Constable Around the Village (8 page)

“By,” he was saying, “oor dog was that glad he’d gat his hearing back, he ran inti my fields and rounded up all oor sheep and cows half-a-dozen times. He’s never been idle since, Ah can tell you.”

Nonetheless, I think Shep did win in the end. A few months later, Ambrose bought a young dog called Bob to take over from Shep, and Shep was honoured with the duty of showing the young dog how to work on the farm.

Before long, Shep would be officially retired. He’d earned his rest, and I knew that dog was far from stupid. But I did wonder what kind of tricks he would teach young Bob.

It has been said that if a ten-pence piece fell over the side of an ocean liner in a storm, the first man to reach the water after it would be a Yorkshireman and the second a
Scotsman.
The Jews are not in the race. It is difficult to assess the truth of this bold statement without actually testing it on location, but it is fair to say that where money is concerned a Yorkshireman does exercise considerable care.

Right across this massive county, the natives possess an inbred cunning where finance is involved and I think this yarn illustrates the point.

In a remote moorland village, the local simpleton found a half-crown lying in the middle of the road. This occurred in the days when a half-crown was of considerable value and the lad was delighted with his luck. It represented more than a day’s wages. Off he went into the local pub to spend it and announced to the landlord that he wished to buy a pint of best bitter. The landlord, knowing the lad wasn’t in the habit of spending his workaday pittance on beer, asked if he’d come into money.

“Aye,” beamed the youth. “Ah’ve found a half-crown.”

At this, a local ne’er-do’well approached the bar and said:

“Well, fancy that, Roger, that’ll be that half-crown I lost this morning.”

“Will it?” replied the finder sadly. “Did you lose it out there, in the street?”

“Aye, I did,” agreed the trickster.

“And did your half-crown have a little hole drilled through it, just near t’date?”

“Aye, as a matter of fact it did!” smiled the villain of the piece.

“Well, this ’un hasn’t,” grinned the simpleton, handing it to the landlord.

Natural craftiness of this quality is perhaps the result of long and careful grooming in matters of finance, and there is little doubt that a close-fisted Yorkshireman is one of the meanest of creatures. He doesn’t see it in that light, of course. He sees the issue as one of care coupled with necessity, and he does not believe in parting with his brass to anyone who hasn’t earned it. It is no accident of history that a Yorkshireman’s motto is:

The county is replete with legendary yarns about the characteristic stinginess of Yorkshiremen and it is impossible to quote them all in these pages. To further illustrate Yorkshireman’s niggardly attitude, the following parables are but examples.

There was a farmer’s wife who sat beside her husband’s deathbed, waiting for him to pass away. His customary meanness had infected her and it had been a long vigil. A candle burned at the bedside, for this was the only form of light in the house.

The long hours passed but the old man clung to life with all the grit and determination of his Yorkshire breeding. Then he turned to his wife and said, “I could use a nice cup o’ tea, Martha.”

“Nay, Sam,” she said, “Ah’m not gahin to waste food on you now. Thoo mun do without. Thoo’ll nut need food where thoo’s gahin.”

“But Ah’s fair thosting for a drink,” he said.

“Then Ah’ll fetch a glass o’watter,” and she rose from the bedside.

“Thanks,” he managed to gasp in a sudden fit of
coughing.

At this, she stopped at the door and said, “Sam, if thoo feels thysen slipping away while Ah’m downstairs, blow t’ candle oot.”

Another example occurred in our village post office before decimalisation came to harass the older folk. A local farmer entered to draw money from his Post Office Savings Account. The post-mistress produced the necessary forms and he completed them.

“Oh,” she said when she read his words, “you can’t draw out sixpence. You can only withdraw amounts of one
shilling
or greater.” For those no longer familiar with £.s.d. money, a shilling was twelve old pennies, now worth 5p.

“I only want to buy six pennorth o’ stamps,” he retorted.

“I’m sorry, it’ll have to be a shilling,” she told him firmly and so he completed another form for that amount. He received his shilling, bought six pennyworth of
postage-stamps
and then said, “Right missus, now I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Certainly,” she smiled. “How much?”

“Sixpence,” he said and this time she had to accept his cash. There was no such rule about deposits.

Many local farmers and small business-people nurtured an open mistrust of banks. They utterly failed to understand the system and could never equate money with pieces of paper in cheque-books. Complicated matters like
investments
, securities, interest rates and the like were gibberish to these people, for they dealt always in cash, buying and selling everything in ready money and somehow managing to amass massive quantities of cash.

I have personally witnessed milk-churns full of old £5 notes, some of which had been there so long the money had gone green with damp and mould, and there is the classic tale of a son who tried to convert his old dad into depositing his money with a bank. After much explanation and
pleading
, the old man agreed to deposit £10,000 with the bank in town and he asked the son to fetch the milk-churn from the pantry.

They loaded the churn into the rear of the car and drove to the bank, where they manoeuvred this unusual purse into the building. There they stood and watched as the bewildered clerk counted out the money. Finally, she stopped.

“There’s £9,997,” she said, smiling at them.

At this, Dad turned to his son and grumbled, “Thoo silly young buffer, thoo’s brought t’wrong churn!”

Then there was the miller who was eventually convinced that a bank account and a cheque-book was a good idea, and accordingly he deposited his £1000 with a local branch. After instruction from the manager, he went home with his brand new cheque-book and began to pay his bills. At the end of the month, the manager called him in and informed him that he was overdrawn.

“What’s that mean?” asked the miller.

“It means you’ve overspent,” explained the manager. “You’ve spent more than your £1,000.”

“Don’t be so daft!” retorted the miller. “I’ve never seen a penny of it!”

Knowing the true Yorkshireman’s attitude to his money, it is interesting to spend time in one of the local markets, watching and listening to them as they wheel and deal among cattle, pigs, sheep and hens. Even today, there are many weekly markets in the small country towns of North Yorkshire, and it is traditional that the pubs are open all day for the service of suitable refreshment to those attending the market.

Attending market is one of a rural policeman’s
multifarious
duties and, in my time, it was a regular task to attend for the sole purpose of issuing pig movement licences. These documents were vital if it was necessary to trace the movements of any pig thought to be affected by disease, and the farmers themselves knew and appreciated the value of this security. It was a simple system and it worked very well, both for the benefit of the police, the farmer, the vets and the Ministry of Agriculture.

The duty had many benefits, one of which was the pleasure of listening to the haggling that went on between farmers buying and selling. Even before they began, each
knew the price he would either pay or receive, but, traditionally, there was, and still is, a great deal of
good-natured
haggling before reaching that figure. In addition, there is “luck money”, a vital part of any deal.

A conversation might go something like this.

“How much for them pigs?”

“Fifteen quid apiece, and I’m letting you have ’em cheap.”

“Fifteen quid? There’s no such price for pigs! Nay, lad, thoo’s not on wi’ that sort of game.”

“Fifteen or nowt. That’s my price.”

“I’ll settle for ten.”

“Ten? For these? Nivver. These are good pigs!”

“Ten is my figure and nut a penny more.”

“By, thoo’s a difficult chap ti deal with. These pigs is grand …”

“Twelve. Nea mair than twelve apiece.”

“Push it up to twelve pound fifty and we might start talking.”

“We’ll talk when thoo comes down to eleven.”

“Thoo just said twelve.”

“Twelve was ti start thoo talking sense. Eleven apiece and that’s my final offer.”

“Twelve then, mak it twelve apiece.”

“And luck money?”

“Aye, all right. A quid apiece for luck, then.”

So he got them for £11 each. Such a deal can be a
long-drawn
-out affair, but luck money is always the concluding part of the deal and is always handed over in cash. It is not knocked off the price or added on. It is a cash transaction quite separate from the main deal, and marks the
continuance
of a very ancient custom in local cattle markets. Its origin is simply a method of bringing good luck to the transaction and the actual amount of money is a matter for negotiation. The conclusion of a deal, and the payment of luck money, is marked by the buyer and the seller slapping the palm of each other’s hand. It is neither blackmail nor corruption, but a long-standing local custom that fills a few back pockets.

Such a purchase, with luck money, found me involved
with one of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass’s business
enterprises
. Most of his ventures concluded with my giving evidence against him in court, and I wondered if this was to be different.

It seemed that Claude Jeremiah had decided to enter the bacon business and he set about purchasing a dozen small pigs to make the foundations of his new enterprise. He knew that Joshua Sanders of Stang Farm, Maddleskirk, had a suitable litter for disposal and therefore went to see the dour farmer.

Joshua Sanders was noted as a hard and cunning
businessman
with a shrewd eye for a bargain but with a deep suspicion of those who never paid in cash. He disliked banks and, although he was now beginning to reluctantly accept cheques at the markets, he preferred to deal in ready money.

It must have been with some apprehension, therefore, that he opened his front door one Friday morning to find the notorious Claude Jeremiah Greengrass on the doorstep. Everyone knew of Claude’s reputation as a small-time crook; he was untrustworthy, shady and should always be treated with caution. Joshua faced his potential customer with true Yorkshire grit.

“Noo then, Claude Jeremiah,” greeted Joshua blandly.

“Good-morning, Mr Sanders.” Claude smiled at the big man, his tiny pinched brown face wrinkled in the morning sun. “I hear tell you’ve a litter of pigs for sale.”

“That might be right.” Joshua was exercising his traditional caution. “There again, it might not. Who wants to know?”

“Me. I’m after buying some pigs,” beamed the little man. “I’m getting established in the pig-breeding business, you see, and I need some good stock. Bacon’s always a good investment.”

“Well, now then.” Joshua rubbed his bristly chin. “That’s a capper,” he was flummoxed for a moment or two. “Ah’ve more or less promised yon litter to a bloke from t’far side of Thirsk. Ah daren’t let him down….”

Joshua was stalling. There were two reasons why he didn’t want Claude Jeremiah to have these animals.
One—he probably wouldn’t pay for them, and two, if this was one of Claude Jeremiah’s enterprises, everything
connected
with it would go wrong. The miserable little pigs would probably die from neglect and starvation….

“I can pay good money for them….” began the little man, pulling out his wallet. It was full of personal papers, and a cheque-book lay inside. “I’ve a bank account.”

Knowing Joshua as I did, I guessed his brain was
working
very rapidly at this stage, desperately seeking some cast-iron reason for not selling his stock to Claude Jeremiah. But Claude Jeremiah was also cunning.

“Ah allus deals in cash,” Joshua said by way of
dismissing
the nuisance.

“I’ve an old aunt in Australia who’s left me a large amount of money,” announced Claude Jeremiah. “She always wanted me to enter a business of some kind, and I’ve now got enough money to stand any loss I might make during the first couple of years. I want to employ a man to help me, and I intend to learn all about pigs.”

“Old aunt?” Joshua’s eyes opened wide at this revelation.

“Yes, on my mother’s side. Aunt Jemima. You’ll have seen her about the place, Mr Sanders. She’s a tall woman with a bun at the back of her head, always voted Liberal and kept Yorkshire terriers. Loaded, she was. She went to live in Australia about nine or ten years ago…. bought a sheep-ranch out there and made thousands. Well, she died and I’ve inherited a share of her money. I know you’ll keep this to yourself, but I got over £15,000. Naturally, I want to put the money to good use…. I’ve had sties built at my place and need some good stock to start my enterprise …”

Claude Jeremiah’s well-rehearsed yarn would not have tempted a city businessman, but, in spite of his caution and in spite of his knowledge of Claude Jeremiah’s past, this talk of wills, big money, faraway places and deceased aunts weakened the resolve of Joshua Sanders. But it was not completely weakened—that was impossible.

“Well, now young man,” he said gently. “We might have a deal. If thoo reckons my pigs is good enough for you, and thoo pays a bigger price than that other chap was reckoning on, thoo can ’ave ’em.”

Claude Jeremiah’s pinched face broke into a happy smile.

“Come, Ah’ll show thoo yon litter,” offered the farmer.

It seems that Claude Jeremiah was highly impressed by the pink piglets as they ran and grunted about their large cosy home in a dry building. Accordingly, the traditional bidding began.

“Ah can’t take less than £12 apiece,” Joshua leaned on the gate and solemnly shook his head.

“I was thinking more on the lines of £8,” came in Claude Jeremiah.

“There’s no such price for decent pigs, not like these,” and Joshua made as if to leave the building.

“Nine?”

“Mr Greengrass, thoo’s very near insulting me with offers like that. £9 for these pigs? Nay, lad, thoo’ll have to think harder than that. Thoo’d better try Aud Yeoman rather than me. His scrawny animals might fit that price.”