‘A Case of Christmas Spirit’ 
NICHOLAS RHEA

OFFICER: Police Constable Nick Rowan 
FORCE: Aidensfield, North Yorkshire 
TIME: c.1965

CASES: ‘Constable on the Hill’ (1978), ‘Constable on the Prowl’ (1980), ‘Along the Lanes’ (1986), ‘Constable by the Stream’ (1991), ‘Constable about the Parish’ (1996) etc.

PROFILE: PC Nick Rowan (played by Nick Berry) is television’s most famous bobby on the beat since PC George Dixon of Dock Green (Jack Warner) in the BBC TV series which ran for over twenty years. Though Nick is a much younger man, who covers his moorland patch on a Francis Barnet police motorbike (unlike Dixon who patrolled his East End beat on foot), he, too, has caught the imagination of viewers as a solid, friendly and dependable arm of the law. Set just before the arrival of the ‘Swinging ‘Sixties’ revolution in fashions, attitudes and morals, TV episodes of ‘Heartbeat’ have revealed Nick as an idealist who has exchanged the London Met for the rural calm of North Yorkshire-though he soon finds it is not quite the country idyll he expected. He discovers that the life of a village copper is a mixture of social worker, legal adviser, farmer’s assistant, even odd-job man-with crime-solving almost an after-thought. Keeping a constant watch on Nick is the stentorian figure of Sergeant Blaketon (Derek Fowlds), a real stickler for detail, although Nick has an ally in the Aidensfield station in plodding PC Ventress (William Simons). The one thorn in the side of all these officers is the lovable rogue Claude Jeremiah Greengrass (Bill Maynard), forever plotting some deal just on the edge of the law. During the early series of ‘Heartbeat’, Nick lived with his GP wife, Kate (Niamh Cusack), but following her tragic death from leukaemia, his name has been romantically linked with the village nurse, Maggie Bolton (Kazia Pelka). Together all these ingredients have made Nick and the series one of the most popular on television, with audiences in excess of seventeen million.

CREATOR: Nicholas Rhea is the pen name of Peter Walker (b. 1936) who was himself a policeman for thirty years in the North Yorkshire moorlands where the ‘Heartbeat’ stories are set. Joining the Force as a police cadet when he was sixteen, Peter rose from being a rural beat copper to an inspector before retiring in 1982. Since then he has produced a variety of books under various pseudonyms, including the Constable series, the first-person cases of a young PC, based on his own experiences and written as Nicholas Rhea. When the rights to these sixteen novels were bought by Yorkshire TV, the central character was renamed Nick Rowan, and ‘Heartbeat’ was created, with its mixture of Yorkshire scenery filmed around Goathland (not far from where the author himself still lives) and a soundtrack of ‘sixties music. But despite these changes, Peter Walker still insists, ‘Being a village copper in those days really was the way you see it in ‘Heartbeat’-and Nick Berry is exactly the way I saw myself.’ In this opening story about the most junior rank of policeman, Nick and Jeremiah Greengrass form an unexpected and unlikely partnership to solve a seasonal mystery. ‘A Case of Christmas Spirit’ offers a welcome return to Aidensfield for the millions of admirers of the TV series, and was written especially for this collection.

THE STORY:

The trumpeting of a fractured exhaust pipe heralded the arrival of Glenys Hutchinson at Aidensfield Stores. Amid a salvo of bangs and blasts the rusty, mud-spattered Morris Traveller halted before me. Anyone else with a faulty exhaust would avoid the village constable-but not Glenys. Cheerful always, she disarmed me with a smile.
‘I’m in a rush, Constable, and I know what you’re going to say. I just haven’t had time to get it fixed... I’ll get a replacement from Claude Jeremiah, then I want a word about the Christmas party, so don’t go away...’
And with that, Glenys disappeared into the shop. In her mid-thirties with delightful elfin features, she had striking white teeth, short dark hair and dark eyes with a hint of freckles about her nose. Her slender, attractive body was now broadening as she approached middle age but she didn’t seem to care. She rushed about in old clothes-she was as poor as the proverbial church mouse yet always found the time and energy to do things for others.
The moorland smallholding she ran with her husband barely produced a living wage, which explained their poverty and grotty car. It was invariably parked in the village as she went about her self-imposed tasks. Unfortunately, there was usually something wrong with it. That was not surprising because it carried everything from cattle food to live poultry.
Consequently the interior was as mucky as the exterior but that didn’t worry Glenys either. Alec’s constant struggle to earn a living meant he rarely had time for outings, so it was Glenys who sallied forth with piglets in the back or eggs on the floor. Many trips resulted in rusty bits dropping off or strange noises among the moving parts. Neither had money to lavish on their decaying vehicle, nor had they spare cash to spend on new clothes in spite of striving ceaselessly on their miniature ranch. Few could remember the last time Glenys had her hair done or bought herself a new dress, but in spite of her poverty, she was never gloomy. She went cheerfully about life in the most robust manner.
I was acquainted with Glenys because of that faulty vehicle-either the exhaust was hanging loose, a mudguard was flapping, the number plate was illegible or lightbulbs had blown and I had to tell her to correct the defects. If Sergeant Blaketon noticed them, she’d be in trouble-and so would I! To be fair, she or Alec did obtain secondhand replacements from Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, although I did wonder where Claude found his supplies-some were in very good condition. In spite of it all, I never took the Hutchinsons to court-village bobbies didn’t do that sort of thing. A word at the right time was sufficient.
Lately, though, Glenys had become forgetful. She began to leave her car doors unlocked with the key in the ignition. I’d often warned her it was an invitation to thieves, even in the moorland calm of Aidensfield, but she’d say, ‘Nobody steals cars in Aidensfield, Constable Nick!’
‘There’s always a first time,’ was my standard retort, whereupon she would merely smile and thank me-then promptly do it again. She existed in a permanent whirl of activity and I wondered if she and Alec ever experienced moments of calm with one another. Although their work on the smallholding was so time consuming, Glenys helped the old folks with shopping, sometimes giving them eggs or vegetables she could ill afford. She lit their fires in winter or cooked their meals, and in addition, always ran the annual Christmas Party in Aidensfield village hall.
In this case, she did persuade others to help with the food or Christmas presents. Claude Jeremiah Greengrass always played Father Christmas and I helped with the decorations and Christmas tree. Lots of people had a job but it was Glenys who made things happen. As Christmas approached, she raced around with her old Morris full of Christmassy things instead of hens or piglets-and that’s what she was doing now. This year’s party was fast approaching and she seemed more cheerful and lively than usual.
I went to peer into her car and sure enough, she’d left the keys in the ignition! As I sighed in exasperation, Edna Pryer appeared behind me. She was the fifty-year-old purveyor of Aidensfield gossip and had also noticed the noisy arrival of Glenys.
‘You should do something about that noise, Constable! And I say it’s a pity Glenys Hutchinson hasn’t a family to keep her at home! That’s what I say. Rushing about like she does...’
‘She does a lot of good work,’ I countered. ‘Some old folks rely on her.’
‘She ought to spend more time with that husband of hers, then she might produce a family. I’m not surprised she hasn’t children, all that gallivanting about.’
‘Really?’ I had no intention of fuelling Edna’s gossip.
‘There’s no secrets in a place like this-you ought to know! They’ve had all the tests and they’re both all right. Too much rushing about, that’s what I say.’
‘Those old people and children, they’re her family.’ I spoke in defence of Glenys. ‘If she can’t have children herself, it explains all her good work for others.’
‘She’s as busy as a wasp in a jam jar. It’s time she settled down, Constable,’ and Edna stomped away, having imparted her vision of the ideal world.
If Glenys couldn’t have a child, it might explain her activities. She loved people; she needed them and gave them lots of her time, and gifts, too-useful things like food.
As Edna left me, Glenys emerged with her arms full of groceries. She placed them in her car, then turned to go back into the shop, saying, ‘I’d forget my head if it was loose!’ She laughed as she rushed away. ‘Mr Stead’s out of tea, Miss Browne needs more washing powder and my Alec’s run out of toothpaste... you won’t forget the meeting tomorrow, will you, Nick? About the Christmas Party.’
‘No,’ I assured her. ‘I won’t. And you weren’t going to leave those keys in the ignition, were you?’
She issued a massive sigh and laughed. ‘I’ll only be a minute... keep an eye on it for me, will you?’
And so I stood guard upon the muddy old Traveller-and noticed its tax disc expired at the end of December. I’d have to remind her to renew it.

The Aidensfield Christmas party was on the Tuesday before Christmas and comprised an afternoon session for children with Father Christmas, games and food. This was followed by an evening interlude for older adults, with presents for pensioners, a supper and old-time dancing. The party ended with more dancing to pop music for the younger element.
Glenys had persuaded old Mrs Habton to wrap the presents and put names on them; they’d be ready for collection on the morning of the party. When I was chatting to Mrs Habton, she told me, ‘I did enjoy doing the parcels but I had no idea Mr Greengrass was a pensioner!’
‘Neither had I!’ I had to admit. ‘He’s kept that very quiet!’
‘The Post Office told me,’ grinned Mrs Habton. ‘He sneaks in to draw his pension, but if anybody’s there, he pretends he’s shopping. He’s very secretive about his age, you know...’
‘Really?’ I commented, wondering why Claude wished to conceal his advancing years.
But as party day approached, there were more important things than Claude Jeremiah’s age to worry about. Glenys told me she’d bought a splendid replacement exhaust from Claude and announced she would collect Mrs Habton’s parcels and deliver them to the hall, at the same time collecting the cooked turkeys from the butcher, some bread rolls from the baker, bottles of orange juice and lemonade from the Co-op and the specially baked Christmas cake from Mrs Cooper of Elsinby. There was a box of spirits to collect from the off-licence in Ashfordly, too-bottles of gin, whisky and brandy which were raffle prizes.
But this year, there was a secret and very pleasant job to do. Chairman of the Parish Council, Stanley Preston, had approached committee members to suggest, ‘Glenys does all this with no thought of a reward in spite of being so short of money, so how about a surprise presentation to her at the party?’
Everyone had agreed but some had asked, ‘What on earth shall we get her?’
‘She could do with some new clothes, a nice dress or suit, shoes, something special,’ was the general consensus among the ladies. ‘She’s desperately hard up.’
‘What about a gift voucher, then she could get what she wants?’ was another idea. ‘She might be insulted if we restrict it to clothes.’
It was decided there would be a cash collection to provide an open gift voucher for Glenys. She could treat herself to whatever she wanted, the proviso being that the gift would be for her, and her alone, not to be given to any of the villagers. As the days grew colder and the darkening nights carried a threat of snow on the moors, I got the job of making the collection. I managed to raise £46 10s. 6d., a very useful sum when a weekly wage was around £12. I knew that Alec and Glenys existed on much less-the voucher would be a wonderful present. Somehow, the villagers managed to keep the secret from Glenys.
On the morning before the party, as I was patrolling on my motorbike, a few isolated snowflakes floated from the grey clouds. I was concerned that snow was forecast and hoped it wouldn’t hinder the party arrangements.
That morning, Glenys collected the presents so carefully wrapped and labelled by Mrs Habton, along with other party items. Placing everything in her car, she drove into Ashfordly to collect the spirits from the off-licence and decided to do some last-minute shopping of her own. She needed a Christmas card for Alec, and all he wanted as a present was a new pair of corduroys, if she could afford them. Glenys had saved up, and there would be just time to buy the cords before returning to Aidensfield. The snow held off but the sky remained grey and threatening.
In Ashfordly, Glenys collected the spirits and placed the bottles in her car before walking to the stationer’s. She hadn’t noticed two youths watching her, and by the time she emerged with Alec’s card, her car had gone. At first, she didn’t believe it. She searched the street, the car park, the side streets... but the Traveller wasn’t there. It took several minutes to realise it had been stolen, along with all the food, the presents, the drinks and extra items for Aidensfield’s Christmas party.
Devastated, Glenys just stood on the pavement and wept.
By chance, I was on my way to Ashfordly police station and saw the unhappy figure sobbing in the street. I parked the motorbike and went to her.
‘Glenys?’
‘Oh, Nick... thank God it’s you. It’s awful... I’m so ashamed... it’s ruined, everything’s ruined.’
“What’s ruined? What’s happened?’
‘You’re going to be very angry. You warned me...’she sobbed. ‘My car’s gone, stolen. It was right here. It’s got all the party stuff inside as well. It’s all gone, every bit of it. All that work, all for nothing...’
This was the latest in a long spate of similar car thefts, but I didn’t ask if she’d left the keys in the ignition! Her eyes moist with tears, she pleaded, ‘What can I do? It’s all my fault... all those children will be waiting
I put a comforting arm around her shoulders and said, ‘Come on, the police station’s just around the corner. We’ll circulate details, it can’t be far away.’
Sergeant Blaketon confirmed that several cars had been stolen in recent months and not recovered. They’d contained handbags, cameras and things of similar value, but those taken in the last few days had contained either cigarettes or spirits, so popular with thieves at Christmas. Alf Ventress circulated a description of the Traveller and its contents by radio, so within minutes, every patrolling constable was aware of the theft.
‘What am I going to do if you don’t find it?’ she sobbed.
‘Make sure she gets home, Constable.’ Sergeant Blaketon was firm. ‘And do something about that party. Then ask Greengrass what he knows about Mrs Hutchinson’s car!’
‘Claude wouldn’t steal her car, Sergeant!’ I protested.
‘Ask him all the same!’ and Sergeant Blaketon stalked out of the office leaving PC Ventress in charge of the hunt for Glenys’s old car.

If you want news to travel quickly in Aidensfield, you make an announcement in the shop or you tell Edna. The village bush-telegraph then outsmarts any other system of news transmission, so within minutes of my return, I made sure everyone knew about the theft. None the less, it was doubtful if we would trace the Traveller or its precious load. Our dilemma was whether to replace the stolen items now or wait in case the vehicle was quickly traced with its load intact. It was now 11 a.m.-the party was scheduled to start at four p.m. for the children, with Father Christmas arriving at six p.m. We could tolerate a short wait. As I walked towards the hall, trying to determine a course of action, Claude Jeremiah Greengrass and Alfred, his scruffy dog, emerged from Claude’s old truck outside the pub.
‘Ah, Claude, I want a word with you,’ I hailed him.
‘I know nowt about Glenys’s car,’ were his first words.
‘Not if it contained your Christmas present?’ I put to him.
‘My present?’ he blinked. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re a pensioner, Claude. You’re entitled to a present.’
‘Pensioner? Me? You must be joking.’
‘Your secret’s out, Claude. We’ve a list from the Post Office.’
He paused for a moment, then whispered, ‘Look, if this gets out, I’m finished. Who’ll give me work if they think I’m too old and past it?’
‘So, Claude,’ I smiled. ‘Let’s make a deal-you tell me who’s nicking those cars and I might forget you’re a pensioner.’
He blinked furiously then whispered, ‘I’m no copper’s nark, you know, but, well, it’s not decent, is it? Pinching presents for kids and pensioners.’
‘Very nobly spoken, Claude, so what can you tell me?’
He led me from prying eyes and told me that two Ashfordly youths were preying on cars left unattended during Christmas shopping expeditions. When the owners were out of sight, the lads would drive away the cars and steal any spirits, wines, beers or cigarettes before abandoning the vehicles.
‘I’m not saying who it is, mind,’ Claude said. ‘I mean, I can’t be seen grassing to the constabulary-but they drive them stolen cars into that old army camp in Speckledale. It’s used as a scrapyard, you know, unofficial, like,’ and he blinked repeatedly.
Thanks, Claude.’
‘Is there a reward? Not that I want this making public, mind, but, well, a chap has to live...’
‘Your secret will be your reward, Claude!’ and I left him, realising that I now knew the source of his secondhand spares business. Within minutes I was on my way to collect Sergeant Blaketon, and half an hour later, we drove deep into the moors to locate the deserted camp. There, among dozens of abandoned cars, ancient and modern, was the scruffy old Traveller. We had found a car thieves’ dumping ground and Sergeant Blaketon was delighted.
‘We’ll mount observations on this place,’ he assured me. ‘I reckon we’ll soon catch one of ‘em red-handed!’
Glenys’s Traveller still had the keys in the ignition but the spirits and Christmas fare had gone. The presents were intact, however, and so, having examined it for fingerprints, I drove it back to Aidensfield.
I was fair to Claude-I removed his parcel so I could slip it to him beyond the gaze of the public and warn him to keep away from the old camp! We were able to obtain some more turkeys and spirits for the party and so, by the time everyone began to arrive, the drama was over.
Claude was wonderful as Father Christmas but the climax was Stanley Preston’s presentation to Glenys. Everyone was delighted that Alec had come too; both he and Glenys were in their best clothes. This was unusual-had the couple discovered our plot? We felt not; we felt sure our surprise was complete. So why had Alec come? Perhaps the theft had unsettled Glenys and she needed his support? Was she blaming herself for what had happened? I began to wonder whether Glenys was going to give up her voluntary work. Clearly, she was going to announce something, but before she did so, Stanley Preston mounted the stage. Glenys hurried forward.
‘Before you say your thank-you’s,’ I heard her say, ‘I’d like to say something.’
‘There is a matter I must deal with first, Glenys,’ said Stanley firmly but very diplomatically. ‘And then you can take the stage. I’ll do my thank-you’s afterwards.’
He called for silence then began to praise Glenys for her selfless work. Standing before the crowd, she grew very embarrassed and then he said, ‘On behalf of the people of Aidensfield, Glenys, I would like to present you with this gift token. We wish you the happiest of Christmases... but we insist, Glenys, that this gift is personal, for you.’
She was dumbfounded, but Alec eased her on to the stage to collect it and she ascended the steps to loud applause. She saw the large amount on the token and began to weep with happiness, wiping her eyes with her free hand.
‘This is so lovely,’ she sniffed. ‘And I know somebody who can use this...’
‘No,’ Stanley interrupted. ‘It’s for you, no one else.’
‘It’ll be for our baby,’ she said coyly. ‘At last, Alec and I are going to have a child. We can get some baby clothes and a cot... You’ve no idea how happy we are, we wanted you all to be the first to know. But it means I won’t be able to organise the party next year...’
Her remaining words were lost among the joy which flowed towards Glenys, Alec and their unborn child as the snow gently descended upon Aidensfield that night.