Liverpool Revisited Read online

  On this day the work boys were planting some new flowers down by the Palm House. Bright purples and reds they were. Quite glorious. I stopped to have a chat with them for a while, getting all the news and stories of what they and their mates were up to. Just before lunch there was a bit of commotion as one of the nannies had misplaced a child’s shoe. Re-tracing her steps we were glad to find that someone had kindly laced it on a branch hanging over the path. So all ended well there and I was off on my rounds again once lunch was over. It was egg on a sandwich today. Very tasty. By mid-afternoon the only incident brought to my attention was when I had to discipline a few young lads who had taken it upon themselves to go climbing up one of the trees. A quick cuff across the back of their heads and they were gone, though I did hear them calling names to me once they were a safe distance away. Cheeky beggars! I won’t spare the rod next time, believe you me!

  With all of this out of the way I set off towards the lake. I thought that I would cast my eyes over any anglers that might be there and make sure all of their permits were up to date. As it turned out however, as I approached the lake I could only make out three of them there today, with one of them placed on the opposite bank. It would take a bit of a walk to get all of the way round, but I carried on. After my checks I found that all of the permits were in order, even if they were turned over in a somewhat reluctant manner. Moving on I approached the Livingstone entrance where it leads out on to Aigburth road. Noting nothing out of the ordinary I circumnavigated the sports field and decided to head back towards the Palm House to see how the lads were getting on with the planting of the flower beds. Off to one side of the path I could see the autumn leaves falling from the trees massed across that way.

  Autumn really is a most spectacularly melancholic time, is it not? The leaves were like a carpet on the grass. Reds, yellows and gold, and all of the colours in between. For autumn it really was a quite mild day, but as I stopped to take in this marvellous sight a cold breeze blew across the park and rattled through the trees. A cascade of leaves fell from the partially barren branches and fell to the ground. A weak shiver rose across my back. It would be time for a sturdier coat soon! You most certainly would not want to get caught in inadequate clothing with a full day’s work ahead of you in the middle of the park. I paused to adjust my helmet and continued on my way. Already it was beginning to get dark. I cursed under my breath. The shorter days of winter were fast approaching, and I rued the cold and rain that were surely soon to arrive.

  The last duty of the day was to ensure that all of the sheds, buildings and out-houses were locked up and secured for the night. This took some time and a fair old bit of walking too! Still, I got about it and was soon heading away from the Palm House towards the lake once again, though this time I would not be going around it, but leaving past the wooded area off to my left. The lads had of course finished up by now and I checked the locks on the sheds where their tools were stashed, and made off to follow the route homeward. As sunset approached the park gates were, as usual, to be locked and my duty on this particular day was at the Lodge Lane end. I particularly enjoyed locking up these large ornate gates. It was quite a show! Not everyone knew it of course, but the large columns of the gates were actually from Saint George’s Hall in the town centre. They had been removed when they put the organ in and somehow or another they had ended up here. Anyway, the circumference of the park was of course far too large for one man to lock up on his own and so each of us would take turns to lock up a particular gate. We would sometimes swap though, if one gate was nearer to one man’s route home than another. The Lodge Lane end was therefore usually “my” gate to lock.

  I find it a strange place to be at sunset. Any person hurrying to the park exits before the gates were locked would find themselves sometimes straying from the path and cutting across the fields and even through the woods to avoid getting locked in. The park was surrounded by railings and although some of them, but not all, would not be too difficult to scale, it would be a matter of some inconvenience no doubt. If you were to find yourself locked in the park. Of course, the park did have officers on duty during the night to prevent mischief if nothing else, though it would usually appear to be the case that escorting courting couples out of the park was as bad as it would get. Several of the wealthier families in houses that surrounded the park did of course have access to the park after sunset, for which they paid an annual bursary. This would provide them with a special key that would open any of the park gates. It was not often needed for, as I have said, usually their houses backed on to the park anyway. Nevertheless from time to time we had to discretely lock the gates that one of the toffs had forgotten to close behind them.

  I have done my fair share of nights. It is worked on a shift basis, one week in four. It is worse a night shift in the winter as the park is a cold and bleak place. Wide open and completely deserted. Not a place for one hindered with a good imagination, I would say. The park of a night can be a beautiful but also a terrifying place when there is no form of illumination at all. All you could hope for was a starry night at best. Though we were all equipped with a torch, of course. Yes, a torch and a whistle, which would come in especially useful for the ritual that was the locking of the park gates. This always takes place exactly one hour after sunset. The gates are of course so far apart that it is quite impossible to be able to communicate with the constables locking the other entrances. Yet the Sergeant is a stickler for it. All of the gates must be locked at exactly the right time. So this is when our whistles come in especially useful. We would give a long burst on the whistle, about thirty seconds or so which is then responded to by your colleague at the next gate, and so forth. Somewhat like a chain of beacons being lit in days of old, I dare imagine! Then the gates are locked for the night and the Parks Police night shift takes over.

  It is quite a popular ritual in Liverpool, is the locking of the park gates. Some people mark the beginning of night in Liverpool by the sound of the constable’s whistles, I believe. Some folk even gather to watch from time to time, and even every now and again some of the wealthier families and perhaps a guest or two. If this is the case I often make a show of it and give a small salute to the people there when done. Always seems to mark the end of a shift nicely, does that. Then it’s off home. Unless it is a night shift, of course, and it is at that juncture that your shift is beginning. As I have noted earlier, the night shift is not my favourite shift. For all sorts of reasons. What I am about to tell you however was most certainly the most unusual yet fascinating night shift of all. It was very probably the most frightening as well.”

  ***

  I paused at that point, putting down the Journal, my ancestor’s words still rattling around in my head. I had not read this particular section before and I was intrigued to see what happened next. Perhaps some details of crimes that had taken place in the park. Murder or worse. I am more than a little shame faced to say that I was eager to continue the next passage, but with disappointment I noticed that my glass was empty. Returning to the kitchen I decided to prepare the evening meal before continuing with my reading. It was therefore nearly half an hour before I returned to the garden, a casserole now in the oven.

  Before I continued I paused to consider the part played by these now mostly forgotten policemen. How sad it was that they had served for so long and now were no more, in an age when perhaps they were needed more than ever. I felt that it had been no coincidence that just three years after the disbanding of the Parks Police force in nineteen seventy two that the first murder in the one hundred and five years history of the park was discovered there.

  As I liked to think of myself as somewhat of a local historian, even in a limited way, the thing that I found most abhorrent was that on the day that the Parks Police were officially no more, all of the records detailing the long service of those loyal men were removed from the office and destroyed. One hundred and five years of historical information destroyed instantly. As far as I was concerned t
his was tantamount to an act of vandalism!

  I sighed at the thought of it and picking up my great great grandfather’s journal I started to read once more. Perhaps this was one of the very few first hand records detailing the day to day routine of a Parks Policeman that was left? Shivering with the very thought of being a custodian of such a document, I turned the page.”

  ***

  “Nights, then.

  As I have said already, it is a strange place, the park at night. Even though it is surrounded by railings and the gates are locked there are rarely more than four of us on duty during the hours of darkness, and it is a large area to cover. What would be a delightful place in the sunshine, children playing and the like, takes on a more sinister form once night has fallen. The railings are not an insurmountable barrier either. Quite often we would come across an intruder worse the wear for drink who had taken it upon him or herself to take a short cut through the park in the dark to save them some time. We would politely but firmly escort them to the nearest gate before they had the chance to do some damage to themselves or worse, fall in the lake. Our efforts on these occasions were rarely received in the spirit in which we intended them!

  The worst thing about the night shifts of course is the weather. Snow I can cope with. In the winter folk are rarely about in the dark, preferring to be wrapped up in bed. Snow almost guarantees that. It is the rain that I find worse. Patrolling the park of a night hardly affords a tremendous amount of shelter, as you would imagine. Of course, once soaked through there is no real way to get dry again. We would be equipped with our rain capes and helmets, but an average patrol around just a part of the park could very easily take us two hours before we got back to the watch hut, or lodge as it is referred to in Sefton Park, and a warm fire. The lodge title comes from when the area was a royal hunting park in medieval times I believe, the title indicating that the lodge was the official hunters lodge. There you are, you see. If you’re a Toff’s Policeman then you can’t help but be a bit of a history buff too!

  For the night shift as I have already mentioned there were four of us on duty, but we patrolled in pairs at that time of night usually, intersecting every hour or so with a call of, “Nothing to report” too, hopefully! Looking on the bright side of it, we were equipped with our whistle to summon aid if required, and our long thin batons, or truncheons too. These were rarely used, and could normally only be drawn on the command of a senior officer. The one exception of this was if we found our back to the wall and with no other resort. Whatever that meant. Suffice to say there is many a night when I found my hand straying to the truncheon after I had heard fox or the like darting from cover and then back into the darkness, leaving me with my heart racing before I continued on my way.

  Now what I am about to relate you may find incredulous. Unbelievable even. Yet I swear here on my constable’s oath that it is the truth. Nor had any drink passed my lips that particular night. Never did I take a drink either before or whilst on duty. That was instant dismissal, and I was, and am, not one eager to go down such a path. In fairness I have never been much of a drinking man, and a drop has never passed my lips ever whilst I have been on duty.

  The night this happened the rain was beating down upon us mercilessly. I had the joy of discovering some time into the shift that my left boot had a hole in it and by now that particular foot was soaking. It was early autumn and the rain was cold and had been falling for all of the shift. It was approaching midnight now as I and my colleague Tom Worth were making our weary way back to the lodge. Generally we stopped for something to eat at midnight. It seemed as good a time as any, for I found that I was rarely hungry when working nights. It took me several days to adjust in the change in sleeping habits, and even more when I was back on a day shift once again. We unlocked the lodge and hung up our capes to hopefully dry. There did not seem to be much chance of that! They just clung to the hooks on the wall, dripping a large puddle on to the floor beneath them. We gathered around the lit fire to try to get some warmth into us. Poor Tom was not at all well that night! He had a fever and was shivering violently. He should not have been at work at all, but he had turned in anyway. Not being fit for work was frowned upon, and of course he would not get paid for not working. Money was tight and we all had to turn up for our shift no matter how ill we felt. It was just the way it was. We just got on with it.

  On this night however it became fairly obvious that poor Tom was sinking fast. I started to eat what sandwiches I had but Tom just sat there looking at his, shivering quite violently.

  “Why don’t you get yourself off home to your bed?” I asked him. He was clearly not well enough for duty and would be of no use at all in any kind of emergency!

  “I can’t do that!” he mumbled in reply. I noticed that he was perspiring quite heavily. I thought it had been rain on his forehead, but obviously not! “What if the Sergeant finds out?” This was a genuine concern. We were not allowed to leave our assigned patrol area without informing our superior officer. Of course, that was quite unfeasible in the middle of the night in the park!

  “He won’t find out.” I replied brightly. “Sergeant Williams will be safely tucked up in his bed. Nobody will notice and if they do I’ll cover for you.” Tom nodded slowly to himself. To this day I believe if he had continued with his shift that night he would have been in bed with pneumonia or the like by the morning. He knew what I was saying made sense and after a few minutes he gathered his cape again and with mumbled words of gratitude took himself off home and to his bed. I stoked the fire and continued with my sandwiches. After that I had a smoke and checked my hand torch. These were very new, replacing the lanterns we used to use. Although a great revelation and novelty at first, this had soon worn off and they were now just a standard part of our kit. Well, on the night shift anyway. I had missed the good old lanterns at first, but I did not miss the problems we had with them blowing out at exactly the wrong moment, which they were prone to do, even though they were of course shielded.

  On the downside it meant we no longer had to carry matches with us to relight them if they went out, so that meant the opportunity of a few crafty drags on a cigarette was even less likely now! Still. Somehow we coped. All was well with the torch, and my cape, although still obviously soaking wet, had at least stopped dripping on to the floor. I tied it back around myself carefully and retrieved my left boot from the side of the fire where I was attempting to dry it out, and removing the newspaper I had stuffed it with, I laced it up once gain. It still squelched horridly as I put it back on. Taking one last regretful look at the fire I left the lodge and locked the door behind me. As I did so I noted that the rain did not seem to have lessened at all. In fact it seemed to have increased! Cursing loudly I put the key for the lodge into my pocket and lit the torch.

  The thin beam pierced the darkness ahead of me as I made my way along the wide path heading towards the lake. At first it seemed a little unusual, if not disquieting to be on my own but I soon got used to it. I’m not a man for flights of fancy or anything like that. Our usual patrols would take about two hours and we would usually intersect at some point with the other two constables who were stationed on the other side of the park. I took a different route however, as I did not want to bump into anyone this night in case Tom’s absence was noted. This was not an unusual occurrence, and would not be commented on. Sometimes we went an entire week on the night shift without seeing the other two constables at all. It was a very big area to cover, and our routines did vary slightly. If we caught an intruder or the like, for example. Sometimes though we would see their torches bobbing along the path some way off as they went on their patrol across the other side of the park. Quite an eerie sight it would be, too! On a night like this however I wouldn’t blame them if they were sat in front of their own lodge fire, warming themselves. I wasn’t entirely sure why I wasn’t doing the same! Still, on into the dark and the rain I continued.

  The wind was quite fierce now, blowing the rain into my face
as I walked along the path. I pulled my cape a bit tighter around me and pulled my helmet down a little, trying to cover as much of myself as I could without at the same time making the mistake of not being able to see where I was going. I didn’t want to walk into a bloody tree or the lake or something! My left boot continued to slowly fill up with water as I went about my duties and I resolved to get the damned thing cobbled in the morning. There is nothing worse than wet feet! So on I went. The area of the park I had to patrol all of this week was the southern end, comprising mostly of the large lake and the quite densely wooded area surrounding its northern end. The other night patrol would be covering the much more open fields that lay that way. Suffice to say the wooded area was often the least favourable beat. More places for people up to no good to hide! It looked like I had drawn the bloody short straw yet again!

  Approaching the lake, I made my way around it, having first checked that the rowing boats against the small pier were still secured and all present and correct. I gave a little smile at the thought of anybody even thinking about robbing one in this weather, but as they say there is nothing as strange as folk, and so I checked them anyway. It was just another part of my duties so I just got on with it. Eventually I was satisfied that all was as it should be and I continued around the lake in the pouring rain, my torch sweeping the path as I went, my left boot squelching in the dark. It really was a miserable night!