bugger must be beddin’ down outside London” Dave slipped in. “Yeah, that’s what Tony pointed out” I threw in. “Ok but most of those places Tony mentioned are way outside London anyway” Dave smugly remarked. “Well, as for that me ol’ mate, think Tony was dead right when he said somewhere like Westerham, Farleigh or Warlingham, a place not too far from Biggin Hill itself” was my final comment. Dave was about to reply but instead, like myself, nearly jumped out of his bloody skin when two things happened. First, a big black Wolseley car drew silently alongside us, then started to blast away continuously on the bloody horn. The second thing that occurred was a stream of heavy bombs exploding in a back street close by, leaving Dave and me diving for the gutter with blood pressure dancing around in the heavens while we lay trying to stop the bloody ground shaking beneath us, meantime listening to red hot chunks of metal (they call this shrapnel) bouncing off the ground around us. Anyway when Dave and me jumped into the car, DC Tony Willis sped off and while doing so informed us Superintendent Jarvis would be expecting to see us at 8pm that evening.