shadow of britain

Chapter 861 The Patron Saint of the British Police

Order of the Lord Chamberlain: Appointing Sir Arthur Hastings as Non-Resident Chamberlain

Issuing Authority: Office of the Lord Chief of the Royal Household, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
Date: July 1, 1837

Document Number: LC/VICT/37/172
By Her Majesty the Queen, the following appointment is hereby made:

Sir Arthur Hastings, Commissioner and Secretary General of the Commissioner of Police,

He is an Extra Groom-in-Waiting to Her Majesty the Queen.
She is permitted, without affecting her official duties, to participate in royal audiences, state ceremonies, courtly rituals, state banquets, and other matters designated by Her Majesty the Queen.

This position is not part of the daily duty roster of the Lord Chamberlain's office. Attendance is as required by Her Majesty's decree, involving serving at Her Majesty's side, performing ceremonies, or introducing distinguished guests. This position is not paid by custom; however, Her Majesty has decreed that the Imperial Treasury allocate a Royal Allowance as a sign of honor.

Imperial Pass

Holder: Sir Arthur Hastings
Passage to the following areas is permitted without further application:
Buckingham Palace North Gallery, East Waiting Room
St. James Palace Gallery and Audience Room

Windsor Castle State Tower and Council Chamber

The outer courtyard, reception hall, and chapel area of ​​Her Majesty's entourage.

This order shall take effect immediately upon issuance, and any violation shall be decided in accordance with royal custom.

sign:

Francis Nathaniel Cunningham, 2nd Marquess of Cunningham
Lord Chief of the Royal Household of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
By order of Her Majesty the Queen

—Clive Emsley, *Police and Royal Power: From Scotland Yard to Buckingham Palace (1829–1887)*

In the legendary tales passed down through generations on the streets of London, villains often become protagonists and heroes. However, whenever this happens, the police, or rather their predecessors—the sheriffs and night watchmen—inevitably become comical figures like clowns.

Even Shakespeare, the founder of English literature, was not immune to this trend. The "Goubuli" police officer and his foolish and clumsy henchmen he depicted in "Much Ado About Nothing" originated from the city's old tradition of making fun of the police.

In the beginning, the police were often referred to by Londoners as "watchmen." This is because the earliest London police were indeed responsible for keeping watch near the city walls. Documents from the 14th century even explicitly stipulated that these watchmen were responsible for: guarding the city gates and walls around the clock, and strictly checking anyone entering the city on horseback or carrying weapons.

Later, due to the need for public security, the local residents spontaneously organized a night watch team. In addition to keeping watch and standing guard, they were usually responsible for chasing criminals, arresting night wanderers and other troublemakers, and handing them over to the magistrates' court.

But such a job was too arduous, so later on, wealthier residents would usually hire someone to do the watchman's work when it was the parish's turn to perform the duties. However, since the pay was low, you shouldn't have high expectations for the quality of these watchmen who came to do odd jobs.

According to the elders, the night watchmen of the old days were selected from the dregs of society. They held a stick in their right hand and a lantern in their left, wore strange wide-brimmed hats and heavy coats that indicated their profession. Every night, they would patrol the streets and ring the bell twice to mark the time.

Of course, the old folks' accounts are not entirely accurate, because there are indeed responsible night watchmen among them.

A responsible night watchman, while patrolling the streets, would poke at the doors of shops and houses with a stick to ensure they were all locked. If a house was unlocked, he would warn the owner. Sometimes, he would also accept money to wake up citizens who needed to get up early to get to work.

However, a considerable number of night watchmen are as the old folks say: they are late in going on their shift. Even when they do go on their shift, they first find a cool place with a wide view to sit and chat. Sometimes, night watchmen even fall asleep because they are too tired from working during the day or because they are drunk.

Moreover, because the pay for night watchmen was so low, young and strong men had always looked down on doing this job.

Rather than going to keep watch, these young lads were clearly more willing to cause trouble for these "old fogies" after having a few drinks.

If they found the night watchman dozing off, they would overturn him, stick and all, and then beat and kick him like they were toying with a turtle lying on its back, until other watchmen came to his rescue and they would all scatter.

Although this is all from the old days, the kids' penchant for attacking police under the cover of darkness hasn't changed much.

Although Scotland Yard police are as unpopular as their predecessors, the night watchmen, their iconic tuxedo uniforms and infamous "blue lobster" reputation do deter troublemakers.

However, compared to the profession of night watchman, Scotland Yard is actually a rather un-British organization.

With its tight organization, strict discipline, and extremely centralized system from top to bottom, Scotland Yard's existence was highly contrary to Britain's long-standing spirit of popularization and liberalism, whether viewed from the inside out or from the outside in.

The Times even made a rather vehement criticism of Scotland Yard at its inception, arguing that it was a machine invented by authoritarian rule.

This is why Sir Robert Peel had to go to great lengths to establish Scotland Yard, including excluding the Old City (City of London) police from Scotland Yard's jurisdiction and amusing the special committee with statistics on street crime and vagrancy, in order to ensure the Metropolitan Police Act was successfully passed by Parliament.

For Londoners, eight years after the passage of the Metropolitan Police Act, they have witnessed the profound changes the city has undergone and experienced a significant drop in crime rates.

For Sir Arthur Hastings, the establishment of Scotland Yard was a small step in his personal career, but a giant leap for the British police system.

Since Scotland Yard opened in 1829, these greenhorn recruits in their dark blue tailcoats have been the laughingstock of all of London.

Children chased after them shouting "Pierre-Losers!", drunkards whistled at them from the alleyway entrances, and maids covered their mouths and chuckled, saying these were just young watchmen in uniform. But no matter how much people mocked them, Scotland Yard's footsteps still appeared every day on the cobblestone streets, and sticks and gloves became the new street fashion.

In 1832, London showed them no mercy. The revolutionary tide in France swept through the streets of England, and the city was soon engulfed in turmoil.

The demonstration stretched from the East End all the way to Whitehall, with a cacophony of voices outside Parliament. The military stretched along the back lines, while police blocked the way in front.

People called them government dogs, but then a gunshot rang out beneath the Tower of London...

Hmm... never mind.

It was better than the French having to deploy dragoons to calm things down.

After 1833, the situation gradually eased. Although the Cold Baths Incident occurred, the number of thefts and robberies on the streets eventually decreased. It was then that the citizens began to skeptically admit that perhaps these "blue lobsters" were not entirely useless.

However, after the fire at Westminster Palace in 1834 and the memorial service for Inspector Robert C. C. at St. Martin's Chapel, the reputation of the police system in the city began to gradually improve. By the time Queen Victoria ascended the throne this year, Scotland Yard had weathered the storm and emerged as a respectable entity.

On the streets of London's markets, the aroma of fried flatbreads mingled with the rising steam from charcoal stoves filled the air.

The vendors had just set up their stalls, and the vegetables on their carts were still glistening with dew. The sounds of horses' hooves and vendors' cries mingled together.

Two uniformed policemen squeezed together in front of a breakfast stall, each holding a rough tin tray.

Two pieces of bread, a few slices of smoked bacon, and a cup of hot milk—that was their breakfast for the day.

"Have you heard?" The taller one took a bite of bread and said in a muffled voice, "Sir Arthur has really been appointed. The news has spread all over Whitehall. I heard that the London Gazette will be published in a couple of days, it should be in the next couple of days."

The shorter one, who was drinking milk, waved his hand dismissively: "What new appointment has Sir Arthur received? Didn't he just join the Police Commissioner's Committee not long ago? Is he being transferred again so soon?"

The tall man shook his head, then lowered his voice mysteriously: "Transfer? Ha, you're underestimating me. This isn't just a simple job change."

The short man paused, then put his cup on the table: "Not a job? What else could it be? You can't really be joining the cabinet, can you? A knight isn't a member of parliament, how can he be a minister?"

At this point, the shorter man hesitated for a moment, then stroked his chin and analyzed, "However... logically, shouldn't Parliament hold a new general election when the King dies? I remember a few years ago when George IV died, there was a new election, wasn't there? Could it be that this time, Sir..."

The tall man couldn't help but laugh out loud, almost spitting out the bacon in his mouth: "Stephen, you're always thinking about nonsense. A parliamentary election is a parliamentary election, and it has absolutely nothing to do with whether Sir Arthur can enter the cabinet. Besides, even if there were a new election now, how would he have time to prepare?"

The short man blushed and retorted defiantly, "Then tell me, what benefits could he possibly gain? All I know is that his rise from patrolman to the Police Commissioner's Committee was already astonishingly fast. Where else could he go? To meet God, perhaps?"

The tall man's eyes darted around, and he kept the other man in suspense: "I heard... he's going to be in charge of intelligence."

The short man was taken aback and blinked: "Intelligence? Isn't he in charge of intelligence? The police intelligence department goes to him first for everything. Even the intelligence we, the brother departments of Scotland Yard, get is second-hand. If you want to get fresher intelligence than this, then the knight has to go out on the streets and stake it out himself."

The tall man stuffed the last piece of bacon into his mouth, chewing slowly, a hint of smugness in his eyes: "You really think it's just Scotland Yard? I'm not talking about these trivial gossips we usually see."

"Rumors?" The short man snorted. "You have no idea what the Police Intelligence Bureau does all the time. It would scare you to death if I told you!"

The tall man, who had been acting mysterious, scoffed dismissively upon hearing this: "Scare me to death? Come on, Stephen, do you think I don't know? They just do dirty work like planting informants in the unions, right? Do you think I don't know?"

"Hmph, you think that's all? Let me tell you, they're not just targeting the union."

The tall guy rolled his eyes, biting into the crispy edge of his bread and mumbled, "What else can we do? Don't tell me we're chasing thieves, that's what we do."

The short man looked around, then lowered his voice and said, "I was on night patrol the other day, and I saw with my own eyes people from the Police Intelligence Bureau sneaking in..."

Before he could finish speaking, the tall man interrupted, "Brothels. You think I don't know? They often stake out places like that."

The short man got angry when he heard this: "Bullshit! I saw him disappear into Huang Chunju Street."

The tall man was about to put the bread in his mouth when he heard those words, and his hand trembled, almost dropping half of the bread on the ground.

He quickly covered his companion's mouth, his eyes wide with shock: "Huang Chunju Street? Don't talk nonsense, kid! If this gets out, you'll be in big trouble."

The short man yanked his hand away and said emphatically, "Nonsense? I saw it with my own eyes! That guy was dressed suspiciously, slipped into that street, and stayed there for hours. If you say he went to arrest someone, then why didn't I see a single prisoner brought out for so long?"

The tall man turned pale with fright, sweat beading on his forehead: "Stephen, are you out of your mind? How can you say something like that? Even if you really saw it, you should keep it to yourself. Who would dare to tell anyone?"

The short man crossed his arms and scoffed, "Shout? I'm not stupid. Fine, just keep this to yourself, don't ask who it is."

The tall man swallowed hard, glancing away guiltily. "Why would I ask this? This kind of thing can't possibly be Sir Arthur's doing..."

"Sir Arthur?" The short man picked up his milk and drank it all in one gulp. "You little brat, how dare you make such a hunch about Sir Arthur? When I get back to the station, I'll report this to my superiors, and you'd better get ready to take off your clothes."

Upon hearing this, the tall man nearly choked on his bread: "Stephen, don't talk nonsense! I didn't say that, you're the one making things up!"

The short man grinned and said, "Oh, you weren't so honest just now, saying 'It can't be Sir Arthur.' If I really reported you, even without taking off your clothes, you probably wouldn't be able to keep your epaulets."

The tall man was sweating profusely and hurriedly grabbed him, saying, "Brother, don't joke with me! My skin can't take any more damage. My wife just gave birth. If you really drag me into this, I won't even have a patrol route left."

Seeing his pale face, the short man finally couldn't help but burst into laughter. He reached out and patted the man's shoulder: "Alright, alright, I was just trying to scare you. Sir Arthur would never go to a place like Huang Chunju Street for no reason. He usually goes to Nightingale Mansion. The one who goes to Huang Chunju Street is the head of the Fifth Bureau of Police Intelligence, Ridley."

The tall man, who had been clutching his chest to catch his breath, froze upon hearing this: "W-what? Don't talk nonsense, kid! Sir Arthur... Nightingale Mansion? Isn't that... isn't that a place where the city's upper class seeks pleasure?"

The short man blinked, giving him a "you just realized that?" look. "What, are you implying that the Sir is a low-class person? Besides, the Sir isn't a saint. He's a regular at Nightingale Mansion, and even the landlady bows and scrapes to him. And why is your focus so strange? The Sir going to Nightingale Mansion isn't a big deal. Aren't you surprised that Ridley King went to Huang Chunju Street?"

The tall man coughed, choking on his words, and frantically waved his hands: "No, no! How could I dare say that a knight is a lowly person? I'm just afraid you'll spread rumors and implicate us both!"

"Hmph, your reaction is really strong. You didn't have to be that scared, did you?"

The tall man wiped the sweat from his brow, lowered his voice, and said anxiously, "You don't understand! The knight is no ordinary man; he's about to be promoted to sergeant! It's all over Whitehall, saying that the people in the palace have given their approval and are just waiting for the London Gazette to publish it. If someone who's about to enter the palace to accompany the king gets dragged into Nightingale's Mansion, is that something to be taken lightly?"

The short man paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow: "Attendant? Where did you hear that from?"

The tall man leaned even lower, almost whispering in his ear: "I heard it a couple of days ago outside Director Rowan's office. If Sir Arthur enters the palace, he'll be one of Her Majesty's men. If the news that he's a regular at Nightingale's Mansion gets out, won't it affect his future?"

(End of this chapter)