 I thought I would tell you
about Bert Bonney (close to his real name - I
have to change it slightly as I don't have authority
to write about him) a typical village bobby, just
after WW11.
Now, when telling the story of Bert you are actually
telling the whole story about village life, with
all its little quirks.
To start with Bert was around 50(ish) at the end
of the war, which to our very young eyes made
him a very ancient person with lots of authority.
Bert didn't go to the war - guess what? he had
flat feet - which is quite ironic seeing as one
of the nicknames for Brit coppers is 'flatfoot'.
He stood about 6' 4" then with that helmet of
his he appeared to be about 7 feet tall ... scary
stuff. Bert lived in a police house at Cursed
Green which is the sub village to the major village
of Oakshead. Oakshead itself was big time, it
had a proper police station with 2 full time staff,
supported by 4 'special constables'. Specials
were people who lived and worked in the area and
were called on when extra hands were needed, parades,
bonfire night and stuff. They wore the same uniform
except that the shoulder tab read 'Special Police
Officer'. In Oakshead these revered 'specials'
were Mr Amos the butcher, Mr Dickers from the
furniture and lino shop, Antonio (I will come
back to him) and Miss (no such thing as a Ms then
thank god) Haley, who worked in and part owned
'The Green Jug Tearoom'. Such were our defenders.
Now living in a police house must have been a
trial for Mrs Bert as she had to feed anybody
they had in the little cell, which usually was
one of three of the local drunks although from
time to time the odd burglar would appear behind
the bars. Old Benny was the best of these, he
was a good burglar but had the habit, after breaking
in somewhere, of going to the pub to celebrate,
still carrying the swag, which sometimes he even
tried to sell in the bar to get drinking money
... not bright the old Benny.
When dealing with me and my crowd Bert had one
method of operation. If you got caught scrumping
apples or pears, you got a clout round the ears
and a boot up the bum. If you did something slightly
worse you got the same with the added threat of
speaking to your parents.
During the war one of his duties was to keep tabs
on the Italian POWs. You see many of them worked
and lived on the surrounding farms. They weren't
locked up and sort of lived the same as the rest
of the villagers who they got on with very well.
They were supposed to wear a distinctive POW shirt
but these somehow got lost and they wore the same
clothes as the locals. The farmers used to slip
them a few shilling and it wasn't uncommon to
find them in the village shops and the pubs. Remember
the 'special' Antonio? Well, he came as a POW
and stayed on, marrying a local girl, he got married
in the same church as I did, St Marys Oakshead. In
fact there were many Italian POWs who stayed on
and became part of the local scene.
Now I mentioned that Bert never
went to war, however, on his dress uniform tunic
you would have seen a small blue medal ribbon.
You see Bert got The George Cross, the highest
possible award for a civilian. The official blurb
about the medal says: -
The George Cross is
awarded for an act of the greatest heroism or
of the most conspicuous courage in circumstances
of extreme danger.
In 1944 a Lancaster bomber crashed outside the
village, the pilot had attempted to put his crippled
plane down in a field ... he didn't quite make it.
Bert and some of the Home Guard were very soon
on the scene, the plane was in flames and, as
it was soon discovered, still had its bombs onboard,
why they weren't released we will never know but
probably because the young pilot knew he was over
an inhabited area. Bert actually crawled into
the burning plane, knowing the bombs were still
there and dragged three of the crew who were still
alive (just) out to the waiting hand of the Home
Guard ... that's our Bert for you.
Not really a lot more to say about our village
bobby. He loved cricket and played for the village
team. Mrs Bert packed him the same lunch every
day. Two hard boiled eggs, bread and butter, cheese
and a bottle of pale ale (beer). You would see
him sitting on one of the seats on the village
green enjoying his daily repast. Actually the
only way I knew that Bert carried a truncheon
was because, at times, his wife included walnuts
in the lunch (Bert loved them) and he would use
it to crack the shells. For some reason a policeman's
truncheon was known as 'An Address', don't ask,
I don't know why. He would check all the pups
at closing time and be slightly blind to the fact
that sometimes a few remained in 'the back room',
if it didn't cause a nuisance then he wasn't too
interested.
The image of Bert on his bicycle, no radio, no
weapons (except for a small truncheon) bike clips
holding his trouser cuffs in, is still with me
as something that was very 'solid'. These days
him and his bike would probably create a chuckle
or two, but only from people who don't know what
a real policeman is.
I guess there is no purpose to
telling this little story, except that it's, perhaps.
important to remember some of this stuff - but
I can't think of one logical reason why it should
be so. |
