In trouble ... and 'flippant'

I have just finished reading part one of Peter Jenkins’ memoirs (Feb 2022), and what a joy it has been. It seems that Peter is of a similar age to me, and we have had similar experiences; not least of which is having an unfortunate run in with the police, though in my case I was not as fortunate in the outcome as Peter.

In 1974 I was a student at Middlesex Polytechnic and living in a flat above some shops in Parson Street, Hendon (then opposite the Odeon where we saw The Exorcist, a memorable night!). I had acquired a BSA 250, C15 I think it was, and it was languishing by the bins at the bottom of the fire escape to the rear of the flats. There was insufficient time for motorcycle maintenance when the student bar was selling beer at 12p a pint – Watneys Starlight admittedly, subsequently replaced with Fullers ESB (another memorable night!).

One day I got the urge to be on the road again, and was assisted by Bill who knew little about motorbikes and Mick who knew nothing at all – which in itself was useful as Mick innocently obliged when told to put his finger in the plug cap while I kicked over the bike – no problem at all with the spark! We must have found some petrol from somewhere and some air for the tyres. I put on my helmet and headed into central London for a ride.

All went well, except that somewhere along the way I lost the rear light/ number plate. It was more than a little inconvenient, but it didn’t adversely affect the performance of the bike. So, having whetted my appetite, I was out again on the C15 the following day. Up The Burroughs, right at Church End, past The Chequers, on past Hendon Police College (ominous). Turn right up the A41, join the A1, Watford Way.

The motorcycle cop was in a layby, on my side of the road, standing by his bike. He took a long hard stare at my BSA, front to back, and reached for his helmet. There was no side road for me to disappear into, no escape, so I pulled into the next layby, and waited.

His first question was: ‘What has become of the number plate/rear light?’ To which I honestly replied: ‘It fell off yesterday.’ He did not believe me when I said that not only was the bike taxed and insured, but also MOT’d. He commenced a thorough inspection, which ended with him twanging the bungee securing the petrol tank (you’re not the only one, Peter!).

Several weeks later the doorbell rang (on a Saturday morning I think it was) and us students (three in a room in those days) were still in bed. I was the mug who went downstairs and signed for the envelope that contained my summonses. At first sight it seemed

I’d got off lightly, with a summons containing only one offence. However, behind that were four others; as with Peter, I also had six charges against me. I blu-tacked each to the wall, alongside my recycling sock collection.

My favourite was ‘… aforesaid did use on a road a motor vehicle propelled by an internal combustion engine, so that the exhaust gases from the engine escaped into the atmosphere without first passing through the silencer, expansion chamber or other contrivance required by the Motor Vehicles (Construction and Use) Regulations 1973 to be fitted’.

The other offences were inoperative speedo, insecure petrol tank and, of course, the absent rear light and number plate (I can’t remember the sixth offence).

As in Peter’s case, I too sought the advice of a solicitor, and this turned out to be bad advice as he confidently told me I would get one endorsement and a £10 fine. There was no advice to address a letter to the court explaining how sorry I was, and to explain the mitigating circumstances.

What I think really did for me was that my comment (given after I was read my rights by the PC) regarding the rear light/number plate – that ‘it fell off yesterday’, came across as ‘flippant’. So, the magistrate (almost certainly Margaret Thatcher’s sister, assuming she had one) immediately took against me, banned me from driving for six months and gave me a £50 fine – whereas Peter got a £5 fine and was told by the duty PC he was a ‘lucky bastard’! In my case, I got the impression from the police officers present, that I was a most ‘unlucky bastard’.

I was sunk by my own honesty. If

I had only expressed surprise when asked about the missing parts there might have been a more lenient outcome. And if I’d had a solicitor representing me, they would have emphasised the positives, my character, of course, and that the motorcycle was in many ways in excellent condition for the road (tyres, brakes, etc), as well as being taxed, insured and MOT’d.

In the summer of 1974 I worked ‘on the dust’ for the London Borough of Barnet. One of the other dustmen had spotted the C15 locked to the fire escape on the service road at the back of Parson Street and made me an offer of £15 for it. So it was heaved unceremoniously into the back of the dustcart and that’s the last I saw of it.

I, the same as Peter, had believed there was no history of motorcycling within my family. However, when logged into the British Newspaper Archive last week I discovered a brother of my maternal grandmother, was in trouble with the law way back in 1914.

The Runcorn Examiner of Saturday, March 7, 1914 records, in the Borough Police Court section:

‘Treated Leniently – Douglas S Neil, Prospect House, Crow Wood, Widnes, was summoned for riding a motor cycle at a speed dangerous to the public in Bridge-Street. PC Andrews, who was on point duty at the Bridge, said defendant came down Bridge-street at 20 to 25 miles per hour. He signalled to P C Armstrong at the end of the bridge, but defendant could not be stopped and proceeded up Wilderspool-road. He returned and was then stopped and said the engine was a powerful one, and that he had only been riding two days. If there had been a car on the bridge there would have been a serious accident. The Chief Constable said the defendant had regretted the incident and had also pleaded guilty. He thought it was an accident, and asked the Bench to deal leniently with defendant. Neil was ordered to pay the costs, on promising ‘not to undertake any such fool-hardy business again’.’

Magistrates, at that time, were entirely composed of aldermen, councillors and, on occasion, also the mayor. Douglas’s father, Alderman George Ingram Neil, had by 1914 already served as mayor and also chief magistrate while Mrs Neil, unusually for a woman in those days, was a serving member of the council. Douglas was perhaps in the fortunate position of having one of the most prominent and respected couples in Widnes for parents. I wonder what part that might have played in the chief constable’s advice to the court?

Within a few months Douglas enlisted in the Royal Marines, served in the ill-fated Dardanelles Campaign and was hospitalised with dysentery. He survived the war and he and his wife went on to run a grocer’s shop in Widnes.