Tennison (65 page)

‘She spoke very warmly of you, Jane. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘She was a good friend, I will miss her.’

‘Yes, she was a very special woman.’

Kath had never mentioned her partner and it was some time before Jane realized what their relationship had been. It dawned on her just how little she had really known about Kath’s private life. She now realized Kath’s jovial remarks about good-looking men had been a necessary front to hide her sexuality, from an all too often sexist and homophobic police force.

Gibbs picked up Jane’s puzzled expression although she had covered it quickly.

‘So now you know. I loved that woman, and if she wanted her private life kept that way, that was her business, but there’s one thing I want sorted. The lipstick on the dummy’s gob, when I had to do the first-aid crap, it was bloody Kath, wasn’t it?’

Jane felt the tears welling up and she nodded.

‘I knew it . . . Christ, I am going to miss her.’

‘Me too, she was getting you back for the Vicks-up-the-nose joke at the post-mortem.’

He turned away, because like Jane, he was near to tears.

Bradfield’s funeral was organized by his widow and Spencer Gibbs. She had chosen the hymns and readings and he had spent hours preparing the eulogy he had been asked, and was honoured, to give. Sergeant Harris and other uniform officers of all ranks lined the streets and as the funeral cortège passed they stood to attention and saluted in their pristine white gloves. Many mourners came from the stations that Bradfield had worked at during his career as well as members of the public, some who didn’t even know him, yet who wanted to pay their respects. Every aisle and pew inside the church was full and officers stood shoulder to shoulder at the back of the church. Bradfield’s coffin was draped in the Metropolitan Police flag and his colleagues, led by DS Gibbs and DS Paul Lawrence, carried the coffin to the altar.

Jane could feel the pit of her stomach twisting as she saw, following behind the coffin, a pretty blonde-haired woman in her late thirties. She was holding the hands of a little boy and girl who walked beside her. Bradfield’s widow wore a well-cut black coat and a wide-brimmed black straw hat that hid her face. The little boy had his father’s red curly hair and the girl had long blonde plaits. They were both dressed in smart clothes and coats, white socks and black patent-leather shoes.

Jane had felt humiliation when she had been told by Bradfield that she was off the team and should go home, and had been deeply hurt when he had said there was no future in their relationship. She had subsequently felt a huge sense of betrayal when she had discovered, after his death, that he was married with children. Now, standing amongst so many police officers, some of whom she had worked with, all Jane could think of was how foolish she had been. How immature and stupid she had been not to have even considered that he was married. He never wore a wedding ring, so she naively assumed he lived in the section house, and she had never seen a photograph on his desk of his wife or children. She wondered why Kath hadn’t told her Bradfield was married. Perhaps in some way she had tried to warn her, or perhaps she just hadn’t wanted to jeopardize her position on the team. Either way, Jane harboured no bad feelings for her friend. She had just never thought to ask if he was married, but now she felt used. He had drawn her to him and made love to her, and she had been infatuated, believing at the time they could have had something special together. She had loved and admired him, but it had been a hard lesson. From now on she felt determined to keep a tight hold on her emotions, and never be drawn into another relationship with a serving police officer. The tragedy had not made her want to quit the force, but a change of direction was something she needed if she wanted to move on in her career. She thought about DCS Metcalf’s encouraging words and decided she would take him up on his offer of a personal recommendation to become a trainee detective on completion of her probation. After all, he owed her that for her loyalty.

Jane stood upright and faced forwards, holding up the order of service. The choir began to sing ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd, I Shall Not Want’. She tried hard, but just couldn’t get the words out and was unaware that tears were streaming down her cheeks. She made no sound as her heart poured out with sorrow. Midway through the hymn Sergeant Harris, who was standing next to her, pulled out a white folded handkerchief from his pocket, which he quietly and unobtrusively passed to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and wiped her eyes.

Later as they stood in the graveyard and watched Bradfield’s coffin being lowered into the ground, the police officers present all saluted. As the vicar read out the words of the Committal, ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,’ Bradfield’s widow and two children wept. The children each threw a white rose onto the coffin and then hugged their mother. Jane shed no more tears, but stared straight ahead and gave no indication of how deeply his death had affected her . . . that he’d broken a little piece of her heart.

Turn the page to discover more about

Jane Tennison and why she became a WPC

While she was a pupil at the Paddington and Maida Vale High School for Girls, Jane Tennison excelled in all subjects. She was also a gifted athlete, representing the first team at hockey and winning events in both track and field on sports days, which courted the admiration of her fellow pupils. Although she made friends easily, Jane’s reserved personality set her apart somewhat from the other girls. The usual classroom gossip about boys and teenage fixations with film stars and fashion magazines left her irritated; she much preferred to read books by Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway and the Brontë sisters.

Jane’s parents were caring and loving. The family lived in a smart flat in Maida Vale, and she had been given a good, solid upbringing in middle-class surroundings. Jane’s younger sister, Pamela, was the complete opposite of her – prettier, fashion-conscious, with scores of friends and very popular with the boys. Pam was bright but lazy and lacking motivation; she had left school when she was sixteen, with poor O-level grades and no real ambition in life. Eventually she found a junior position at the local hair salon where she washed hair, swept up and made hot drinks. Her only real aim in life was to meet someone reasonably well off, get married and have kids.

When Jane left school at eighteen, her parents had hoped that she would go on to university, obtain a good degree and become a teacher. However, Jane didn’t fancy student life, or more studying, so decided to take a year off. When her father, who had his own small accounting business, invited her to work for him as a secretary, she readily accepted. She settled in well, worked hard and was an asset to the company, even attending some evening classes at the Central London Polytechnic. After a year had passed Jane decided that she was happy where she was, to the delight of her father, who hoped to leave the company in his elder daughter’s capable hands when he retired.

A year later Jane felt that she needed to do something more challenging with her life than working in an office. She didn’t say anything to her parents as the last thing she wanted to do was upset them, especially her father to whom she was very close. She couldn’t remember the exact moment when she considered a change in her career path, but she knew that it stemmed from an article she had read in the newspaper about the Metropolitan Police and how the role of women within the organisation was changing. Women were finally allowed to join Mounted Branch, Traffic Units and even become dog handlers. The article also stated that A4 Women Branch, the all-female Police unit, was soon to be disbanded, with female officers being fully integrated on all shifts and in every department. Jane couldn’t put her finger on why the article had influenced her so much. She wasn’t a feminist, it wasn’t ‘a calling’, but rather an opportunity to pursue a career where she could stand on her own two feet and do something rewarding.

Jane would always remember the evening in early June, 1972, as she sat with her family around the dinner table, listening to Pamela harp on about how her days of doing menial tasks at the salon would soon be over. She was about to be trained as a stylist.

‘Well done, dear, you’re progressing up the ladder,’ Mrs Tennison said enthusiastically before turning to Jane. ‘And what about you, Jane, any more thoughts about going to university and becoming a teacher . . . or will you be waiting another year?’

‘I’m too old for university now, Mum, and I’ve never wanted to be a teacher.’

‘It’s all well and good working for your father, but you should have some ambition like Pam,’ was her mother’s immediate response.

It was now or never, Jane thought, as she took a deep breath and put down her knife and fork.

‘I do – and that’s why I’m going to join the Metropolitan Police.’

Her mother and sister laughed out loud.

Jane was incensed at their reaction. ‘It’s not a joke. I’m being absolutely serious . . . ’

The look of shock on their faces was far worse than she had expected.

‘
You what
. . . ? ’

Although she enjoyed working for her father, Jane explained, she wanted to become a police officer and felt that it would be a worthwhile and promising career with plenty of opportunities.

Her mother let out a long sigh. ‘You want to be a policewoman and wear those awful black uniforms? I’ve heard that all they do is menial work and look after children . . . If that’s what you want why not get married and have kids of your own, like Pam wants to do?’

Jane was surprised and upset by her mother’s reply. She didn’t want a heated argument, but she was determined to put her right.

‘I’m not like Pam, and things are changing in the police force. Women will soon be doing the same shift work and patrols as the men; everyone will be on an equal footing.’

‘You reckon?’ Pamela smirked.

Mrs Tennison was close to tears. ‘That’s even worse. You’ll be dealing with dangerous criminals, louts and drunks . . . Anything could happen to you. No, Jane, your father and I won’t have it. You’re much safer working in the office as his secretary. Isn’t she, dear?’ She looked to her husband for support, but he said nothing.

Pamela picked up her plate of food and stood up.

‘Where are you going?’ her father asked.

‘To finish my meal in the kitchen while you and Mum try to make Jane see sense,’ she said bluntly as she left the room.

Jane turned to her father. ‘I really enjoy working with you, Dad, and I’m sorry if you feel I’ve let you down, but I’m twenty-two now and being a policewoman is what I really want to do.’

Mrs Tennison tutted. ‘This is ridiculous nonsense. Tell her, dear, tell her it’s not on.’

Mr Tennison cleared his throat. ‘Are you sure, Jane? Your mother is right in some respects, it can be a dangerous job . . . Maybe you should take a bit more time to think about it?’

Jane dropped her bombshell. ‘I’ve already submitted the application forms. I’ve been asked to go for an interview in two weeks’ time.’

‘You went behind our backs!’ Mrs Tennison exclaimed. ‘How could you?’

‘No, I made the decision for myself knowing how you would react, Mum, and I’ve been dreading telling you. Why can’t you be happy and support me?’

‘How much will you be earning?’

Jane, trying to be vague, spoke quietly. ‘About £23 a week, I think.’

‘£23? That’s less than your father pays you!’

‘It’s not about the money, Mum, it’s about job satisfaction,’ Jane said, realising too late that her words might have upset her father, but he nodded in agreement.

Mrs Tennison was about to chastise Jane further when her husband interrupted by shouting for Pamela, who had been eavesdropping, to come and sit down at the table. He then spoke, his tone serious.

‘If Jane wants to be a policewoman it is her decision and we, together as a family,
will
support her.’

Mrs Tennison frowned as she looked at Jane. ‘Well,
if
you pass the interview and want to stand on your own two feet, then you can wash and iron your police shirts every night while I watch TV or read a book for a change.’

Pamela grinned. She and Jane had sometimes helped with the cleaning and cooking, but they had never washed or ironed clothes in their lives.

Jane took a sip of water. ‘I’ve been told that if I pass the interview I’ll start the residential course in September.’

‘Residential?’ Her mother looked forlorn.

‘I’ll do my training at Hendon but live in the women’s accommodation at Peto House in Marylebone. It provides all the necessary facilities for residents to use, canteen, washing machine, iron . . . ’

Pamela interrupted. ‘Can I have your room then?’

Jane shook her head, ‘No. The course is just sixteen weeks, Monday to Friday, live-in, with weekends free.’

Her mother forced a smile. ‘You’re only a couple of miles up the road then in Marylebone. Will you be coming home for supper?’

‘No, you have to sleep and eat on the premises.’

‘Could we visit you?’

Jane couldn’t believe that her mother wouldn’t let it drop.

‘I doubt that would be allowed. Now, can we please change the subject?’

‘Well, when I’m married with kids I’ll visit Mum and Dad as much as possible,’ Pamela said.

‘Because you’d never cope on your own,’ Jane muttered under her breath.

During the following two weeks Mrs Tennison said nothing more about her daughter joining the police, but Jane knew that her mother hoped she wouldn’t be selected, not out of spite but fear for her safety. Her father was more positive. On the day of her interview he wished her good luck and said that whatever happened she still had a job working with him.

Jane arrived at the interview wearing minimal makeup and looking smart in a skirt and blouse. She was a bag of nerves.

She was measured and weighed, only to be told by a rather portly female Sergeant that she was underweight. Jane thought that was the end of her interview process, failed because she was too thin, but the Sergeant declared that it wasn’t a major problem; if she was selected they could always ‘fatten her up’ on weight gain tablets and a daily glass of full cream milk.