Constable Through the Meadow (17 page)

A quick visual appraisal of both drivers showed that neither was too badly hurt; happily, neither was unconscious and I could detect no arterial bleeding; the girl, however, did say that her right arm hurt a lot and the youth complained of intense pain in his left leg. Tenderly, I examined both their injured limbs and was in no doubt that each was fractured; there were abrasions too, and some degree of shock. Hospital was a
necessity
for both.

At that stage, the ambulance arrived. The injured pair were well enough to tell me their names and addresses before the skilful ambulancemen lifted them out of their vehicles, wrapped them in blankets and in no time had placed them aboard stretchers. In seconds, they were being borne towards York County Hospital for treatment. I thanked the passing driver for his assistance and confirmed that he was no longer required as he was not a witness. Then I radioed our Control Room with a
request for a breakdown truck.

The rest of my action was routine. I obtained measurements of the positions of their cars, cleared the scene, swept up the broken glass and made arrangements for relatives to be informed. The breakdown truck took away both cars, lifting one on board and towing the other, and I went home. Using my stock plan of the crossroads, I entered the position of each of the cars and completed my accident report as far as I could. I rang York Police with a request that an officer be allowed to visit the hospital when the injured couple were well enough, and that the officer be allowed to obtain from each their version of events.

If they were not well enough, then other arrangements would be made; I also had their driving licences and insurance
certificates
to check.

When all this was done, I submitted my report to the sergeant for onward transmission to the Superintendent and I was to learn later that he recommended ‘No prosecution’ on the grounds that there was no independent witness. No one could say precisely what had happened, for it was a case of the man’s word against the girl’s. And that, I thought, was that.

But there was more to follow.

Some time during the November that followed, I received a telephone call from a Mr Colin Blenkiron.

‘It’s Colin Blenkiron speaking. Is that PC Rhea?’ the voice asked.

‘Speaking,’ I confirmed.

‘Ah, good, well, I wondered if you’d like to come to a party, you and your wife.’

‘Me? Well

At that instant, I couldn’t recall knowing anyone called Blenkiron and I was hesitant until he said, ‘That accident at Penny-flats Cross last May, Mr Rhea. It was me in the MGB Hardtop.’

‘Oh!’ Now it all came flooding back. ‘I remember now, that Colin Blenkiron! Well, thanks, what sort of party and where is it?’

‘It’s my engagement party, Mr Rhea, and it’s at the Hopbind Inn, Elsinby, a week on Thursday night. Half eight.’

‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ I was surprised at this. ‘Very kind. I’m off duty that night,’ I said. ‘And I know my wife
would love the outing, but …’

I was about to say that I was surprised at the invitation because Colin’s parents’ farm, which he ran in partnership with his father, was not on my beat. I did not know him or his parents, although I did know they were very wealthy and successful.

‘It was because of that accident, Mr Rhea, you looked after me, and Susan. Got us to hospital, and there was no court appearance for us either. So we’d like you to come to our party.’

‘She’s your fiancée?’ I was surprised.

‘Not then, she wasn’t. I didn’t even know her then! She’s my fiancée now, we met in hospital, you see.’

‘What a way to meet!’ I laughed.

‘Yes, well, it was. Actually,’ he chuckled, ‘we met in the ambulance, but we weren’t exactly on speaking-terms then! I was blaming her for the pile-up … I still am, by the way, and she was blaming me … anyway, in hospital, one thing led to another and here we are, getting engaged!’

‘What a lovely tale!’ I said. ‘Yes, then we’d love to come and wish you a happy future!’

‘Marvellous. We’re inviting those ambulancemen as well, they were great. See you then.’

And he rang off.

Mary was delighted. From time to time, one of my ‘
customers
’ produced an offer of this kind, a form of genuine and heartfelt ‘thank-you’, even if my part in their romance was very minor. We went along to the party and met their respective families, friends and relations. Susan Ascough, Colin’s fiancée, was a secretary in a big department store in York and lived in Ploatby, which was on my patch. She drove into York every day. I knew her parents by name, but had never met Susan until this evening.

During the party, there were ribald jokes about their method of meeting, their respective injuries, their time in bed in hospital and the prospects for their future together. It was a very happy gathering and a real tonic for me, and even more so for Mary. Diplomatically, we left the party at closing-time for I did not wish to make them feel uncomfortable if they decided to stay awhile at the pub.

‘I enjoyed that,’ said Mary on our way home. ‘They seem a real nice couple, and their families are nice too.’

‘It makes you think that that accident was fate,’ I said. ‘I wonder if they’d have met each other if it had never happened?’

‘We’ll never know,’ she said. ‘And thanks for leaving the pub at closing-time!’ she added. ‘I hate people staring at you as if you’re a leper when the landlord calls time.’

‘A little drink after hours always tastes better,’ I said. ‘It’s like kids pinching apples – they’re always better than the ones at home, and drinks laced with a spot of law-breaking taste all the better for it. A hint of naughtiness will put the final seal on their celebrations!’

‘That’s if they
do
drink after hours!’ she laughed. ‘You’ll never know, will you?’

‘I don’t want to know,’ I said, truthfully.

I thought that would have been the last we’d see of Colin and Susan, but it wasn’t. The following March, we received an invitation to their wedding. It was fixed for the weekend before Easter in Elsinby Parish Church, with the reception at Craydale Manor. This was a fine country house which had been
converted
into an hotel and restaurant, and we looked forward to the whole celebration. The wedding was superb. In Elsinby’s historic parish church, the atmosphere and setting were both dramatic and moving. Susan looked a picture in her long white wedding dress with its train and eight tiny bridesmaids in the most delicate of pinks.

Colin and his best man looked handsome and splendid in their top hats and tails, and the happy couple were united before a full congregation of family, friends and well-wishers. Beyond doubt, it was this district’s wedding of the year. Mary and I thoroughly enjoyed the occasion; we lingered as the
photographs
were taken outside the church, savouring every moment and participating in the sheer happiness of the newly-weds. As the village constable, it was so nice being part of this joyful event.

Eventually, the photographer had taken all that he wished and the best man shouted for us to rejoin our cars and follow the bridal procession to the reception, after which the presents would be on display at the bride’s home in Ploatby. And so we
all went off to Craydale Manor in a long procession of gleaming vehicles led by a silver Jaguar car with white ribbons fluttering from its bonnet.

The reception was splendid; the excellent meal was run with flair and efficiency, Colin’s speech and those of the other dutiful men were fluent and entertaining, and the toasts were drunk with style and aplomb. The wedding had started at 11.30am and by the end of this reception the time had crept around to 2.30pm.

At this time, the best man, a friend of Colin’s, said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the presents are on display at the bride’s home, Sycamore Cottage, Ploatby – you are invited to view them. The bride and groom will leave the bride’s home for their
honeymoon
at four pm. You might like to see them off.’

Mary, who always loves a wedding, said she’d like to view the presents and see Susan’s going-away outfit, so we agreed to visit Sycamore Cottage, Ploatby. As we were leaving the reception, several other cars were doing likewise, and leading the first flush of departing vehicles was the silver Jaguar containing the bride and groom.

The uniformed chauffeur had been hired with the car, both coming from a York firm which specialised in this kind of service. In an orderly fashion, the procession of cars filed out of the spacious grounds of the hotel and began to speed through the lanes towards Ploatby.

I was somewhere towards the rear with perhaps ten or a dozen cars ahead of me. I simply tagged on behind and others followed me, for some of the guests were strangers and did not know the route. I made it clear I would show them the way. As we moved off, there was a good deal of merriment with people waving at each other out of car windows, flying their silk scarves,
throwing
confetti, shouting and laughing as we passed through the splendid Ryedale countryside.

And ahead was the fine Jaguar, its polished silver bodywork glistening in the bright sunshine of the day as the happy couple waved and blew kisses to everyone. It disappeared around the sharp corners and was frequently hidden from my view by the high hedges and the distance between us.

As we motored along Hazel Burn Lane which joined the
Ashfordly–York road, I lost sight of the powerful Jaguar; its lead had become quite substantial but I did not try to keep pace with it, for I had no wish to lose those behind me who were relying on my guidance. And then we were on the main road, the B-class highway which led towards York. Driving steadily, I was approaching the dangerous portion over Pennyflats Cross, and even as I neared the place, I saw several smart-suited gentlemen waving us to a halt.

‘Oh, no!’ I groaned at Mary. ‘What now! Don’t say there’s been an accident today of all days!’

With every passing yard, it was clear there had been an accident, for cars were strewn across both lanes of the highway and people were milling about, shouting at us to slow down and stop. I pulled on to the grass verge, making sure my car was clear as I went to investigate. Upon my advice, Mary remained in her seat – the fewer people about the scene, the better.

When I crested that notorious hill, my heart sank. The silver Jaguar was on its side, its roof crushed against the very same ash tree that Colin had hit only months ago. Also lying on its side in the middle of the road was a tractor and trailer, the trailer having carried a load of manure. It was spread across the carriageway and other cars were scattered randomly about the road with anxious people milling about …

I ran to the Jaguar.

I knew Colin and Susan were inside and the awful silence about the car made me fear the worst; I was no longer a wedding guest, but a policeman who had suddenly found himself on duty. As I ran down the road, weaving between irregularly parked cars, I saw that several had been slightly damaged. The accident was one of the shunt type when each car runs into the back of the one ahead. Seven or eight had been damaged, but I was not concerned with those. I arrived at the Jaguar to find a knot of helpers trying to reach the bride and groom who were in the rear seat. No one seemed to be worried about the chauffeur, and at this stage I was not even aware of the tractor driver’s injuries.

Susan, her wedding dress stained with blood and dirt, was crying as she lay on top of Colin; he was curled up in an untidy heap as he lay among the broken glass and shattered metalwork
of the car body, and he was bleeding about the head and face. I told the helpers who I was and they stood aside as I wrenched open the rear door which now lay uppermost and somehow, I don’t know how, I found myself crouched inside the rear
compartment
, mysteriously avoiding trampling on the couple.

They were conscious but hurt; I shouted for someone to call two ambulances and to stress the urgency due to the number of casualties, then call the police, a local doctor and finally a nearby garage to arrange lifting-gear and cutting-equipment. I asked the volunteer to give a detailed account of the multiple accident; he said he would cope.

I thought Colin or the chauffeur might be trapped, such was their position in the wreckage. Each was lying on the side of the car which was on the ground, the roof being caved in around them. I asked the gathered menfolk to care for their ladies and other guests, and to ensure that there was adequate warning for approaching vehicles. I didn’t want more pile-ups and I asked them not to move their cars; their position was vital for the subsequent official report.

But I must see to Colin and Susan. Speaking to them in what I hoped were soothing terms, I managed to move Susan to a more comfortable position. Then I made a very brief and almost cursory examination of Colin. He was sighing with pain and I daren’t move him in case he had broken bones or internal injuries which could cause further damage. One of his arms seemed to be trapped somewhere beneath him and careless handling could aggravate any injuries he might have.

Relieved that he was alive, I now looked to the unfortunate chauffeur; he was lying trapped too, unconscious and pale with a spot of blood on his face, but he was breathing quite smoothly. I did not touch him. This release required the skill of experts and the injured people needed medical attention. I hoped the messages for help would receive the attention they required. And I was not disappointed.

The sequence of events moved rapidly ahead. In what seemed a very short time, the emergency services arrived; a motor patrol car based at Scarborough had happened to be patrolling nearby and two capable officers, not closely known to me, came and dealt very efficiently with the multiple accident,
paying immediate attention to the casualties. Two ambulances came and, with the help of us all, and the garage’s lifting-gear, we soon had the casualties free and on their way to hospital.

The chauffeur was placed in a second ambulance and the tractor driver, who seemed to be forgotten by most of us, was also placed on board. The other casualties were all suffering from minor injuries and shock, and Doctor Archie McGee, summoned from Elsinby, was able to treat most of them without hospitalisation.