The End of the Road

The action takes place in an English county in the 1950s.

It may help some readers to know that in England the terms 'Tory' and 'Conservative' are commonly used interchangeably, that traffic drives on the left, that 'bonnet' refers to that part of a car which Americans term the 'hood', and that RAC stands for Royal Automobile Club, which provided an upmarket version of the roadside services offered by the AA (Automobile Association).

* * *

True to a long-standing tradition of English shire counties, the voters of Nutshire could usually be relied upon to return a Tory candidate to Parliament, but when their sitting MP unexpectedly resigned and emigrated swiftly to foreign parts, they felt entitled, at the ensuing by-election, to take offence at a careless remark by the Conservative candidate for the vacancy, and to vote for his Labour rival, secure in the knowledge that this would not endanger the majority that the Tories enjoyed in the House of Commons at that time. Of more consequence to the political scene was the fact that their umbrage continued unabated to the local government elections, and control of the County Council passed from Conservatives to Labour.

Their new MP, Hugh Dalgleish, was socially indistinguishable from the Tory he had replaced. Dalgleish was a career politician who had chosen to espouse the Labour cause not from ideological belief, but by calculation of the opportunities it might offer for advancement. He had graduated from Cambridge University with a timetable in his pocket showing the target dates he had set for attaining each rung of the ladder of his ambition. Being adopted as Labour candidate for a supposedly unwinnable seat had enabled him to tick one of those dates. His timetable then called for adoption to a more marginal seat the following year, and election to Parliament the year after. His unexpected success at his first attempt now put him two years ahead of schedule. He took this as a sign that Fortune favoured him, and he exercised his mind as to how he might continue an accelerated progress.

What he needed, he thought, was something to bring him to the attention of the leaders of his adopted party - unveiling some scandalous activity by one of his political opponents, for example. In the constituency he now represented, the Tories had been ousted from the County Council so recently and so unexpectedly that perhaps they had not had the opportunity to cover the tracks of any misbehaviour in office. If he could find something of that sort, and feed it as ammunition to a senior Labour MP, it would surely do his career no harm. Never having resided in the county, which he would have regarded as 'living in the sticks,' he had no knowledge of anything which had occurred there, scandalous or otherwise. To remedy this deficiency he reluctantly sought consultation with Councillor Harold Hopkins, now Chairman of the County Council.

Harry Hopkins did not look upon himself as a member of a political party by persuasion, but rather as a member of the working class by birth, and therefore inevitably a conscript in the workers' movement. From leaving school at the age of thirteen until reaching retirement age he had been a wage earner, except for intervals of unemployment in the 20s and 30s. He had considered it his duty to take an active role in his trade union, serving various terms as shop steward and branch secretary. After retiring from work he had moved naturally into standing for his local council, where his diligence towards the cause had led to his becoming a senior and much respected member of the county branch of the Labour Party. He had no Parliamentary ambitions, and took no part in the selection of the candidate, knowing that this was largely a charade, the selection committee invariably adopting the nominee of Transport House, the party's London Headquarters. He had no wish to make the acquaintance of the new Labour MP, who would surely lose the seat at the next General Election, but could find no polite way of refusing. It was arranged that they would meet in the Chairman's office in County Hall.

* * *

Dalgleish gave careful consideration to the tactics he should adopt in handling Hopkins. He did not want to over-awe him, and render him too shy to speak freely. He decided that it would be best to put him at his ease by descending to his level and treating him as if he were an equal. At their meeting, therefore, he greeted him with, "Ah, comrade, this is a glorious occasion is it not? The beginning of the end for years of Tory misrule! And you and I can pride ourselves on having played no little part in the struggle."

Hopkins looked at him with distaste. In the class war, the man was obviously one of the enemy; now he was proving to be an idiot to boot. Did he not realise that the Party's majority on the County Council was only four? "There's a way to go yet," he replied flatly.

"Oh, to be sure," Dalgleish replied condescendingly, "but a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, does it not? There must be some errors of the previous administration that need to be undone, surely?"

"Errors there were, certainly," Hopkins agreed, "but undoing them is easier said than done. Take Honeypot Lane, for example. We can hardly unadopt it, can we?"

"Honeypot Lane?" Dalgleish asked. "What's that about then?"

Hopkins looked at him unbelievingly. "It's a well known local scandal. There can't be many of your constituents who don't know about it." He sat looking at his visitor without saying any more. He could see that Dalgleish had no idea what he was talking about, but was not going to let him off the hook.

"Well, er," Dalgleish faltered, "I must admit it escapes my mind for the moment. Perhaps you could just refresh my memory?"

Hopkins allowed himself to sneer openly at Dalgleish. He lifted a telephone and rang the office of the committee clerks for the Highways Committee. "Chairman here. Send someone to my office with the file for the Honeypot Lane adoption. I just need something with clear maps showing the before and after situation. As quick as you can." He replaced the phone and swivelled his chair to look out of the window, ignoring Dalgleish. The latter cleared his throat once or twice, but Hopkins pretended not to hear him.

After a few minutes a clerk tapped at the door and entered with a slim file. "Will this do, Chairman? The complete file is rather large, but I've pulled these few papers with the essential details, including a couple of good maps."

Hopkins scanned the papers. "These will do fine. Thank you." The clerk left. Hopkins spread two maps on his desk and said to Dalgleish, "Take a look at this." Dalgleish approached and leaned over the desk.

"There are these two roads, the B6803 and the B6804, at this point" - Hopkins jabbed a finger at one of the maps - "both running approximately North-South, not much more than a mile apart. Between the two roads lie the farms of Albert Parkin and John Parkin, brothers. Albert's farmstead lies nearly half a mile off the B6803, and was accessed from that road by a private road running approximately from west to east. Similarly, a bit further south, John's farmstead lies nearly half a mile off the B6804, and was accessed from that road by a private road running approximately from east to west. There was a track less than a quarter of a mile long connecting the inner ends of the private roads, running along the edges of the farm fields, made by the brothers visiting each other by tractor. The two private roads weren't in line with each other, so the track ran a bit diagonally. There was a public footpath, known locally as Honeypot Lane, along the two private roads and the track, and before you ask, no, nobody knows how it got that name."

"Right, I get the picture," Dalgleish said.

Hopkins pulled the other map forward and said, "Then, a couple of years ago, while the Conservatives were still in power, Councillor Shelby, the chairman of the Highways Committee, who just happened to be a cousin of the Parkin brothers, proposed that the County Council should buy the two private roads and the strip of land that connected them, tarmac the whole length, and adopt it as a public highway. The motion was passed, the work was done, and now Honeypot Lane is the B6983."

"But surely," Dalgleish protested, "there are rules of procedure about the promotion of personal interests?"

"Of course there are, and when the motion came up for debate, the rules were meticulously followed. Shelby rose and announced that he must withdraw from the proceedings because he had an interest in the matter, the farmers being his cousins, and he ostentatiously left the chamber. Having thus been instructed on how their chairman wished them to vote, all the Conservative members of the committee voted for the motion and it was duly passed."

"But how did that benefit the two farmers?" Dalgleish asked. "I should have thought it would be against their interest to have a lot of through traffic passing their farms."

"But that's just it, there isn't a lot of through traffic; in fact there's hardly any at all, apart from the farmers' own vehicles. To all intents and purposes the road is still a private road, but now properly surfaced and maintained at public expense. The Parkins also got a good price for the bits of land the county bought from them. Also the public footpath is now confined to the tarmac road, so walkers are kept out of their fields, and there are fewer walkers anyway, because they find the route less attractive. Albert Parkin now finds it easier to get his milk to the railway, because the halt is on the B6804, and John Parkin has easier access to Nutchester. Oh, make no mistake about it; the Parkin brothers are very well pleased with the result."

"Why, that's absolutely scandalous!" Dalgleish exclaimed, struggling to keep his delight from showing. "Something should be done about it."

"I agree, but as I said, we can't just unadopt the road, can we?"

The meeting came to an end, with each man privately resolved to do something about Honeypot Lane, but neither of them guessing how far apart their intentions were.

After leaving County Hall, Dalgleish drove to the road in question. He went up and down it several times and encountered no other vehicle. He was overjoyed.

* * *

Hopkins called upon Peter Parnaby, Chief Officer of the County Highways and Engineering Department. His visit was not unannounced. He had asked his own secretary to arrange it with Parnaby's secretary, not wishing to take him by surprise. He needed his co-operation.

"Good morning, Parnaby. Good of you to see me."

"Not at all, Chairman. What can I do for you?"

"The County Treasurer tells me that here it is, January already, and more than a third of the highways budget remains unspent. Are you expecting to end the year underspent?"

Parnaby hesitated. He intended to spend every penny of his budget by March 31st, the end of the financial year. To do otherwise would be to invite a reduction of his allocation for the following year. He was not sure, however, if the new Chairman saw it that way. Perhaps he was an idealist with utopian notions of reducing the burden upon ratepayers. "Well, there are still a number of projects scheduled for the next two months," he said cautiously.

Hopkins smiled. He knew exactly what was passing through Parnaby's mind. "Good, good," he said. "Would Honeypot Lane feature in those projects, by any chance?"

Parnaby wondered what answer Hopkins was hoping for. "It could do," he replied, an answer which might mean either 'I'm not sure if it is on the schedule,' or 'I could put it on the schedule if you so wish.'

Hopkins appreciated the ambiguity, and knew that it was intended. Here was a man he could do business with. "Good, good," he replied, non-committedly. "Tell me, Parnaby, as a matter of interest, what route do you follow when you drive to London?"

"Why, the A6 of course."

"Well, naturally, but we're not actually on the A6, are we?"

"That's been a bone of contention between the County and the Ministry of Transport for many years, Chairman. It's ridiculous that the County Town does not lie on a trunk road. We've petitioned the MoT several times to provide a first-class road to connect Nutchester to the A6. They say they have such a road planned, but they never include it in the next five-year programme."

"Quite. So we're stuck with accessing the A6 by going down either the B6803 or the B6804, neither of which is ideal. The first isn't too bad to start with, but then just before you reach the A6, it takes you through Tidmarton, where traffic jams are the order of the day. The alternative, the B6804, gets you to the same point of the A6 without going through Tidmarton, but it's at least five miles longer, because as soon as you leave Nutchester it meanders through Pinton Magna, Pinton Colliery, Pinton Grange, Pinton St Agnes, and the rest. So, which do you use yourself, Parnaby?"

"Actually, Chairman, I'm a bit illogical. I tend to go down by the B6803, and come back by the B6804."

"I can see the psychology behind that," Hopkins observed. "Defer the hard bit; do the easy bit first."

"I suppose that's it," Parnaby agreed. "As a matter of fact, our traffic surveys show that the majority of motorists do the same thing."

"Up to now," Hopkins said, "but that's likely to change, isn't it?"

"Chairman?"

"Just think. Driver sets off down the B6803, then when he gets as far as the end of Honeypot Lane he realises that he can now cut through to the B6804, south of the Pintons, so he's avoided them as well as Tidmarton. Same coming back. B6804 as far as Honeypot Lane, cut through to B6803, home and dry. Best of both worlds."

Parnaby heard this suggestion with some alarm. "If there was any considerable traffic flow like that, Chairman, I think it might cause problems at the junctions at each end of Honeypot Lane."

"You're quite right, Parnaby. I knew I could rely on you to put your finger on it. What you're saying is that we need to consider road markings and right-of-way signs, and so on, to give priority to the shortest route. I quite agree. Get one of your chaps to take a look at it, will you, and see what needs to be done. We don't want the new road to cause any problems, do we? No need to stint ourselves. Don't want to spoil the ship for a happorth of tar, eh?"

"I see what you mean, Chairman. Leave it to me. I'll get onto it right away."

* * *

Parnaby sent for his Principal Clerk of Works. When he arrived, Parnaby said familiarly, "I'm sorry to drag you into County Hall, Fred. I know you prefer to be out there, getting your hands dirty."

Fred Digby smiled and sat in the chair across from Parnaby's desk. The two were old friends from student days. "Well, somebody's got to do the real work, don't they? What miracles are you wanting me to perform for you this time, then?"

"I've had a visit from our new Chairman," Parnaby said. "He wants us to do something with Honeypot Lane."

Digby guffawed. "Oh my Gawd! Don't say he wants us to dig it all up again."

"On the contrary. He wants us to tart it up with signposts and road markings and so on, so as to encourage motorists to use it as a short cut. Seems to think there's not enough traffic along it, and wants us to encourage more."

Digby looked puzzled for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. "Well, the crafty sod! He wants to rub the Parkins' noses in it, doesn't he? They wanted it to be adopted; let's see how they like a lot of traffic past their doorsteps."

"That's about the size of it," Parnaby answered. "Take a look and see what we can do, will you?"

Digby rose from his chair. "Message received and understood. How much budget have I got?"

"Sky's the limit, Fred."

Digby was already making plans in his head as he moved towards the door.

* * *

Hugh Dalgleish thought that his discovery of the Honeypot Lane scandal merited consideration at the highest level, so he requested an interview with Anton Wedge, the leader of the Opposition in the Commons. Wedge was a young career politician much like himself, albeit more able and successful. He had been elected leader of the Labour Party as a stopgap compromise between the candidates of two rival factions who were fighting for control. No-one had suspected that behind Wedge's air of amiable inanity lay fierce ambition and ruthless guile. He rejected Dalgleish's request for a personal interview, and sent his secretary to find out what Dalgleish wanted to discuss.

Dalgleish reluctantly described the Honeypot Lane scandal to Wedge's secretary, and suggested that if Wedge were to visit the site secretly with himself and a photographer, then at the next Prime Minister's Question Time he could use the evidence as a bombshell revelation of Tory corruption and extravagance. The Press would take up the story and, under the protection of reporting proceedings in Parliament, the papers could be far more censorious than libel laws would otherwise permit.

When his secretary reported back, Wedge could see the potential of the scheme, but could also see the possibility of it coming unstuck. He therefore summoned Jack Smithers, his shadow Minister for Transport, and asked him to go with Dalgleish in his stead. Smithers was one of the Old Guard, having actually served in the Attlee government alongside the likes of Ernie Bevin. Wedge calculated that he himself could take the credit if the plan succeeded, and Smithers could take the blame if it backfired. He would not be sorry to have an excuse to replace Smithers with a younger man to his own liking.

* * *

Early on a cold, dry, sunny February morning, Fred Digby marshalled his troops. In a lay-by on the B6803, at the western end of Honeypot Lane, a site hut had been positioned, in front of which a coke-fired brazier glowed, officially for melting buckets of tar, but actually for the comfort of the road workers now huddled around it. On the grass, next to a wheel barrow, lay a jumble of steel posts and enamelled road signs, along with bags of cement, bags of coke, heaps of sand and aggregate, buckets, and other small impedimenta, covered with a sheet of tarpaulin weighted down by bricks in case it should rain. Parked in the lay-by were the truck and the van which had transported the men and equipment thither, the latter vehicle having a mobile water tank hitched to its tow bar.

At the other end of Honeypot Lane was a similar scene on the B6804, but impressively augmented by a steamroller and the low-loader transporter it had arrived on. Digby knew that they were not going to do any surfacing requiring the use of the roller, but he loved the vintage machine, and seized every opportunity to give it an outing. He was known to take the controls himself if an excuse offered.

Digby had instructed his men on the work required. At each end of Honeypot Lane, right of way was to be given to traffic turning into and out of the Lane by road markings and signs on the B6803 and B6804 instructing through traffic along those roads to give way. For traffic heading south down the B6803, a direction sign was to be erected showing that turning left into Honeypot Lane led to 'LONDON', and that keeping straight on led to 'London via Tidmarton'. Similarly, for traffic heading north on the B6804, a sign would show that turning left into Honeypot Lane led to 'NUTCHESTER', and that keeping straight on led to 'Nutchester via the Pintons'. The two bends in Honeypot Lane were to be embellished with warning signs in both directions. Digby had previously walked the length of the road and had made chalk marks indicating where signs were to be placed and lines to be painted.

After the customary ritual consumption of mugs of sweet tea, Digby's men commenced operations.

* * *