They are a familiar sight to all; admired by children, adored by adults, respected by the elderly. Instantly recognisable by their truncheons, their good manners, their round hats and polite demeanour, the classic English Bobby traces his roots all the way back to the pre-Victorian era, when Britain’s Home Secretary, Sir Robert Peel, oversaw the creation of the first police force for the city of London. Before this, Londoners relied on small groups of night watchmen, local marshals and sometimes even red-uniformed soldiers to ensure their safety. By creating the metropolitan police in London, with its headquarters in a small street named Scotland Yard, Sir Robert Peel sought to create a professional policing corps that would be equally answerable to the ordinary citizen as to the ruling class. When Peel’s opponents complained that the new police force would restrict civil liberties, Peel responded: “I want to teach people that liberty does not consist in having your home robbed by an organised gang of thieves and in leaving the principal streets of London in the nightly possession of drunken women and vagabonds." Instead of the red military uniforms that might stir resentment, Peel’s patrolmen wore black jacks and tall hats bearing bright insignia. Armed with only a truncheon and a whistle to call for backup, they walked their beats and sought to gain the trust of local citizens. Robert Peel’s system was a success, and by the mid-19th century the biggest US cities had all created their own police forces too. In London, the police were so strongly associated with their founder that people called them “Peelers,” or more commonly “Bobbies” (after the diminutive of Robert).
“I’m looking for Buckingham Palace,” murmured the old lady from behind her veil. “I’m looking for Buckingham Palace,” she repeated. “You must understand, I was invited by the king.”
“Yes ma’am, I understand, but this is Piccadilly Circus and I’m afraid you are blocking the traffic,” answered the first bobby, whose name was Arthur.
“You’ll need to step aside, Ma’am. One can’t walk in the middle of the street like that,” worried the other, whose name was James.
“But King Edward has invited me to a reception at Buckingham Palace!”
“Please ma’am, step aside now. I’ll show you the way to Buckingham Palace,” James assured her, his voice softening.
Such requests were fairly common for the Bobbies; Buckingham Palace loomed large in the minds of Londoners, and when those minds began to wander they often dreamt up stories about being invited to the UK’s grandest palace. They desperately desired to visit the Music Hall, the reception rooms and the throne room, or to marvel at the paintings by Rembrandt, van Dyck, Rubens and Vermeer in the royal galleries. The guardroom was no less impressive, with its white marble statues of Queen Victoria adorned with rich tapestries. Above all, Buckingham Palace had been the residence of the British Royal family since the 19th century. It was a place of enchantment, as if lifted straight from a fairy tale.
“Take a left up there, then the first on your right,” Arthur explained patiently.
“Oh dear, all that sounds rather complicated! I mustn’t be late; the King is expecting me you know!” worried the old lady.
“Quite so ma’am, one wouldn’t want to keep His Majesty waiting,” chuckled James. “We shall escort you, ma’am, to see you don’t get lost.”
“You are most kind, sir; I was afraid to ask. At my age it’s rather easy to forget where one’s going. My daughter is always telling me I should stay at home, but she doesn’t know the king is expecting me! She doesn’t understand, you see. Children, bless them...they just don’t understand,” sighed the old lady, adjusting her veil.
“And where might home be, ma’am? Not too far, I should hope?” Arthur probed.
“I live...I live on...dear me, I seem to have forgotten. I’ll have to ask the king to send a cab for me. I understand that royal cabs are faster, because the horses are so well-kept. That way I can be home for tea and my daughter won’t even know I was gone. The last time I went for tea with the king, my daughter didn’t believe me, and she locked me in my room the next day. Locked me in, can you believe that? As if I were a prisoner!”
Alan Alfredo Geday
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