Read Online The Bee's Kiss by Barbara Cleverly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Cleverly
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good-humouredly. ‘Someone once told me I must have had a rocket up my arse to get to my present elevated rank so quickly! True. And the rocket had a name on it! A few years back when I was pounding the beat in the ordinary way – and believe me, Armitage, I’ve done all the basics! . . . ex-officers weren’t spared the training – I had a bit of luck.’ He added slowly, ‘Though it didn’t seem like luck at the time. And it was an odd time. Police unions, police strikes considerably more than a possibility, a good deal of disenchantment in the force . . .’
‘I remember that,’ said Armitage. ‘Before I joined. I wouldn’t have considered it if it hadn’t all turned around.’
‘Not surprised to hear it. Enormous amount of unfairness and injustice and what happened? To my horror, a delegation of the rank and file – my fellow bobbies – waited on me and asked me if I would not only join but spearhead the police union’s protest! Pretty unpromising situation for a bright young chap like me, on the threshold of my new career! Overnight I had the reputation of being a firebrand, a dangerous man . . .’ Joe dropped his voice and added theatrically, ‘an agitator.’
The word, though lightly offered, made Armitage shudder. ‘Bad situation, sir! Promising police career looking a bit blue round the edges? Sacking offence, isn’t it? Union business . . . can get you into trouble.’
‘Certainly did then,’ said Joe. ‘And it wasn’t as though I hadn’t been warned . . . the chap before me who’d complained on behalf of the men – Thomas Thiel, that was his name, ex-Guards officer – had just been dismissed. Sir Edward Henry, the outgoing Commissioner, had got rid of him for fomenting trouble in the ranks. And here I was being invited to put my neck on the same block.’
‘But you did it anyway,’ said Armitage with a smile and a nod. ‘Always did lead from the front!’
‘Well,’ said Joe, ‘it didn’t feel much like leadership at the time. Someone behind me kicked my arse and I picked up the cudgels. There I was, agitating away if you care to put it like that, and my name came to the notice of the man at the top, the new Commissioner of Police. I was put up to represent the men in an informal interview with this chap.’ Joe paused and smiled a grim smile. ‘He was General Sir Nevil Macready.’
Armitage’s face stiffened. ‘Blimey! That old war horse.’ He took a bite of his saveloy and chewed thoughtfully.
‘None other. From the siege of Ladysmith to the Easter uprisings, he was used to getting his own way. He was violently against police strikes and had already squashed one in 1918. And now this Big Gun was trained on me! I was summoned to see him in his office. You can imagine how I felt as I entered. But the first thing I saw – and, I must say, for a moment it put me off my stroke – was a poster pinned up on the wall behind his desk. It was one of ours. It said “Macready Must Go!” Bloody cheek! But I liked that. I thought that perhaps, after all, this was a man who was, like us, agitating away too. He didn’t approve of police strikes (not keen myself, as it happens), he did see that there were grievances, did see that the police were a bumbling and incompetent body wandering round the streets of London with a lantern in one hand and a bell in the other.’
‘Past seven o’clock and all’s well?’
‘That’s the sort of thing. Anyway, soldier to soldier – he’d taken the trouble to find out all about me – we put our cards on the table. He listened to all I had to tell him about the front-line copper’s problems and was able to assure me that many of them were already receiving his attention. And, with Sir Nevil, I was to find that this was not just a way of putting an inconvenient matter in cold storage. He’s a man of his word and a man of fast reactions and in no time after that meeting he’d weeded out the injustices of the fines system and the sick
‘I remember that,’ said Armitage. ‘Before I joined. I wouldn’t have considered it if it hadn’t all turned around.’
‘Not surprised to hear it. Enormous amount of unfairness and injustice and what happened? To my horror, a delegation of the rank and file – my fellow bobbies – waited on me and asked me if I would not only join but spearhead the police union’s protest! Pretty unpromising situation for a bright young chap like me, on the threshold of my new career! Overnight I had the reputation of being a firebrand, a dangerous man . . .’ Joe dropped his voice and added theatrically, ‘an agitator.’
The word, though lightly offered, made Armitage shudder. ‘Bad situation, sir! Promising police career looking a bit blue round the edges? Sacking offence, isn’t it? Union business . . . can get you into trouble.’
‘Certainly did then,’ said Joe. ‘And it wasn’t as though I hadn’t been warned . . . the chap before me who’d complained on behalf of the men – Thomas Thiel, that was his name, ex-Guards officer – had just been dismissed. Sir Edward Henry, the outgoing Commissioner, had got rid of him for fomenting trouble in the ranks. And here I was being invited to put my neck on the same block.’
‘But you did it anyway,’ said Armitage with a smile and a nod. ‘Always did lead from the front!’
‘Well,’ said Joe, ‘it didn’t feel much like leadership at the time. Someone behind me kicked my arse and I picked up the cudgels. There I was, agitating away if you care to put it like that, and my name came to the notice of the man at the top, the new Commissioner of Police. I was put up to represent the men in an informal interview with this chap.’ Joe paused and smiled a grim smile. ‘He was General Sir Nevil Macready.’
Armitage’s face stiffened. ‘Blimey! That old war horse.’ He took a bite of his saveloy and chewed thoughtfully.
‘None other. From the siege of Ladysmith to the Easter uprisings, he was used to getting his own way. He was violently against police strikes and had already squashed one in 1918. And now this Big Gun was trained on me! I was summoned to see him in his office. You can imagine how I felt as I entered. But the first thing I saw – and, I must say, for a moment it put me off my stroke – was a poster pinned up on the wall behind his desk. It was one of ours. It said “Macready Must Go!” Bloody cheek! But I liked that. I thought that perhaps, after all, this was a man who was, like us, agitating away too. He didn’t approve of police strikes (not keen myself, as it happens), he did see that there were grievances, did see that the police were a bumbling and incompetent body wandering round the streets of London with a lantern in one hand and a bell in the other.’
‘Past seven o’clock and all’s well?’
‘That’s the sort of thing. Anyway, soldier to soldier – he’d taken the trouble to find out all about me – we put our cards on the table. He listened to all I had to tell him about the front-line copper’s problems and was able to assure me that many of them were already receiving his attention. And, with Sir Nevil, I was to find that this was not just a way of putting an inconvenient matter in cold storage. He’s a man of his word and a man of fast reactions and in no time after that meeting he’d weeded out the injustices of the fines system and the sick
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