Constable on the Prowl (The Constable Nick Series Book 2) Page 9

  In Eltering Police Office I entered the saga in my notebook and checked with Stone’s Justices Manual on the veracity of Flint’s claim. That reference book appeared to support his belief that antlers were classified as entire deer and I found no previously decided cases which might counter this. In short, it would be for our local court to determine this important issue.

  Within a few days I had typed my account of the incident and had obtained a long written statement from Archibald Flint. He compiled his statement as a policeman would, and appeared overjoyed at actually catching this notorious local poacher red-handed. I’ve no doubt that Claude Jeremiah had been in those woods on many previous occasions without being caught, so perhaps this was justice of a kind. But we were not judging previous occurrences, and I submitted my report through Sergeant Blaketon, who agreed with everything Flint said and informed me he would recommend prosecution.

  At first I did wonder if a written caution might have been appropriate rather than a hearing in court, but later agreed with Blaketon’s decision. With a man like Flint pushing for a conviction it was best to let Eltering Magistrates’ Court decide the issue. The matter would thus receive a public hearing.

  In due course summonses were issued and the participants instructed to be at Eltering Magistrates’ Court at 10.30 a.m. one Thursday morning. Alderman Fazakerly was Chairman and his accompanying magistrates were Mrs Pinkerton and Mr Smithers, with the efficient Mr Whimp as clerk of the court. The hearing opened with the usual applications for extensions of hours at local pubs and our case was first on the agenda.

  “Claude Jeremiah Greengrass,” called the usher, and the untidy figure of my beat’s most notorious criminal shuffled forward and stood before the assembled Bench.

  “Is your name Claude Jeremiah Greengrass?” asked Mr Whimp.

  “Aye, it is,” smiled Claude Jeremiah having answered this question in this court many times before.

  “Listen carefully as I read out the charge. When I have finished you may plead either guilty or not guilty. Is that understood?” Greengrass nodded.

  “Claude Jeremiah Greengrass. You are charged that, on Friday, 27th September last, you took a deer during the night, that is between the expiration of the first hour after sunset and the commencement of the last hour before sunrise, contrary to section 2 of the Deer Act, 1963. How do you plead?”

  “I didn’t, sir. All I took was a pair of cast antlers, honest.”

  “Am I right in thinking it is your intention to plead not guilty?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m not guilty. I didn’t take a deer, Your Worships, I found a set of antlers, old ones they were. That’s all.”

  “Thank you. You will get an opportunity to address the court. In the meantime you may sit down until it is your turn to give evidence. The offence with which you are charged is a summary offence and must be dealt with by this court.”

  Mr Whimp sat down with a flourish typical of magistrates’ clerks everywhere as Sergeant Blaketon rose to address their Worships. He was a fine figure of a man, standing in this rural centre of justice as he outlined the facts of the case. He summarised the evidence which would be given by Archibald Flint and called the gamekeeper to the witness box. Flint gave a textbook account of the incident and concluded by producing Exhibit ‘A’, the antlers, duly labelled.

  Next was an expert witness from the Forestry Commission, a Mr F.N.Z. Carruthers who told the court that the antlers were those of the red deer (Cervus elaphus scoticus), a species which frequented the plantation, although rare in other parts of England. It was plentiful in Scotland.

  I was then called to give my evidence. I had to tell the court that, acting upon information received, I proceeded to Brock Rigg Plantation where I saw the accused and a set of antlers. I told the court of my brief interview, my cautioning of the defendant and his replies. I told of my seizure of evidence, which I had labelled Exhibit ‘A’ and now produced.

  When Mr Whimp asked Claude Jeremiah if he wanted to ask me any questions he leapt up and asked, “Did I have a deer with me, Mr Rhea?”

  “No, Your Worships,” I said. “Just a set of antlers.”

  “So I didn’t take a deer,” and he sat down in triumph.

  There being no further prosecution witnesses and no defence witnesses, next in the box was Claude Jeremiah Greengrass. He elected to give evidence from the witness box and solemnly took the oath before beginning his account.

  “I’ve always wanted a set of antlers, sir, to hang on my wall. I knew they’d put red deer in those woods, to see if they would breed. You don’t get many red deer in England, sir, do you? Scotland, yes, but not England. Anyway, I went up that night for a look around, just in case there was some lying discarded, you understand. The bucks discard their antlers, you see, knock ’em off on tree branches. Well, I found yon set, nice pair they are too. Just lying on the ground. So I picked ’em up, and got to the edge of the wood when Flint caught me. I didn’t kill the deer to get them antlers, honest. They was just lying there.”

  No one wished to put any questions to Claude Jeremiah Greengrass because the facts were not in dispute, and he was allowed to stand down. Alderman Fazakerly leaned from his lofty seat and whispered to Mr Whimp. I heard the loud whisper.

  “I fail to see the point of this case,” he said. “The fellow has obviously not killed or taken a deer, even if it was at night.”

  “No, sir,” advised the patient Mr Whimp. “That is not the allegation.”

  “Isn’t it? Then what is?”

  “The case is based on the definition of a deer, sir.”

  “Oh,” blinked Alderman Fazakerly. “Is the prosecution trying to say that a set of antlers is a deer?”

  “That would appear to be the interpretation, Your Worships,” smiled Mr Whimp. “The relevant authority is in the Deer Act, section 9,” and he handed up a copy of Stone’s Justices Manual, open at the correct page. I knew what it said, for I had read it some days ago. It stated that for the purposes of the Deer Act, ‘a deer means deer of any species and includes the carcass of any deer or any part thereof.’

  “The antlers are not a carcass, are they?” simpered Mrs Pinkerton.

  “No, but they are part of one,” grunted Mr Smithers. “And they are part of a deer. The Act says that part of a deer is a deer.”

  “It seems a bit hard on the fellow, doesn’t it?” the Chairman whispered. “It’s not as if he’s been poaching red deer, is it?”

  “The Act says it is illegal to take deer at night,” Smithers spoke bluntly. “He’s admitted that, so he’s guilty. Part of a deer is the same as a whole deer. The law says so.”

  “Mrs Pinkerton?” asked the Chairman.

  “The law is the law, so I must agree,” she simpered.

  “Thank you,” the Chairman smiled. “I also agree. He’s guilty. What about a penalty?”

  The advisory Mr Whimp came to the rescue. “The offence carries a maximum fine of £20 for a first conviction,” he said smugly.

  Fazakerly pursed his lips. “I’d prefer an absolute discharge on this occasion. As you are aware, that is legally a penalty and a conviction, although it carries no fine or other sanction.”

  They all agreed, so Alderman Fazakerly raised his head and addressed the assembled court, including Claude Jeremiah Greengrass.

  “Claude Jeremiah Greengrass,” he cleared his throat in a judicial manner. “The Deer Act was created to protect these beautiful creatures from poachers, and Parliament has seen fit to regard parts of a deer as equivalent to the complete animal. Because you have admitted taking antlers at night you are therefore guilty of the offence as charged.”

  “Never!” cried the defendant.

  “Is anything known against the accused?” Alderman Fazakerly asked Sergeant Blaketon.

  Blaketon read out a list of his previous convictions, petty as they all were.

  “Hm. Nothing serious, and no previous deer-poaching, eh? Well, Mr Greengrass, on this occasion we are prepared to grant you a
n absolute discharge. This means that, although you have been found guilty, there will be no penalty and no conditions as to your future conduct.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir, very kind indeed,” and the relief was clear in his voice.

  Sergeant Blaketon jumped to his feet.

  “Would Your Worships care to make an order for the disposal of Exhibit ‘A’?”

  “Ah, of course. Well, as it was clearly found on Forestry Commission land, it must belong to them. The court therefore orders that the antlers be restored to the Forestry Commission. Perhaps Mr Carruthers will accept them?”

  Carruthers smiled. “In the event of a penalty other than a fine, Your Worships, I am authorised to donate them to the defendant, as a gift.”

  “Then let it be done,” smiled Alderman Fazakerly.

  And the weathered face of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass broke into a cheeky smile. Flint, on the other hand, turned a deep purple, and failed to appreciate this court’s administration of rural justice.

  Poachers are an integral part of village life. They are not all of Claude Jeremiah’s calibre, although a rural beat like Aidensfield certainly possesses its share of grouse-grabbing villains. Most are local folks, men whose ancestors have been poachers over countless generations and for whom poaching is a natural pastime like walking or breathing. Coping with them is never difficult because the gamekeepers know them and know how to deal with them, albeit unofficially at times. For the gamekeeper and the local poacher the eternal contest is almost like a game — sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. In many cases a friendly rivalry exists, although it can be a serious contest at times.

  Part of the reason for the cosy attitude is that the poaching laws are so mysterious to those who do not understand their requirements. They create offences which are not theft but which involve trespass. There are many offences within the scope of the poaching laws, and the illegality is created when poachers trespass in pursuit of game. The actual taking of game cannot be theft because the creatures are wild by nature, consequently it is trespass which forms the basis of the offences.

  This makes it fun for the poacher. The sport can be compared with schoolboys sneaking into gardens to steal apples, although it must be said that there is big money in poaching and that pinching apples from gardens is theft!

  It is the likelihood of big money that attracts carloads of highly skilled and ruthless poachers from the cities. These are the real villains, and they are a far cry from the village poacher who takes the occasional pheasant or salmon for his family lunch. These rogues journey into the rural regions of Yorkshire, there to give the estates a ‘bashing’, as they term it. They’ve even been known to use explosives to stun fish in rivers, in order to collect them in large quantities, while some of the cunning methods used to catch game-birds are fascinating. For example, raisins are sometimes soaked in brandy and this gets pheasants so drunk they cannot fly off. A drunk and disorderly pheasant is a curious sight.

  My beat was attractive to poachers because it was the location of several large country estates. Some possessed the traditional lord of the manor and a large mansion for him to live in. These people were good to me and were good to the local residents, consequently none of us disliked people of quality. In fact, they were good for the district because they provided work for the communities and therefore helped preserve village life. Their extinction will be a tragedy for England.

  For the poachers of industrial West Yorkshire, however, the presence of such happy hunting-grounds within an hour’s drive of their back-to-back homes or high-rise flats was very tempting and challenging. There were reports of luscious pheasants, succulent partridges, juicy salmon and other culinary delights, all waiting to be taken by skilful and daring men, and quite free of charge too. All that was needed was a little time and patience. One of my regular and important duties was to liaise with gamekeepers and keep their lordships informed of trends and poaching intelligence. Like all country policemen I reckoned it would be nice to arrest an organised bunch of poachers.

  An opportunity to do that arose one autumn evening. I was on night-duty and had elected to patrol the village on foot, for it was a Saturday. On that night especially, the local people liked to pop out to the pub for a noggin or two. I entered the Brewers Arms at Aidensfield shortly before 10.30 to pay my customary uniformed visit. I knew the appearance of a uniformed bobby was appreciated by most landlords who wanted rid of hangers-on and who liked to go to bed at the same time as everyone else. I poked my head around the door to let everyone know I was about. The place was full; there was noise, laughter, happiness and music and there seemed to be no juvenile boozers or troublesome characters.

  I waved across the sea of heads at the landlord, who saw me and waved back. Word would get about that the law was prowling and the drinkers would go peacefully to their homes. One or two locals made jokes about my presence and I was preparing to leave when the landlord hailed me.

  He didn’t shout for me; he just raised his hand and I recognised the signal. He wanted help or advice. This pre-arranged signal did not attract attention, so I went outside to wait. He followed and joined me soon afterwards, panting slightly.

  “Glad I caught you,” he said. “Did you notice those men in the corner?”

  I shook my head. The place had been packed and, besides, not all the regular patrons were known to me.

  “Strangers,” he said. “I don’t know them, but Sam overhead them talking.”

  “Go on, George,” he was also called George, like the landlord of the Hopbind Inn at Elsinby. I wondered if all landlords were known as George.

  “They were talking of giving his Lordship’s river a bashing tonight,” he told me. “Sam definitely heard them. Salmon, you know.”

  “Thanks,” I valued this information. “Has the river been done before?”

  “Once or twice, down at Victoria’s Bend.”

  “Victoria’s Bend?” I didn’t know it.

  “Halfway between here and Ploatby. It’s a wide, sweeping bend in the river, and I’m told there’s salmon in there, lots of them. It’s named after Queen Victoria — she used to come and stay at the Hall, and liked to sit down there near the river in the summer. It’s been called Victoria’s Bend ever since.”

  “I know it now,” I recognised it from his description. “Right, thanks George. I’ll inform the keeper.”

  “He’s in hospital, broken ankle,” George said.

  I cursed under my breath. I’d have to cope myself, for I was the only policeman on night-duty, although Sergeant Bairstow was on patrol elsewhere in the Sub-Division. I peered at the two suspicious men through a side window so I’d know them again, then rang the sergeant from my own office. He was out and his wife did not know where he was, but she did inform me that he was expected back about one o’clock in the morning. He was obviously supervising several night-duty constables.

  I decided to visit the location of the anticipated bashing in order to familiarise myself with the layout of the ground, river and trees. I walked along the rocky path which followed the line of the bubbling water and came to the long, sweeping curve in question. I knew this to be the haunt of succulent salmon and, wondering about their habits and movements, I spent some minutes there, trying to work out the likely movements of the poachers.

  In order to catch them I would have to wait in hiding until they proved the purpose of their visit by lowering lines or nets into the water. Those actions alone would be proof of their intent and I could give such evidence in court. But I had to see them do it. I found a convenient clump of bushes about fifteen yards from the river bank and concealed myself behind it. From here I had a clear view up river towards the direction from which the anticipated poachers would come. I looked at my watch.

  It was just after eleven o’clock.

  I waited for about an hour and a half and began to wonder if my time was being wasted. Maybe we’d panicked? Maybe it was a joke between the two men? I thought of all the o
ther things I could be usefully doing, like drinking tea in friendly houses or shaking hands with yet more doorknobs in Ashfordly. Maybe the pub had done this to get me out of the way, so they could drink late? All manner of thoughts, nice and nasty, passed through my mind as I waited among the shrubbery and then I became aware of the approach of two men.

  They walked very quietly, using the same path I had walked along. Even in the gloom I could see they carried rods, nets and gaffs, and wore waders. They were well equipped for their mission. As they neared me I could hear them whispering softly and soon they found a small promontory about fifty yards beyond me. They settled upon this, rigged up their rods, nets and gaffs and prepared for their vigil. I watched them all the time, making notes of the precise time and their actions. I waited. It would be nice to catch them red-handed with a salmon — that would be perfect proof. Should I wait for that? Or pounce now? I had enough proof to justify action.

  Suddenly the water broke violently and there developed a fierce thrashing and lots of vile cursing; they’d got one, a big one, judging by the fight it was creating. The water turned white about their feet as they gradually hauled the catch towards the shore. I saw the glint of the cruel gaff as it embedded itself into the flesh of the fish. Still thrashing wildly the gleaming fish was lifted bodily from the water and cast deftly on to the bank where the men pounced upon it. It would be swiftly killed.

  As they worked on their prize I crept from my hiding place and was upon them before they realised I was there. I said all the proper things about being caught poaching, cautioned them officially and ‘seized’ their lines, rods, gaffs and nets, plus the salmon. That was my evidence. I had half expected them to make a run for it, but they didn’t. They accepted their arrest most peacefully and I marched them back to the village and up the hill to my police house. They made no excuse and never attempted to escape from me. I was thankful, if surprised, at their meek submission.

  I rang Sergeant Bairstow because he would have to officiate in the office as they were charged. He was now at home, it being half past one in the morning, and I passed on my glad tidings. He grumbled and cursed because I’d got him out of bed, but I chose to ignore his feelings as I prepared to drive my prisoners into his office. He would charge and bail them.