Abiding by the law? Michael Graeme runs foul of the boys and girls in blue.

I’m quite a timid person in real life – very non-confrontational. If you’re looking for an argument, you’ll find me very slippery – always switching the subject back onto neutral ground where we can both agree and get along fine. The original fence-sitter – that’s me. Break the law? Never – not under any circumstances, because it’s the law that protects us and keeps us from turning into an uncivilised society. However, sometimes it seems you just can’t help yourself.

I remember as a child, a mate and I were playing with a boomerang in a meadow at the back of our street. It had cost me 2’/6p, and we were having a great time with it. The field was fallow – no crops, no livestock or anything. Suddenly, my mate’s face took on a look of pure terror and he ran away as if he had the devil on his heels. Wondering what was up, I turned to see, not the devil, but the farmer, bright red with steam coming out of his nostrils in a comically bovine fashion. What was up with him? He looked angry over something. Surely, it was nothing we’d done. But then, why was my mate running like that?

Such delightful innocence proved to be no excuse and I was landed a kick up the rear end, which stung because the farmer was wearing shiny steel toe caps as I recall. This got me going and I duly caught up with my mate as we hopped back to safety over his garden fence. The farmer kept my boomerang and consequently still owes me 2’/6p. Yes, if you’re reading this, forty years later, you bastard, I remember who you are, and I know where you live!

Though the incident was largely forgotten (honestly) until quite recently, I think it instilled in me an abhorrence for laws that are either stupid, or applied in such a way as to deliver a kick up the backside to an innocent person, for no other reason than they seem easier to catch than people who are really naughty. Now, okay, technically we were trespassing that day, but my defence is that there was no harm intended – we were kids playing out. Some farmers don’t mind kids playing in their meadows if there’s nothing growing in them but this guy had zero tolerance, and I think I have him to thank for my own intolerance of arbitrary authority delivered by jobsworths, especially when it comes to land access issues.

A more recent example was when walking through a meadow attached to my home village. There, a sign asks us to keep to the alloted path – in other words keep off the grass – but the grass is wild – it’s a wild-meadow for pity’s sake. I was there recently with number two son, having gone to take a look at some wood carvings that had been done by way of decoration. The carvings – life sized statues of religious figures stand in the field, away from the path. I wanted a closer look, so I wandered over with my camera. Number two son was horrified that I’d be told off, and I was horrified that he was so sensitive. Duly chastised I crept away, but felt angry that such unseen nannying was curtailing my innocent freedom to come and go as I pleased. I was pushing fifty for heaven’s sake! It’s about time I was allowed to grow up. I can guarantee the person who will eventually hack those statues’ heads off or carves irreligious graffiti upon them will have no such sensitivity. And they will never be caught either.

All of this might sound like the bleatings of someone with nothing better to whine about, but I should advise you, I have also been subject to a warning by the police for his  misbehaviour – oh yes, Michael Graeme is a real bad-ass! (Is that the right phrase?)

Some years back I happened to have my finger in my ear as I was driving past a side-road. Allow me to explain: it was momentary thing – a bit of an itch that needed a desperate scratch, so I scratched it. Unfortunately, down the side road there was lurking a police car which duly emerged from its lair and sat on my tail for two miles before pulling me over. Was there a problem, I wondered? Had I a tail light gone? No. According to the otherwise charming young lady officer, I had been using a mobile phone, faced three points on my licence and a hefty fine and was I not aware that it was an offence “sir”? 

I was nonplussed and politely denied all knowledge. I hate it when I see people driving with a mobile ‘phone pressed to their ear, because it’s dangerous, they don’t seem to care, and there’s never a policeman around to catch them – so this felt like the ultimate irony. My mobile phone was requested, but did I even have my mobile ‘phone that morning I wondered? Cue a rather undignified emptying of pockets: pens, pencils, MP3 player, snotty hanky, small torch, swiss army knife, curious piece of bassalt picked up from the beach at Porth Neigawl,… calculator,…. backup calculator, oh yes, there it was: the tiny phone was located, in a zipped pocket, fastened in a case and switched off.

It was a mistake, obviously, a simple misunderstanding; and I could readily accept that a man with his finger in his ear could easily be mistaken for a man using a mobile ‘phone. But was Michael Graeme sent on his way with an apology and a friendly “mind how you go, sir”? Not exactly. He was given a warning and sent on his way with the feeling that he’d been lucky to get away with it this time – and he’d better watch out in future. But a warning against what, I wondered? The question was on the tip of my tongue but circumspection got the better of me. I tugged my forelock and went on my way.

Be warned, therefore, I am not so innocent a soul as my writings might lead you to believe! I also try to keep my mobile phone in a bag in the boot now when I’m driving, but I’m not sure that will be sufficient defence if it were to happen again. In my novel Durleston Wood, I have a character who’s so paranoid at the sight of a police car, he’s no longer able to drive without feeling like he’s going to have a heart attack. Hmnn, I wonder where I got him from?

And then there’s the recent troubling story of a man, (fortunately not me) sitting in his garden one summer’s day while a group of jolly local youths take delight in throwing apples at the side wall of his house. It’s annoying and it happens a lot, and there is never a uniform around to prevent it from happening, so the man goes out, remonstrates, ends up in a tense stand-off with several strapping youths encircling him, jabbing fingers and uttering profanities. The man grabs the ring leader, saying he is making a citizen’s arrest. He feels alone, vulnerable. The yobs close in. He punches out at one in self defence. The police arrive. The man is arrested for assault and spends weeks entangled in the machinery of the law, awaiting trial. From sunny afternoon to nightmare in the blink of an eye.

The message is: don’t get involved. The last thing society wants is its citizens acting on their own initiative and doing what they think is best, or right, or common sense in any given situation. So, stick to your email, your twitter or your blog, or any other means of indirect communication, but do not under any circumstances engage face to face with your fellow human beings unless you’ve got a solicitor on speed-dial. Oh, and watch out for scratching your ear because there’s never a policeman around, until you’re least expecting one.

Sorry boys and girls. You do a tough job, but you really ground my gears that day.

Graeme out

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