Tennison (67 page)

For the next two hours they worked together, repeatedly reciting Sir Richard Mayne’s quotation until it finally sank in.

Jane was relieved to pass the test and from then on she and Heather helped each other with all their studies. She liked Heather who, although a timid girl, was lovely-natured and kind-hearted. They got on well and enjoyed each other’s company. They didn’t go out of an evening, not that they didn’t want to but they were too busy studying. By the end of the first month’s training, the newly-built women’s tower block at Hendon opened. They happily moved into single bedrooms which, although small, were comfortable and well-furnished. It made life much easier as they didn’t have to get up for the 7am bus ride to Hendon, and after class could go straight to their rooms to study and have their evening meal in the recruits’ canteen. No men were allowed in the women’s block; it was immediate expulsion if they were caught on a landing or, worse, in a female recruit’s room. There were those who took the risk, and some were caught and suffered the consequences.

Everyone on the course encouraged and helped each other. They had to learn powers of arrest, basic law like the Theft Act, Offences Against the Person, Vagrancy, Drunk and Disorderly and Traffic offences. Their knowledge was then put to the test in written exams and practical exercises, where they had to deal with given situations, with their instructors acting out the roles of the public and offenders. It was fun but nerve-racking, especially with the rest of the class watching. Learning to direct imaginary traffic outside was a hoot with much waving of hands in the air, to the amusement of passing Northern Line tube train drivers who would toot their horns. They even had military-style marching and drill classes, run by a former Army Sergeant Major. Thankfully his bark was worse than his bite, although he did like to jab anyone marching out of time with his ‘pace stick’.

Jane enjoyed every minute at Hendon and did well in her exams, but it was Heather who excelled at the written papers, coming top of the class, although she struggled in her practicals. The instructors would repeatedly tell Heather that she needed to be more forceful, project herself and take control of the situation, but all too often her nerves would get the better of her. Conversely, Jane learned to be more assertive, but she knew that working for real on the streets would be a very different situation from what was really playacting on a course.

First aid and resuscitation classes were taught as well as lifesaving. Jane was fortunate that she had learned to swim at school, but Heather struggled. She had a morbid fear of the water and had to learn to swim one length of the pool from scratch. Everyone cheered her on and although she took in mouthfuls of water, she made it by sheer determination unaided. But her time as a recruit came to a sad end. Part of the lifesaving course was to jump off a high diving platform, something that Heather just couldn’t bring herself to do, even with everyone rooting for her. Failure meant dismissal, and a depressed Heather believed she’d let everyone down.

She and Jane cried and hugged each other that night as Heather packed her bags and left Hendon the following morning. Jane, like the rest of the class, couldn’t help but feel that the high-board incident had been used as an excuse to dismiss Heather, the real reason being she was just too timid to be a police officer. Jane gave Heather her home address and urged her to keep in touch, but she never heard from her again.

Jane passed her final exam with distinction and was two marks off being top of the class. Of all people it was the joker who won the Best Recruit Award. ‘With age comes wisdom, Jane,’ he commented jovially.

Being handed her warrant card, signed by Sir Robert Mark the Commissioner, was a great honour, but better still was her passing out parade on the Friday which was attended by her parents and Pamela. Jane was smart in her immaculately pressed uniform, shiny shoes and white gloves as she marched past her family and saluted them and the Commissioner. She could see how proud her father looked as he held the hand of her mother who wept, almost unbelievably, as did Pamela. After the parade they gave her a big hug.

‘What station have they sent you to, dear?’ Mrs Tennison asked. ‘Is it somewhere quiet?’

Jane could detect the concern in her mother’s voice, but the truth was she didn’t yet know.

‘I’ve got a week’s leave and then have to be back here the following Monday to find out. Then I’ll be bussed there to meet the senior officer in charge.’

‘So you won’t be coming back to live with us?’ Mrs Tennison frowned.

‘Then I can have your room?’ Pamela was quick on the uptake.

Jane smiled. ‘Hendon’s alright, Mum, but it doesn’t beat home comforts and your cooking. We’re allowed to live at home if we want when we get posted to a station, so my bag’s already packed.’

The look of happiness on her parents’ faces made Jane feel good, as did the glum expression on Pamela’s. That evening her father took the family out for a wonderful meal at an expensive West End restaurant, and even bought champagne to toast his elder daughter’s achievement.

Jane had a relaxing week off, getting plenty of rest and shopping done in Oxford Street. Her mother washed and ironed all her shirts, as well as taking her uniform to the dry cleaners, but her constant worry about where Jane might be posted became irritating. Jane tried to ease her concern by telling her that she had been trained in self-defence while at Hendon, learning arrest restraints such as the ‘hammer lock and bar’, ‘straight arm takedown’, and the use of pressure points to ensure compliance. She even demonstrated some of these on her father, who found them quite painful, but unfortunately this had the opposite effect on her mother who envisaged Jane being involved in regular fights with the ‘louts’ she had to arrest.

Jane was relieved that the week passed quickly. She felt apprehensive about where she might be posted that Monday morning, but hoped that it would be a busy station so that she could put into practice all she had learned at training school.

‘That would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it, WPC Tennison,’ the Sergeant on the bus, who was ticking off names, replied to her question about her posting. ‘Your stop’s a long way off, so take a seat and I’ll let you know when we get there.’

The bus travelled through North London, dropping officers off at various stations along the way. As it progressed without her name being called, Jane wondered if she might be working out in the sticks somewhere like Chigwell. The truth was, after passing King’s Cross railway station, she didn’t have a clue where she was. Then, seeing a sign for Bethnal Green, she guessed she must be somewhere near the East End. Being the last person left on the bus, Jane resigned herself to an outer London posting. She picked up a discarded newspaper and started to read it.

Five minutes later, she heard the Sergeant call out her name.

‘Just about to pull up at your stop, Tennison.’

Jane had been so engrossed in her reading that she didn’t even register what street she was in. Jumping up out of her seat, she moved quickly to the front of the bus and looked out of the window.

‘Where are we?’

‘Top end of Mare Street in Hackney . . . part of the Kray twins’ old manor.’

‘Hackney?’ Jane exclaimed. She remembered her father once describing the area as a dump.

‘What were you expecting, dear? Buck Palace or the Houses of Parliament? Good luck! I hope you last longer than the last recruit I dropped off here.’ The Sergeant laughed as she stepped off the bus.

Jane stood outside Hackney police station, looking up at the imposing four-storey red brick and white stone building, built in 1904. She gave her uniform a quick brush down, adjusted her hat and proceeded up the steps, through the swing doors and to the front counter. There was no one in the front office so she leaned over the desk to see if anyone was about who could let her in. As she did so, she lost her balance and, toppling forward, her legs came off the floor, causing her to end up lying prone and face down on the counter.

‘Most officers use the door as opposed to climbing over the counter,’ a gruff-sounding voice exclaimed.

Jane looked up and saw a uniform Sergeant who was clearly not amused.

‘Sorry, sir. I’m new here and I was looking for . . . ’

‘God help us if this is what integration brings . . . And it’s Sergeant Harris, not sir!’

Sergeant Stanley Harris was in his late forties, six feet tall, exceptionally fit-looking, with broad shoulders, a short back and sides haircut, and an imposing air of authority. He had thirty years’ service and was never known to be called by his first name, not even off duty, or by officers senior in rank to him. Jane would soon learn that Sergeant Harris was a formidable and strict taskmaster, who would make her time as a probationary officer at Hackney tougher than her limited experience at Hendon could possibly have prepared her for . . .

Nights in White Satin

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