Mr Plod.......
Mr Plod. Dixon of Dock Green or the village policeman.
Ours was called speedy. His name was Trevor Davis and he was a very tall man. He was rather over large for his bike and his knees stuck out sideways. He patrolled the village and had a regular route. We met him when he came to our house for my dad to make a statement. We almost got run over on a zebra crossing in Dunstable. Lots of witness so Trevor came to our house. He and dad became good friends from then on. He would have to go down Bidwell Hill of an evening probably to be sure the Red Lion shut their doors and turfed everyone out at closing time. Anyway, it was about half mile down the hill and he had to go as far as Thorn turn which was a full mile from the village. So he would stop in for a cup of tea, liberally laced with something stronger. Some nights he was quite merry as he made his way out into the dark countryside.
The village boys played some tricks on him now and then. I have heard a few tales from my friend Roger (the dodger) that I did not know about until recent years when we got in touch again.
SurreyDutchess......I am sure you will have some comments for us as to the life of the Village Bobby......and his family.
Our friend Trevor imigrated to Australia with his family. As many families did in the late 50s or early 60s as the passage was paid for them if they would stay for 5 years.
Hard to imagine that Australia was still asking for immigrants with families to populate the place. My uncle and his family went. I have recently found them on Facebook......so cool this internet is it not.
Anyway, the village policeman put up with much, little boys tricks and all the woes of family disputes and drunken farmers and village life in general. To us he was the knight in shining armour above reproach. The safe haven to run to in time of need and I am sure sadly missed now that everyone is in a patrol car and seperated from the public when once he was plainly visable and knew everything about everybody.
Ours was called speedy. His name was Trevor Davis and he was a very tall man. He was rather over large for his bike and his knees stuck out sideways. He patrolled the village and had a regular route. We met him when he came to our house for my dad to make a statement. We almost got run over on a zebra crossing in Dunstable. Lots of witness so Trevor came to our house. He and dad became good friends from then on. He would have to go down Bidwell Hill of an evening probably to be sure the Red Lion shut their doors and turfed everyone out at closing time. Anyway, it was about half mile down the hill and he had to go as far as Thorn turn which was a full mile from the village. So he would stop in for a cup of tea, liberally laced with something stronger. Some nights he was quite merry as he made his way out into the dark countryside.
The village boys played some tricks on him now and then. I have heard a few tales from my friend Roger (the dodger) that I did not know about until recent years when we got in touch again.
SurreyDutchess......I am sure you will have some comments for us as to the life of the Village Bobby......and his family.
Our friend Trevor imigrated to Australia with his family. As many families did in the late 50s or early 60s as the passage was paid for them if they would stay for 5 years.
Hard to imagine that Australia was still asking for immigrants with families to populate the place. My uncle and his family went. I have recently found them on Facebook......so cool this internet is it not.
Anyway, the village policeman put up with much, little boys tricks and all the woes of family disputes and drunken farmers and village life in general. To us he was the knight in shining armour above reproach. The safe haven to run to in time of need and I am sure sadly missed now that everyone is in a patrol car and seperated from the public when once he was plainly visable and knew everything about everybody.
