Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

Not everyone can say that at five years old, they had already been arrested by the local police – but I can! Bobby Tawes, our local policeman, had arrested Stuart and me for ‘exploring’ too much. At that time, I was only about four or five years old while Stuart was around nine or ten. 

Myth of the Bobby

The myth of the ‘friendly Bobby’ and the ‘civilized’ English society was projected by the popular British TV series “Dixon of Dock Green”. It had also been further reinforced by the BBC “Heartbeat” television series.  Bobby’ is a slang term meaning policeman with positive connotations (as opposed to ‘the fuzz’ or ‘the pigs’). Bobby was a slang term for a member of London’s Metropolitan Police; it also derived from the name of Sir Robert Peel, who established the force in 1829.

Bobby Tawes

That local myth was partly reinforced in my mind at the time by the local representative of the police force in Culcheth. We had a policeman called Bobby Tawes who, according to my mother, was Scottish. Bobby Tawes was rarely ‘visible’ in the village; this is not surprising as he seemed to be the only policeman in the village; his movement was also restricted by the fact that his only means of transport was a slow-moving pushbike, and by the fact that at that time, he would always cycle along at a ‘dignified speed’ on his 1950s bike.

The Den

It all began as a typical Sunday outside, or as our usual compliance to our mother’s Go Outside and Play mandate. We chose to go to a nearby empty building-site so we could build our own little house, a ‘den’.

The dictionary definition of ‘den’ is of interest here: “a wild mammal’s hidden home; a lair.” Well we were certainly ‘wild’ animals. Luckily, the place had actual construction materials lying around that could make our game a reality. Clearly, our boyish games were not ‘child’s play’, but we failed to see that at that time.

Stuart, the Skilled Cub

For some reason, Stuart actually knew how to start the 2-stroke-engined cement mixer on the building site; this was in the days, unlike today [2022], when building sites were ‘open’. It didn’t immediately start at his first crank of the engine, but soon enough, it was already making a hell of a racket. Also added to the ensemble was the rolling-around of the cement mixer’s drum.

Simply watching Stuart operate the mixer was already fun in itself, but also frightening for a five-year-old like me; however, Stuart was braver than me. He didn’t let the thunderous clatter bother him. Once Stuart had finally got the little monster going, we shovelled cement, sand, and water into its gaping, rolling mouth, just like the construction fellas did. In hindsight, the ratios we used must have been just as ‘illegal’ as our presence at the site.

Our very own ‘den’ consisted of three walls, one opening without a wall, and a temporary roof made from wooden planks on the brick walls. Stuart made a fire at the opening. He was in the Cubs, and had learnt all about how to make a fire. Stuart was a skilled Cub; he adhered to the Scout Motto of being ‘Prepared.’ Thus, Stuart was prepared to start a fire whenever he had the chance. 

We used the fire to roast some potatoes which we had ‘ploughed’ from Higgins’ farm beforehand. We sat there, ate delicious roasts, and just enjoyed the relaxing afternoon inside our den. Nothing could ruin that moment – or so we thought.

The Arrest

Suddenly, we saw Bobby Tawes approaching on his bike. In fact, I don’t think he hardly said anything at all when he ‘caught’ us red-handed, except something like, “Your parents will hear about this.” 

He made us deconstruct our ‘house’ brick by brick. During that moment, I actually felt more annoyed than scared. Bobby Tawes wasn’t exactly a George Dixon type, but a middle-aged man with a quiet demeanour.

I couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about because I didn’t think it was a 999 emergency!  I didn’t even feel that we had done anything particularly wrong in his eyes. Some nosy neighbour must have seen us ‘having fun’ and called him up on the phone. Interestingly, 999 is the ‘silly’ emergency number in Britain. ‘Silly’ because it is the number that took the longest to dial on the phones of the 1950s and 1960s, as the number 9 was the last digit on the dial face.

Walk of Shame

The walk home with him and Stuart felt different, however. I felt more afraid of meeting my parents and receiving punishment from them. All three of us arrived home and Bobby Tawes knocked on the front door. He briefly told my mother what we had been doing matter-of-factly, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. At the time, my parents had our family friends, the Chapmans, over. My parents seemed to be in a good mood, so they didn’t want to spoil their ‘mood’, by making ‘a mountain out of a molehill’. They wanted to keep the good mood they were in on this Sunday, and not spoil it by chastising children.

God forbid, they had enough opportunity to do this during the week – so they didn’t want to spoil their day off. Thus, Stuart and I waited for a punishment that never came. For whatever reason it was at that time, everything the policeman told them seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. In life, you don’t always get lucky, but Stuart and I surely did this Sunday.

This is just one of the many adventures that I had in Hob Hey Lane. You can begin the story by reading through this. The Part 2 of this story will also be posted afterwards.