Peter Viney's Blog

It was about 1977. One evening, a policeman knocked on the door of our flat and asked if I was the owner of a yellow Triumph saloon, registration KRU743P. I said that indeed that was my car registration, but the car was a red Fiat. He was holding his notebook with ‘Yellow Triumph Dolomite’ which he crossed out, and replaced with ‘Red Fiat’ in front of me. ‘What model is the Fiat?’ he asked.
‘A 128 Rally. It’s right outside in the car park.’
I watched him write ‘128’ after Fiat.
‘Were you at Cemetery Junction this morning?’
‘Yes, I was. I work at Anglo-Continental.’
He then served me with a summons for jumping a red traffic light at 8.45 that morning, at Cemetery Junction in Bournemouth. He said I had been reported by an off-duty police officer.

Now I sometimes played that long traffic light close, and went on amber BUT there was some momentous news event that day, and I knew I’d sat in the car park at work listening to the 8.30 news headlines on Radio One on the car radio. Work was 200 yards round the corner from the light. Also, we always bought coffee and an almond Danish pastry in the school restaurant. When I went in , they were just opening the shutters, so maybe three minutes late – they opened at 8.30. As Head of Department, I was always in my office by 8.40 (I took my coffee). Teachers were due in at 8.50 and I needed to be there in case anyone called in sick.

So wrong time, wrong colour, wrong make and model, right registration number, though oddly at a place I had been at earlier in the day. It was three points on the driving licence plus a £50 fine, with a warning that if you went to court, points were doubled if you lost, and you could receive a driving ban, plus be made to pay court costs plus a double fine. Inevitably people just pay up.

But I was annoyed and decided to see a traffic specialist lawyer. I had AA membership with legal defence. I phoned, explained and they sent me to a lawyer. When I say he looked like Rumpole of the Bailey, I would add that he was fatter, older, greyer and wheezed more. He advised me to fight it. I can’t recall his name, so I’ll call him ‘Mr Rumpole.’

The police postponed the court case, and rescheduled twice. 

I took a half day’s holiday and turned up with Mr Rumpole for the third date. The police inspector stood up and asked for a rescheduling again. He complained that Mr Rumpole had insisted on calling two police officers (the morning one and the evening one) as witnesses, and they were otherwise engaged.

Rumpole who was so quiet and polite erupted. It was a scandal! Who was the inspector to pontificate on which witnesses he could call? Also, as he said daily, the whole principle of doubling penalties for going to court was forbidden in the Bill of Rights of 1689. 

“That it is the right of the subjects to petition the King, and all commitments and prosecutions for such petitioning are illegal.”

Bill of Rights 1689

If you double the penalty if someone goes to court (therefore petitioning the monarch) then you are prosecuting the plaintiff for petitioning! Also the report was from an ‘off duty police officer’ who presumably was alone, he said. ‘Off-duty!’ he snorted, ‘Off-duty! I’ve never heard of such a thing! Can any member of the public … who was alone … report a traffic offence without any witnesses and be listened to?’

He declared the police had rescheduled YET AGAIN because their evidence was so flimsy and absurd they were embarrassed to read it out in court, and what is FAR MORE IMPORTANT, he was leaving for his annual holiday shortly and would allow no one else to defend me.  

The magistrates conferred for thirty seconds, and said the case was dismissed with full costs against the police awarded to me. I hadn’t had to say a word. I was writing a list of costs and adding them up. Mr Rumpole put his hand on the list, and whispered ‘You will NOT ask for costs.’ I trusted him. He slowly heaved himself to his feet and announced:

‘Mr Viney, due to his utmost respect and deep admiration for Dorset Police, and in recognition that an honest error had been made by an extremely hard-working officer, has just informed me that he will waive all costs.’ He paused, and added ‘in spite of the fact that they are considerable. He is most generous.’

The magistrates thanked us and asked where Mr Rumpole was going on holiday (Spain) and wished him and his delightful wife (they knew her name) a happy holiday.

On the way out of court the police inspector came over, and shook hands firmly with both of us. He wished Mr Rumpole a good holiday and enquired also after his wife. Then he thanked me for waiving costs, apologised for wasting my time, and said, ‘I can assure you that you will never hear of this again.’

He went and I asked Mr Rumpole what that was all about. He said, ‘Ah, dear boy. These are vengeful and spiteful people. Had you taken costs you would most certainly have been stopped twice a week until they found you with a bald tyre, or a little alcohol or doing 32 mph in a 30 mph zone or allegedly jumping a traffic signal. You would have had to sell your car at once. The inspector was explaining, in front of me as a witness, you will note, that you will not need to do so.’

I never had need of his services again, but carried his phone number with me for several years.

AFTERWORD

There were a few things that puzzle me. I had been at the location fifteen minutes earlier. A Triumph Dolomite was roughly the same size as a Fiat 128, though a Dolomite was distinctive looking.

Spot the difference:

However, colour blindness is not normally red / yellow. It’s either red / green, or it’s blue /yellow. My car was parked everyday in my marked space, which faced the main road. Had I annoyed an off-duty policeman in some way so that he’d followed and noted the registration? But how could it be confused with a yellow Triumph? Anyone could go into a motor parts place in those days and order any registration plate, but cloning is a modern phenomenon, and done on the same make and model. If you took a random car, what were the chances that it had been in that area that day?

The Fiat 128 was our first new car. I know the policeman in the evening had said ‘Lucky lad’ and ‘I wish I could afford a new car’ plus he was 15 years or so older than me. Was there some kind of resentment? It was a modest enough car. In 1973, during the petrol crisis when ration cards were issued but not used, we bought a 1972 Triumph Spitfire. It was a year old, and had cost £1350 new with a radio. It belonged to a friend of Karen’s old drama teacher. She’d injured her back and literally could not get into the car. She had been trying to sell it for eight months, but given the petrol crisis, no one wanted a sports car. The price had dropped from £1100 to £950 to £850. She offered it to us for £750. It was as new with about 2000 miles on the clock. We took out a loan and bought it and because it was so light, it was extremely economical to run. We drove it for two years, and then a friend rang the doorbell and asked if we wanted to sell it. He offered £1400 for it. We took it- it was the first and last time we ever made a profit on a car. I had £1400 cash in my hand (We had just paid off the loan) and the Fiat 128 was £1530 new.

The odd thing is that the Spitfire was yellow. So we had previously owned a yellow Triumph, though that was eighteen months earlier. That had confused me at the start.