CONSTABLE AROUND THE HOUSES a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘I think it should go to a local museum,’ said Eunice. ‘I’m not sure I want that sort of thing in the house!’

  ‘There’s a new folk museum at Hutton-le-Hole,’ I said. ‘They’d welcome something as unique as this witch post.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ agreed Bob. ‘But it does say something about this house — the chap who had it built, according to what I have been able to find out, seems to have been a peculiar character. There are no windows facing south, not one, and it seems he regarded love of the sun as something pagan. He was from one of those small religious sects . . . so I wonder if he had the witch post installed?’

  ‘It strikes me you’ve a lot of research to do,’ I said. ‘Well, I must be off. I’m pleased your stolen post has been returned.’

  ‘At least the house will be free from witches,’ grinned Robert Scholes.

  ‘And you will get locks fitted to your doors?’ I reminded him.

  ‘Is that because you want to stop people returning my property to where it belongs?’ he chuckled.

  Chapter 3

  ‘If there’s one thing that promises me great pleasure during my retirement,’ said Sergeant Blaketon during a relaxed moment in Ashfordly Police Station, ‘it is the fact that my working days will no longer be blighted by the activities of that man, Greengrass.’

  ‘He’ll never be far away, Sergeant,’ I smiled, ‘not if you’re going to run Aidensfield Post Office.’

  We were all enjoying something that was supposed to be a cup of coffee. It had been prepared by Alf Ventress and looked like a mixture of beef gravy, sewing machine oil and lemon barley water. Nonetheless, it was wet and warm and enabled us to have a few moments of informal chatter with Sergeant Blaketon. Certainly, he did seem more chatty and amiable than usual — no doubt his impending departure from the responsibilities of office was making him more relaxed.

  ‘Talking of Greengrass.’ PC Ventress appeared from the cell passage where he had brewed our coffee and he was carrying his own chipped mug full of the curious brew. ‘I hear he’s started giving driving lessons.’

  ‘Driving lessons! You mean that man’s teaching other people how to drive cars?’ Blaketon almost exploded and managed to spill some of the coffee down his uniform. He made no effort to wipe it off and I wondered if it would rot the cloth in due course, but as he was soon retiring, that might not bother him. ‘You can’t be serious, Ventress?’

  ‘Well, I must admit I find it a bit strange, but ever since Mrs Ventress came out of hospital—’

  ‘Hospital?’ Blaketon echoed our surprise. ‘I had no idea she’s been in hospital! Nothing serious, I hope.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it was anything of major concern, Sergeant, but to be honest I don’t really know what it was all about. She said she’d had everything taken out. She’s just about back to normal now, but it was all very embarrassing because it was something to do with women’s problems and I’m not very knowledgeable about such things. I found it most difficult, talking to her about it, and I never did find out what was really the matter. I find the anatomy of women to be a very peculiar subject, Sarge, something a simple chap like me really needs to know nothing about. Anyway, now she’s fit and well, whatever it was that she had out seems to have given her a new lease of life because she said something about studying self-defence, climbing Helvellyn, learning to ski and taking driving lessons.’

  ‘They call it the mid-life crisis, Ventress, when women start wanting to leave the family home and do strange things like driving cars or running businesses. Some people call it “that time of life”, I am told. That time of life does affect women in different ways, I know it made my wife very irritable. But Mrs Ventress is not taking driving lessons with Greengrass, surely?’ I could see that Blaketon’s mind had rapidly switched back to police work. ‘If she is, there must be something to stop him, he’s a risk to the public at all times and if he’s going to teach others his doubtful skills, it’ll mean there’ll be dozens of dangerous drivers on the roads.’

  ‘How did Mrs Ventress know about Greengrass’s driving school?’ I asked Alf. ‘I didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘She’d been to see a friend in Aidensfield, only yesterday it was, Nick, and she spotted a notice in the post office window,’ responded Alf. ‘It said, “L-Passo. The Greengrass School of Motoring. Comprehensive tuition. Satisfaction guaranteed. Own car or pupil’s car. Very reasonable charges. Get started without getting choked. Crash courses extra”.’

  ‘Aidensfield Post Office?’ I could see Blaketon’s face going a deep crimson now. ‘You mean he’s actually advertising in my post office, for something as dubious as one of his enterprises! You’ll have to stop him, Rhea. I never thought I’d have to face that man in my retirement, so get him stopped. And Ventress, why don’t you teach Mrs Ventress to drive? It’ll be cheaper and safer.’

  ‘Oh, she’d never take any notice of what I told her, Sarge. If I said turn right she’d turn left, and if I said stop she’d go faster, and if I suggested she operate the windscreen wipers she’d ask why. She wants to know the far end of everything and thinks the choke is a useful knob to hang her handbag on. We’d fight all the time; she’d drive me crackers. No, Sarge, it would never work. I’d prefer it if she went to Greengrass for that sort of thing. I’ll be happy letting her drive him crackers.’

  ‘But Greengrass . . . why Greengrass? Aren’t there other driving instructors?’

  ‘Well, his prices are reasonable, he does supply the vehicle for the lessons which means she won’t be likely to crash my car, and she does go to Aidensfield to see her friend on a regular basis, so she could include a driving lesson while she’s there.’

  ‘She’s clearly thought it all through, Ventress.’

  ‘She has, Sarge, and after all, any fool can teach someone else to drive.’

  ‘Except you can’t teach Mrs Ventress?’

  ‘No, Sarge, I’m not as foolish as that. To be honest, I thought if she took lessons with Greengrass she’d get nowhere fast and in the due course of time she might get fed up with the whole idea and give it up. With a bit of luck it might put her off driving for ever.’

  ‘Good reasoning, Ventress. Keep death off the road, eh? Well, whatever the reasons behind Mrs Ventress having lessons with Greengrass, it sounds like a very dubious enterprise to me. You’d better check it out, Rhea, see if he’s properly insured, that his car is roadworthy and all that.’

  At that time anyone could teach another person to drive a motor vehicle on the road, provided the teacher held a valid driving licence for the class of vehicle involved and that he or she had held that licence for at least two years without having been disqualified. Towards the end of the 1960s, however, persons who were paid to teach others to drive had themselves to take a test of competence and, if they passed, they were registered; they could then use the title Ministry of Transport Approved Driving Instructor. After that time it was illegal to charge for driving lessons unless the instructor was registered, although this did not affect ‘L’ drivers being taught by friends and family without payment. Greengrass’s scheme therefore pre-empted that change in the law and he was then quite within his rights to offer driving lessons for payment.

  As I left Ashfordly Police Station that morning I felt there was little I could do to prevent him offering his services as a driving instructor, provided, of course, he was adequately insured. If I was to satisfy Blaketon’s orders, though, I would have to wait until I encountered Greengrass on the road with one of his pupils at the wheel — with ‘L’ plates displayed — then ask to see the pupil’s driving documents — road tax, driving licence and certificate of insurance, and likewise, Greengrass’s documents. I did feel, though, that it was unfair to stop a vehicle being driven in a perfectly satisfactory manner by a learner driver. Being stopped by the police was harrowing at any time and I had no wish to be oppressive to someone on the threshold of their driving career, so I thought I would visit Greengrass at his ranch
, just to explore the legality of his latest scheme. This was one house I knew well and when I arrived I found him cleaning a vehicle — an old fire engine.

  ‘Morning, Claude,’ I greeted him, as I parked my little van among the pile of scrap metal in his yard.

  ‘It wasn’t me and I never saw a thing,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever it is, Constable, it’s not my fault, I didn’t do it and I know nowt about it.’

  That response was quite normal, so I ignored it, asking, ‘So, what’s all this about you giving driving lessons, Claude?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I give driving lessons? I give value for money, Constable. There’s not many folks can remain as calm as me in a crisis — ideal for somebody who’s teaching driving — and I do know my nearside from my offside, my choke from my reverse gear and I might even distinguish an alternator from a distributor cap.’

  ‘Eyesight in good order, is it?’

  ‘I can spot a copper a mile off, if that’s what you’re getting at, and I can read a number plate at twenty-five yards. And I know the colours of traffic lights, in the correct sequence. So, what’s this? The third degree or something?’

  ‘Sergeant Blaketon --’

  ‘I might have known he was behind this! He has no time for enterprise and initiative, hasn’t that man. Too rule-bound, he is. He dislikes us entrepreneurs, businessmen serving the local community, caring folk who are prepared to offer their skills and services for the benefit of others. It’s professional jealousy.’

  ‘He’d heard you had started a driving school and asked me to give you any suitable advice you might need,’ I said, tongue in cheek.

  ‘Suitable advice? From Blaketon? Like “don’t”! Is that what you mean?’ he grinned. ‘That’s the advice he’d give me. But in case you’re worried, I am insured, all my vehicles are insured for business purposes and unnamed drivers, my driving licence is valid for all groups of vehicles and if I give a lesson in a pupil’s car instead of my own, I shall check that their insurance covers us. Right? I am a professional, Constable, in spite of what you and Blaketon might think.’

  ‘So, which of your splendid fleet will you be using for lessons?’ I asked.

  ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘I mean, if a chap wants to drive a three-ton truck, it’s no good teaching him to drive a car, is it? So, I’ll use the truck. It’s best he learns with the real thing. And I have a three-wheeler for folks who want to drive one of them, and a car and a van. I could even lay hands on a bus if necessary.’

  ‘I thought most of your vehicles were off the road, Claude,’ I commented. ‘Scrap, in other words.’

  ‘Awaiting repairs, Constable. When my driving school hits the big time I’ll have enough money to get all them vehicles put in first-class working order as well as running a fleet of different vehicles for specialist lessons. I’m on to a good thing here; motoring is the leisure facility of the future, Constable, and it’s us wide-awake entrepreneurs who are getting our feet in the door very early on, in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Right, well, I felt you should know of Blaketon’s official interest in your new enterprise — and my official constabulary interest too, I might add — but I wish you all the best, Claude. I’m not one for preventing people earning a living by skill and enterprise. So long as your documents are in order and you make sure your pupils obey the rules of the road as they learn their craft, there should be no problem.’

  I did not demand production of his driving documents at that time, chiefly because I had not seen him driving on the road under his new guise, but I felt my visit had alerted him sufficiently to ensure that all the necessary papers would be in order. Likewise, I decided not to mention Mrs Ventress at this stage, but I would keep an eye open for Claude on the road with one or more of his pupils — merely as a matter of passing constabulary interest! I left him, knowing that he would have regarded my visit as not unexpected.

  It was a few days later, as I was on foot in Aidensfield main street, when I noticed Claude drive past with a pupil at the wheel.

  It was a young man whom I recognized as David Stockwell and he was driving Claude’s old fire engine with ‘L’ plates fore and aft. I couldn’t imagine anyone wishing to learn to drive a fire engine (other than a member of the fire service, of course — and they taught their own staff) but decided there was no reason for me to interfere at this stage. The vehicle did seem to be going very well even if it was producing a lot of smoke and David, in his early twenties, seemed fully in command. Claude had the audacity to give me a cheery wave as he passed out of my sight. At least, I think it was a wave.

  It was later the same day when I spotted Claude’s fire engine emerging from a farm entrance, still bearing its ‘L’ plates and with David still at the wheel. In my view it seemed a rather long driving lesson — it must have been four hours after I’d first seen the pair of them in Aidensfield main street. Again, though, things seemed to be progressing very smoothly and I did not interfere. Then, even later that day, I saw the same fire engine parked outside a house in the village, with David sitting in the driving seat alongside Claude’s dog, Alfred, but with Claude himself nowhere to be seen. I thought this was my opportunity to find out what Claude was up to.

  ‘Hello, David,’ I greeted the lad as I approached the driver’s window. ‘Having a lesson, are you?’

  David Stockwell, a pleasant and rather simple soul whose father was a retired farm labourer, was not the brightest of young men but he had managed to earn a few pounds by offering his services to local people for tasks such as clipping hedges, mending fences, clearing ditches, cleaning cars, washing windows and other odd jobs.

  ‘Mr Greengrass is very good to me; he said he’d teach me all I needed to know about driving, Mr Rhea.’

  ‘So, where is he?’

  ‘Delivering eggs, Mr Rhea. At this house. He showed me his round this morning. He buys his eggs at Moorside Farm, you see, then goes around Aidensfield, Elsinby, Thackerston and Briggsby selling them. He’s a very busy man, Mr Rhea.’

  ‘And he’s teaching you to drive?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s a very good teacher, Mr Rhea.’

  ‘In a fire engine?’

  ‘Yes, well, he said I should learn to drive something big right from the start, then I could cope with anything, especially something smaller like a van or a car, and he said if I learned to reverse it along farm tracks and into barns and through gates and things, then I could cope anywhere. I’m quite good at driving along farm tracks, Mr Rhea, in this fire engine.’

  ‘So, you are driving him around his customers today?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Rhea, I am, and I’m learning a lot while I do it.’

  ‘Is he paying you or are you paying him?’ was my next question.

  ‘Oh, I’m paying him, Mr Rhea, or I should say my dad is because it’s a lesson, you see. A driving lesson.’

  ‘So, he gets a free driver for the day . . . I hope he gives your mum a dozen eggs when all this is over.’

  ‘Mr Greengrass did say he might think of giving me a job if I do well, you know. He said if I learn to drive him on his rounds I would soon get to know my way around his customers then I could become a great help to him, and I want to be a great help to somebody, Mr Rhea, so it’s important I drive as much as I can, isn’t it?’

  Before I could think of a suitable answer I heard the familiar voice saying, ‘What’s all this then? Police harassment? Or do you want to buy a dozen eggs, Constable? Fresh from the farm.’

  ‘Not today, Claude,’ I said. ‘David’s been telling me about his driving lessons.’

  ‘Has he now? I hope he’s not given away any of my trade secrets, like how he’s learned to double-declutch and reverse into dark places and other technical details.’

  ‘No, Mr Greengrass, I’ve been very careful what I’ve told folks, like you said.’

  ‘You’ve hit on a winner here, Claude,’ I said. ‘David’s paying you for lessons while he’s working for you . . .’

  ‘Well, it�
�s a kind of paid apprenticeship, like lawyers and accountants do, and if the lad does well, I’ll consider giving him full-time work. David knows that. He can recognize an opportunity and he needs a steady job, don’t you, David?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Greengrass, and there’s not a lot of jobs around here unless you are a passed driver, you see, Mr Rhea. Learning to drive will be the key to everything, that’s what Mr Greengrass told me.’

  ‘I hear Mrs Ventress is one of your pupils, Claude,’ was my next sentence.

  ‘It shows just how good a reputation I’ve got, if the local constabulary supports me and trusts me with their wives,’ beamed Claude.

  ‘Will she be collecting and delivering eggs in a fire engine, or might you give her the job of driving that old ambulance of yours and running people into Ashfordly market?’

  ‘Look, David is special, he’s a potential high-flyer like me. Mrs Ventress only wants to drive so she can take herself off to Scarborough for shopping trips, so she’ll be learning in my car. When I get this enterprise off the ground I’ll have a car with dual controls, Constable. Think of that. Dual-controlled driving tuition . . . I’ll be ahead of the field then. L-Passo Ltd. That’ll be me.’

  ‘Has this fire engine dual controls, Mr Greengrass?’ asked David.

  ‘No, it can only put one fire out at a time, David. But I can’t stand around all day talking when we’ve customers waiting, so, Constable, if you’re not going to arrest me and David for something, we’d best be getting along.’

  ‘I wonder if the tax man would be interested in the way you’re conducting your driving lessons?’ I smiled.

  ‘Look, you look after your business and I’ll look after mine,’ he snapped, as he headed for the passenger seat. ‘Come on, David, start her up. It’s Mrs Rawcliffe next at Ash Tree House. Two dozen white eggs, two dozen brown ones, a dozen bantam eggs and half a dozen duck eggs, a regular order.’

  ‘Right you are, Mr Greengrass,’ and the massive old fire engine thundered into life as Claude clambered to sit beside his eager pupil. David looked thrilled with his new skills and I hoped he would never become disillusioned with his blossoming career.