Danny Kemp.

When I was a young Metropolitan Police Cadet I did several tours of duty as what was termed ‘the observer’ in the back of the area car. The fast, first response car attached to the main Police Station of a District, within a Division. I was meant to be watching out for any thing suspicious. As I was stationed at Greenwich, which was the Headquarters of R Division, our car ‘call-sign’ was Romero One. It wasn’t called that because I was in it, but I did find it somewhat appropriate. I was a dreamer even then.

On one Monday, early turn, the hours of 7am to 3pm, I was so posted. As nothing ever happens on a Monday, the radio operator found a reason to be dropped off. He never explained his reasons to me, or why it was, that on leaving the car outside a private house, and arranging to be picked up in an hours time, he and the driver, a chap named Bert, exchanged a seemingly meaningful wink. I did think of why that could have been, but I wouldn’t like to malign any lady who might have lived in that house. I had a furtive mind perhaps.

We went about our normal duties, with me, now in charge of the radio and all communications directly received from Scotland Yard. As the shift was meandering to its uneventful conclusion, Scotland Yard ‘called’ the corresponding area car for the Eltham area of R Division.

‘Romeo Three, Romeo Three from Information Room. Two men seen to enter the premises of……..by breaking through the front door. Timed at’……A few seconds passed, and as there was no response, the message went out again. Romeo Three, Romero Three from information Room.’ The message was then repeated, still no response. ‘Any car to assist,’ came the standard call that followed, if the addressed recipient was unavailable.

Before Bert could say a word I jumped at it. “Romero One, we’ll go” I quickly volunteered. As to whether this amazed, disappointed or delighted Bert, to this day I’m not sure, but having now accepted this ‘job’ we were delegated and assigned.

It took little time to cover the distance and as we pulled up outside the offended house, I took over. “You go around the back Bert, I’m going in through the front.” I was a more than useful Rugby player at this time, fearing no-one and never having tasted the element of fright at any time in my short life. The ‘back-door’ was quite a distance from the front one, as the rear gardens of these semi-detached homes were very generous in size, so as I pushed open the wedged closed-door, by the door mat, I was aware that Bert might be sometime in arriving. I went straight to that back door and unlocked it. Even my simple mind managed to work out that the two were still in the house.

I quickly looked around on the ground level, then went up the stairs. I entered the main front bedroom and as I did a coat hanger in a built-in wardrobe moved, no window was open.

“Okay, out you come,” I said, and he did. He was about six-foot four and built of a sturdy nature, bigger than me, much bigger. “Where’s the other one?” I demanded. “Under the bed. Come out Roy, it’s a fair cop guv.” That was what he said!

Now you are doubting the authenticity of this account simply based on that last statement, and I don’t blame you, so would I, and I did. When I filled in the arrest documentation at Eltham Police Station, I substituted…’You’ve got us mate’ for the often television quoted….’Fair cop guv.’

The conclusion I draw from this account, and I sincerely hope you do the same, is that reality is often improved by imagination.

About Daniel Kemp

Daniel Kemp’s introduction to the world of espionage and mystery happened at an early age when his father was employed by the War Office in Whitehall, London, at the end of WWII. However, it wasn’t until after his father died that he showed any interest in anything other than himself! On leaving academia he took on many roles in his working life: a London police officer, mini-cab business owner, pub tenant and licensed London taxi driver, but never did he plan to become a writer. Nevertheless, after a road traffic accident left him suffering from PTSD and effectively—out of paid work for four years, he wrote and self-published his first novel —The Desolate Garden. Within three months of publication, that book was under a paid option to become a $30 million film. The option lasted for five years until distribution became an insurmountable problem for the production company. All seven of his novels are now published by Creativia with the seventh—The Widow’s Son, completing a three book series alongside: What Happened In Vienna, Jack? and Once I Was A Soldier. Under the Creativia publishing banner, The Desolate Garden went on to become a bestselling novel in World and Russian Literature in 2017. The following year, in May 2018, his book What Happened In Vienna, Jack? was a number one bestseller on four separate Amazon sites: America, UK, Canada, and Australia.  Although it's true to say that he mainly concentrates on what he knows most about; murders laced by the mystery involving spies, his diverse experience of life shows in the short stories he writes, namely: Why? A Complicated Love, and the intriguing story titled The Story That Had No Beginning. He is the recipient of rave reviews from a prestigious Manhattan publication and described as—the new Graham Green—by a highly placed employee of Waterstones Books, for whom he did a countrywide tour of book signing events. He has also appeared on 'live' television in the UK publicising that first novel of his. He continues to write novels, poetry and the occasional quote; this one is taken from the beginning of Once I Was A Soldier There is no morality to be found in evil. But to recognise that which is truly evil one must forget the rules of morality.
This entry was posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Danny Kemp.

  1. It sure does make a difference when you use imagination for anything. I live in my imagination far too much

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s