Rosie Dixon - Confessions of a Physical Wrac

No more is said before we get to the station but Penny turns and gives me a big wink. I wonder what she is up to?

When we arrive at what Penny persists in calling ‘fuzzville’ we are separated and put in cells. At least it is not one big cage full of junkies and tarts like you see in American films but it is still pretty awful. The thought of what the neighbours would think if they could see me fills me with horror. And as for Mum and Dad –! The shock might kill them. I am still trembling when I hear the sound of a key turning and the cell door opens. It is the Superintendent who made the arrest. He is carrying his hat under his arm and it looks as if he has just combed his fast receding hair. He peers behind him carefully and comes into the cell, closing the hatch over the peephole before he does so. It may be my imagination but his state of discomfiture seems to match my own.

‘Hum,’ he says, ‘It’s funny but my name is Gary.’

For a moment I can’t think what he means. Why should he think it necessary to visit my cell and impart this information?

‘Gary Nuttley.’

I am on the point of saying that from the look of his hairline I thought it might be Gary Baldy but I control myself. I seldom think of the police as having a highly developed sense of humour. Especially these days when they have so much on their minds.

The man clearly senses my bewilderment. ‘Not Gary Cooper,’ he says with an uncomfortable laugh that breaks in the middle.

Then it comes to me. Someone must have told him what Penny said and he has got the two of us confused. ‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t –’, I am about to say that it was not me who thought that he looked like Gary Cooper and then I decide against it. There is no point in risking antagonising the man. Quite the reverse, in fact. ‘It wasn’t that which made me hesitate,’ I say. ‘It was – er your uniform. It’s very becoming, isn’t it?’

Superintendent Nuttley looks down at the stained worsted as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Yes,’ he says after a pause. ‘I suppose it is really. Quite manly.’ There is a moment’s uncomfortable silence and then he clears his throat and rubs his hands together briskly. ‘This is a bad business,’ he says.

‘You mean, the Police Force?’ I say. ‘Oh, I am sorry. The advertisements speak very highly of it. Rewarding and –’

‘I was not referring to a career as a police officer,’ says Nuttley. ‘That is indeed – er – what you said. I was referring to obtaining money under false pretences, fraud and extortion. All offences with which I am charging your partners.’

‘Not partners,’ I say. ‘Mr Parkinson was my employer but I hardly ever saw him. I still haven’t had my salary.’

Nuttley gives a sort of snorting laugh. ‘You can kiss that goodbye,’ he says. Oh dear, I had a nasty feeling that something like this might happen. I bet Reggy didn’t stamp my cards up to date either. ‘You’ve been very foolish, haven’t you?’ says Nuttley.

‘Yes, I suppose I have,’ I say. ‘Gracious. What is going to happen to me?’

A slight blush colours Nuttley’s cheeks and he glances at the still-shut peephole before speaking. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘That’s up to you. Of course, I have my duty to do and I should prefer charges, but, not to put too fine a point on it, I’d prefer something else.’

For a moment I think that Superintendent Nuttley has put too fine a point on it. What is he getting at? ‘I am innocent,’ I say.

Superintendent Nuttley is now breathing heavily and I can see beads of perspiration on his temples. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I believe that. That’s why I’m giving you this chance. And because you like Gary Cooper, don’t you?’

‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘I never miss High Noon every time it’s on the telly. I don’t think the small screen spoils it at all. “Do not forsake me oh my darling, on this our –” ’

‘Yes.’ The pressure of Superintendent Nuttley’s hand on my wrist cuts short my nervous rendition of the captivating ballad from what should be one of his favourite films. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I’ll release you if you give me release. Do I make myself clear?’ Before I can properly assemble my scattered senses, the brute has clutched me to him and is attempting to invade my lips. ‘Think of it!’ he breathes. ‘No nasty publicity. No having to stand up in court and admit that you were Brown’s mistress.’

‘That’s a lie!’ I shout.

‘Do you deny that you slept with him?’ says Nuttley, pausing in mid-maul.

‘The man plied me with strong liquor and took advantage of me,’ I explain. ‘It only happened once or twice.’

‘Huh!’ says Nuttley. ‘That won’t stand up in court – not like this will!’

So saying, the shameless guardian of law and order takes a step backwards and lets his hands drop to the top of his trousers. Fortunately, if such a word has a place in a recital of such harrowing events, frequently lamented exposure to this kind of situation has prepared me for what is likely to happen next and the shock is bearable. The zip of Superintendent Nuttley’s trousers plunges southwards and his erect pussy pummeller pops into the open like a pet that has been dying to be let out for walkies.

‘Super –’ I begin.

‘Thank you,’ says Nuttley. ‘Lie down on the –’

‘Superintendent,’ I repeat. ‘Please allow me to finish! Do you realise that as a result of this, I hope, isolated lapse, your future career could be in jeopardy – or some other even more distant part of the fast shrinking British Empire? Tuck yourself away before it is too late.’

‘Stop teasing,’ says Nuttley, pressing himself against me again. ‘Just imagine that it’s the real Gary Cooper.’

‘But he’s been dead for years!’ I say, recoiling from the thought. ‘Keep your hands to yourself!’

Yes, once again, the boys in blue seem intent on being the boys in bloomers. Nuttley’s fingers swarm over the top of my panties like a junkful of Chinese pirates – they are short, squat and yellow with nicotine stains – and I prepare to take desperate measures.

‘If you don’t stop, I’ll scream,’ I say. ‘Then you’ll be back pounding the beat. It’ll be back to the wanks – I mean ranks!’

‘I wouldn’t open your mouth if I were you – your legs but not your mouth,’ says the coarse love bandit. ‘I could make it very sticky for you.’ This possibility has never been far from my own mind. ‘How would you like to look down from the dock and see your mother and father sitting in court, the tears streaming down their faces?’

The minute he speaks those words, my resolution wilts and my grip on the thrusting wrist slackens. How would I like it indeed? I have already answered that question. Nuttley has touched me on a soft spot. I allow him to continue unhindered whilst I consider my best course of action. If I let him have his way with me, Penny and I will doubtless be released and my mother and father spared unthinkable suffering and embarrassment. Having established that side of the matter, is it worth examining any other? The man is, of course, a disgrace to the uniform he wears but have I in all consciousness any alternative but to comply with his demands? The answer must be no. At least my principles will not be compromised.

The raising of this last point makes me feel that a word of explanation may be necessary to any new readers. It is easy, for male minds in particular, to think that a girl who finds herself in a compromising situation with a man must be, to some extent at least, responsible for her situation and therefore tainted. I would not like to think that such a charge might be levelled at me. I always have been, and always will be, determined to save myself for my one-day Mr Right. I fear that I must make a further digression to explain the meaning of that last phrase. Certain unkind persons have suggested that it refers to the likely length of my relationship with my Mr Right. In reality, of course, it is merely a way of saying that one day I will come upon the right person and that from that moment on our lives will be indissolubly mixed. Anyway, to get back to the main point I was making. I consider it very important to preserve my virginity – the most precious gift that a girl can give to her betrothed on their wedding night – and to this end I have resisted all kinds of temptations, even when quite fond of people.