Life on the Run (8 page)

I was a bit of a daredevil, and one night in Warsaw I went out onto the roof of the hotel and climbed someway up a radio mast - and I was not even drunk.

It was on this trip that I first got to know some of the top sports journalists of the day, in particular Peter Wilson of the
Daily Mirror
, Desmond Hackett of the
Express
, and Roy Moor of the
News Chronicle
. I learned something about journalists. I remember getting into a discussion with Peter Wilson, when I asked him “Why do you make such glaring errors in what you report and say?” His response was “If you do not make a few mistakes, no one will be interested and no one will write to the paper or remember what you have written.” I was very surprised at his knowledge of athletics, and it was not the perception that I and many others had of this top professional.

On this first international trip I had the ‘reward' of the special fifteen shillings a day (75p), that was paid to all athletes when they were abroad competing in international races. It was always a source of amusement to Marion that I used to keep an accurate account of all moneys received, whether the fifteen bob a day or expenses on trips. These always included every small detail, including the purchase of a newspaper or stamps. I learned over my few years in international athletics to make a profit out of almost every race I ran in. If I had a way of making a few bob, some of my team mates were more inventive. I remember the rows over expenses that shot-putter Arthur Rowe used to have, and some of the items he tried to claim for. Because he used to carry the heavy 16-pound implements around with him in a holdall, he claimed that the bag rubbed on his trousers and wore them out quickly, so on at least one occasion he claimed for new trousers. He also had trouble with claiming expenses for his food when travelling, but I always thought this was not unreasonable as he did have an enormous appetite, and would consume huge quantities of milk and other food. I suppose today the big men just add supplements or ‘other' things to their diet.

The last race of the season was at Birmingham on 5
th
October in an invitation three mile. I came third in 13:50.6, which was not a bad end to the season, especially as I had other things on my mind; my wedding to Marion and the start of married life.

Before that could happen, I had to apply to my superintendent in a written report to see if I could marry Marion. This was not just a formality in those days but a serious matter. The enquiry was passed to Windsor where she lived with her parents (I was at Wokingham now), and an inspector checked out her family. Her dad ran a small motor repair shop under the arches in Windsor, and was a very honest hard-working man, and he easily passed the police enquiry, so we were given permission to marry.

Back home I was preparing for the big event, my wedding which was to be on the 12
th
October. The big day came and it was a beautiful October day; the sun shone and family members and friends attended the marriage service in All Saints' Church, Windsor, where I had sung in the choir as a boy and man, as well as being a Sunday School teacher and server. It was a long wedding, as we had decided to take Holy Communion as part of our celebration. Our many friends and family were there, and as we left the church many of our athletic friends formed a guard of honour with running shoes mounted on poles. The wedding was conducted by a number of clergy, including the Reverend Creed Meredith, a Chaplain to the Queen, and the Reverend Harry Stanbrook whose mother Annie had made me promise when I was only in my teens that I would write a book one day. The wedding cake was provided by the White family, who had a daughter, Shirley, who was a very good sprinter in the Windsor and Eton Club. They had a local business and were very good to me in my early career, helping me with some of my athletic costs as they knew my own parents could not afford to help. I suppose they were the nearest I ever had to a commercial sponsor.

The honeymoon was in Guernsey, and I had just embarked on a training programme that was to make sure I ran every day for a year. So every night before dinner in the Les Rocketts Hotel, St Peter Port, I sat Marion in the bar and off I went training. People there who knew we were on our honeymoon could not understand this strange man.

We had to return from honeymoon a couple of days early, as I had to go on a refresher course at Sandgate, and the police had found me a police house.

So it was back to Sandgate for the first of two refresher courses, but my marriage and running did not stop me from continuing with successful exam results, and I again hit the ninety per cent plus in the examinations. My new bride went home to mother for the week, although she did go and take a look at our new home at 5 Eldon Road, Reading; yes it was Eldon Road, not named after me, but I think the then Chief Constable of Berkshire had a sense of humour. It was a rambling three-storey house with a large cellar and many rooms, including attic rooms that had been used as servants' quarters in days gone by, when a chief constable had it as his residence. I returned home and we moved into this mausoleum. We only had a few sticks of furniture, so many of the rooms remained empty. I did have an unusual use for the large basement; I bought some day-old chicks and reared them down there until they were able to go outside and eventually moved with us to a new home.

I patrolled a beat that covered a huge area from the village of Sonning-on-Thames and across Earley and Woodley. An area that was largely a mixture of urban and rural. I remained here for the rest of my time in the Berkshire Constabulary. I believe my cycling contributed to my all-round fitness, especially as I was known to cycle much faster on my police bike than the norm. In fact my supervising officer very seldom came out to meet and cycle with me as he could not keep up with me.

I had great support from my colleagues while I was in the police. They generously swopped duties with me, to enable me to get to as many races as possible, but I did work my six days a week like the rest. Yes it was six days a week; our official working week was five days, but it was compulsory to work the sixth day as what was called EDP (Extra Duties Performed). This extra day did put more money in the pay packet, but did not give much time for outside activities. Many of my races were run between shifts, an early turn from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. one day, and then a night shift the next day from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. I had to catch up on sleep somehow, and I found various ways of grabbing a short nap when I was on nights. I developed a way of propping myself up in a telephone box and going to sleep leaning on the telephone shelf and sort of wedged in the box with knees bent.

While I was living in my first police house, I had my first of many postmortems. I had always joked with Marion that the day I had one she would give me hearts, kidneys or liver for lunch; and that is exactly what happened. I was only told on the morning and the PM was going to be in the afternoon at the Royal Berkshire Hospital, only a short distance from home. I went home for lunch and Marion had prepared something I was very fond of, liver. I ate it and enjoyed it before making the short journey to the mortuary, where I found myself, not just watching, but weighing out human liver and organs. It did not put me off and I attended many more, especially as I had a sergeant who could not face up to this part of police work.

There were some characters around in my early days in the police and I think I learned a lot from them. I remember one detective constable in particular who was an expert at interrogation, and I could never understand why he was still at the bottom of the ladder, after well over twenty years of service before gaining a promotion, although in his last five years or so he did rise very rapidly to superintendent. I suppose it was partly looking at him that made me leave the constabulary after a few years. I would not have wanted to wait that long for promotion. He, like many of my other colleagues, did a very good job, and they knew that their job was catching the villains. They more or less did it by the book, but they could not have survived in the modern service with all the politics of the job.

While I was at Woodley, I had a sergeant who drank too much and was frequently inebriated on duty in the evening and especially at night. One night we had an emergency call; someone was breaking into a factory, and he wanted to drive the police vehicle to the incident. I flatly refused to let him drive and took over the driving. I suppose it was insubordination but he never mentioned the incident again.

During my service, I did act as a court usher on quite a few occasions, and one of the interesting aspects of this job was shutting the jury away and having to stay outside the door where they were deliberating and hearing their discussions. Later as a civilian I did act as chairman on a jury and so saw the job from both sides. I must admit that in neither case did it inspire me with great confidence about the legal system. I remember one comment from a juror in particular. While others tried to be fair, this chap said “I know he is guilty. I know the family and they are all a bad lot.” Maybe it was true and it certainly persuaded the jury on that occasion, as a swift guilty verdict was brought in.

Because of my athletics, I frequently had the press knocking at the door, and they loved to take pictures of me next to the road sign ‘Eldon Road'. After a year living in Eldon Road, I was given a new police house that had just been built at Earley. There were many photographs and articles written about me and Eldon Road. One of them that did cause a stir, was a photo of me running along the road with my black Labrador Simon, who was only about eighteen months old and full of energy. When I came back from a training run, he would be waiting at the door making sure that I took him for a run around the block. The photograph shows me doing just that, and it appeared in the
Sunday Express
. The next day the RSPCA came to see me because some idiot had seen this picture and thought it was cruel to the dog. Fortunately the RSPCA senior inspector that came, saw how stupid the complaint was and that was the end of it. I wonder what that crank would have thought about dogs running all the way with their owners in half marathons today? It was another incident that showed me just how careful you have to be if you are a celebrity that is always in the news.

We moved from Eldon Road to Falstaff Avenue in Earley, and it was while I was living there that I learnt to drive. I had a couple of drives with a police colleague in my old ex-headmaster's Austin, and also five lessons with the British School of Motoring. A photograph appeared in some papers of me in the BSM car. Today I would probably have been paid for such a promotion, but I actually had to pay them for the lessons. Within a couple of weeks, I had passed my test and shocked one of my neighbours. A lady opposite knew I was learning to drive, she had had several attempts herself, and when I returned home the day I passed the test, I went out in the car to take part in an ‘Any Questions' at a community club at Cholsey in South Oxfordshire, about eighteen mile away. I remember that night as there was heavy snow and I had never driven in conditions like that before, and had never driven on my own. My neighbour thought I had just taken a chance, as she could not believe I had passed my test so quickly.

Within a couple of weeks I took another test, the police driving test, a little tougher but I passed so that I could then drive general police vehicles.

One unusual happening around this time, was that Marion had to go to Reading Borough Police Station to be interviewed regarding the A6 murder. I don't think she was a suspect but she had worked with all the parties involved.

Whilst living at Earley, I used to have some company on night shifts. Depending on where I was supposed to be patrolling on my bicycle, I would go home in the early hours of the morning and collect my dog Simon so that he could ‘assist' me while checking properties on my patch. He was great company but would not have made a very brave police dog. On several occasions I sent him round the back of garages and the like, while I would go around the opposite way. He would dash round the back of the property and as we met up he would come and sit by me still shaking from the fright of seeing my torch and thinking I was a villain. With no radio and no communication with anybody during the night, it was comforting to have him around and he enjoyed the exercise trotting along by the side of my bike.

Several times during this period, I would be the escort for prisoners being taken to Oxford Prison. They were normally only taken one at a time in the police station's small van. There would be just a driver and myself, but I never handcuffed my charges and we would stop off at a transport cafe on the way to the prison so that the prisoner could have his last free meal for a while, and we could have some refreshment as well. I never lost a prisoner or had any trouble with them. Before we set out from Woodley, I would introduce myself and most of them knew very well about my running ability, so I would warn them that if they took off I would always catch them. There was another reason we did not have trouble, whatever the criminal had done to get sent down. In those days there was a relationship between police and the public and that included the criminal element. There was a certain respect for the uniform, and I suppose the attitude of most of the criminal fraternity was “fair cop guv”, and they got on with their sentence.

I remember a couple of occasions that proved this point, and which also shows the difference between then and now. One of these was when I was alone late at night and I had to confront three or four yobs. During my ‘debate' with them, one pulled out a knife and threatened me. I told him not to be so stupid and to put the thing away. He stared at me and then decided that it was good advice. It all settled down and that was that. Another incident was when I was called to a caravan after someone reported hearing a shotgun being fired. I went to the caravan and picked up one or two discharged cartridges as I approached. I knocked on the door and this chap opened the door holding the still smoking gun. He started off being aggressive with something like “Do you want some too?” I told him to put the bl... thing down and don't be silly. He did and we went and had a chat and I discovered that he had fired the gun outside at his stepdaughter who lived with him, his wife and children. There was a cosy family arrangement where the two women slept in turn with the man, and on this particular night the stepdaughter, who was about sixteen, did not want to know. After reporting the incident to my inspector the next day, I was told to go and see his employer and see what sort of man he was. I did and he was very good at his job of delivering coal, and his boss did not want to lose him. The end result; he was warned about his future conduct and that was that.