During my time working on London street markets I’ve had an endless variety of experiences and met an endless variety of people, some of them good some of them bad. The two ends of the spectrum are very good and very bad. That said, most experiences and most people fall in between, somewhere towards the middle. Very good people and very good experiences are exceptional, same as the other end of the scale. Having said this there’s an important observation I would make. Very bad people and very bad experiences are as extraordinary as they are exceptional and the two go together. Very bad people are special. They are people without conscience, without any sense of difference between right or wrong, good or evil, and their conduct can immerse you in an experience that’s so hateful that it’s likely to stay with you for the rest of your life.
This post is about one of those people and the hell she brought down on me one Sunday afternoon at Camden Lock Market. In a way I was lucky. I had the good fortune to have my wife with me and although she wasn’t present at the exact time of the incident, the fact that she arrived soon after allowed her to stand as my protector. Without her I might easily have been swallowed up into darkness and evil intent.
It was three in the afternoon when an elderly lady came to our stall. I judged her to be in her seventies, late rather than early. She was smartly dressed and of neat appearance. Speaking with a slight French accent in a voice that was clear but quiet she began asking me questions about our small geodes and agate slices. Wanting to know what they were and where they came from and interested in what I had to say. She was looking for a gift for a child and was curious about our prices. She couldn’t spend much she said. No more than five pounds, so could I help her.
Her manner was pleasing and made me want to give her a bargain. I selected an attractive medium sized geode with a good internal quartz crystal formation and another of miniature size. She liked both, after which I chose two small agate slices with bright concentric colours and patterns. There, would those do I asked, feeling magnanimous. She could have them close to cost price, especially for her. Yes, I liked her and wanted to be generous. Only five pounds for the lot! Her face lit up with appreciation. I was being very kind she said. They would do perfectly.
I felt glad. Louise, away wandering the market would also have been pleased. Moments later I carefully wrapped them in tissue and put them all in a carrier. “You’ve got a good deal for a fiver,” I enthused, handing it over and receiving the ten pound note she’d taken from her purse. And there was the change. A five pound note taken from my trouser pocket.
She hesitated, looked at the note and raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me sir,” she said strongly, “you’ve made a mistake. I gave you a fifty pound note.”
I looked at her hard, trying to make sense of what I’d heard. “A fifty pound note?” I repeated. “Are you sure? I thought you gave me ten.”
An expression of anger and dismay came over her face. “I’m absolutely certain young man! I gave you a fifty pound note.”
I could hardly believe what she was saying. She couldn’t be right. I knew exactly what note she’d given me but even so I had to be sure. I put my hand into my trouser pocket and fished out the tenner she’d given me, holding it up. “That’s what you gave me lady,” I said firmly, using the word ‘lady’ to signal we weren’t altogether friends anymore.
“I gave you a fifty pound note,” she said loudly so that everyone could hear. “Now don’t you go trying that old market trader’s trick on me! I want you to turn out your pockets.”
I felt myself turning white. I remembered having taken a fifty note earlier on for a sale of large trees. It was almost certainly stuffed in the bundle I kept in the inside pocket of my jacket. I couldn’t prove that I’d taken it earlier though. Market trading was a cash business. We rarely gave anyone receipts.
“Turn out your pockets or I’ll call the market manager then the police.”
My face must have turned many shades whiter. I showed my trouser pockets. See, there was nothing. No fifty pound note. Just a bit of loose change.
“Now the jacket,” she insisted.
My thoughts ran wild. What if I refused? I had no doubt that she’d only given me a tenner. If I refused now she’d make a big deal of it. I fished inside for the loose bundle of notes and took them out. “They’re my takings from the morning,” I said firmly. Nothing to do with her.
“And there’s the fifty pound note I gave you,” she shouted. “Give it back or I’ll get the police.”
By now all the traders around me were listening. People passing by had stopped and were giving me looks. Some bloody market trader trying to cheat an old lady! I already felt more than nervous but something in me said NO! I wasn’t going along with it. No way! I made a living all right but I was honest. Absolutely and always. I’d just never do a thing like that. It was beyond contempt.
My thoughts ran fast. I knew the score now, beyond any question. This women was a cheat and probably well practiced with it. It was all very deliberate. She was trying to rip me off and would do anything it took.
My attitude hardened along with my face. “You gave me a tenner lady, no more. Go and call the market manager for all I care. You can do what you like.”
Right, that settled it I thought. She’d have to back down because I for one wasn’t giving in. I seemed to be right. Moments later she left the stall and walked off. I was glad. I could have been in a serious fix I said to myself and carried on trying to sell. Ten minutes went by and bloody hell, there she was again. Coming towards me with the market manager, waving her hands and looking distressed. “There he is,” she shouted. “He’s the one. He took my money!”
The manager looked at me coolly. “She says you short changed her,” he muttered.
“Absolutely not,” I said vehemently. “I’ve been taking money and giving change for years and no-one’s ever complained. I know exactly what she gave me. I’m a hundred percent certain of it.”
“She says you’ve got her fifty pound note in your jacket pocket,” he came back.
I shook my head. No ways! “That’s from my earlier takings. Look, it’s on the inside of the bundle,” I said, taking it out. “It’s got my twenties wrapped round it. That’s where all the big money goes. Small notes in my trouser pocket.”
He hesitated. He’d seen it all in his time and knew us well enough. What I’d told him made sense.
“Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake?” he asked, turning to her.
What came next was a shock. “He’s a thief,” she shouted. “He’s a thief! I want you to call the police.”
The man held up his hands. “Let me speak to him for a minute,” he said consolingly, nudging me to one side. “I know she gave you a tenner,” he said quickly, “but she’ll make a whole bloody scene. Just give her the money and let her bugger off. We’ll make it rent free next month if you like.”
The blood ran out of my face. I felt furious. Something in me rebelled. I shook my head. “She’s the thief,” I said calmly. Sorry I just wouldn’t do it. If she got away with it now she’d think she could do it to anyone. Maybe she already had. I made an honest living. No, I just wasn’t doing it. I was adamant. Let her call the bloody police!
As I looked up I saw Louise. She’d just returned to the stall. “What’s going on?” she wanted to know. I explained, we both did, with the woman meanwhile shouting the odds. Louise’s face turned white with anger. “That’s my husband you’re accusing,” she said in a fury. “He wouldn’t do such a thing. Go and call the police…You’re the one who’s the thief.”
A kind of silence fell on the area. No-one talking anymore. Two policemen had arrived out of nowhere. Someone must have got busy with a mobile. Right! So who was who and what was what? The manager explained who he was, and that there was a bit of a problem. We were two people who traded on the market. One of them said ‘okay’ and his colleague said ‘right’… They’d hear the woman’s story first then mine. If they thought it necessary we’d have to go down to the Station.
Louise and I looked at each other. At best the day’s trading was over. The worst was bordering on frightful. Even so I wouldn’t give way. I knew she was trying it on. Being a thief was bad enough but making false allegations, telling lies about people to harm them, quite another.
Ten minutes later it was my turn. More pencil scratching on paper after which they conferred. Right, they’d heard both sides of the story. What would happen now was that we’d both have to make statements down at the Station. Then they’d consider the whole matter further. This gave us a serious problem. Louise would insist on being there with me but the van was parked miles away. She’d have to leave all our stuff while she went to collect it. It could take well over an hour and in that time the whole lot would disappear.
I tried explaining it all to the police. We needed to pack all our stuff away. Could I come down to the Station later? I got a real funny look. Like we somehow had plane tickets for Argentina! No I had to go with them now. It was a desperate situation and through it all I could hear the woman going on about her fifty pound note and me being a thief. I looked at her in an altogether new light. She wanted to destroy me. Do me in for just fifty quid!
Just then I had an idea. I went over to the American running the hot cider stall across the way. We knew each other and I’d done him some favours. They were taking me to the police station I said. Louise would have to pack up and get the van. He understood immediately. One of his helpers would lend a hand packing. He’d keep an eye on the stock while she went for the van. I shouldn’t worry. Everything would be alright.
Minutes later I kissed Louise. I had to go now. She shouldn’t worry. Just get to me soon as she could. It would be the main Camden Town Police Station.
Outside the market two cars were waiting with a crowd of onlookers picking up on the story. Market traders! Wasn’t it typical! Trying to cheat a defenceless old lady! The police had got hold of him now!
Things happened unexpectedly fast at the Station. First I’d be interviewed under caution. I wasn’t being arrested or charged. I protested. I’d been told I was going there to make a statement, nothing more. If I was to be interviewed I wanted a solicitor present. The two young policemen definitely didn’t like that and spoke to the sergeant. It might take hours to find the duty solicitor. The woman had made a serious allegation. I could be there all night in the cells.
As for me I let them know I wasn’t doing anything until my wife arrived.
The sergeant was communicative. They’d take a statement from her then she could go. The man was curious. Exactly what was the whole thing about? I briefly explained. There was a consultation with his two lads then what looked like a discussion. They were all looking at the old lady now.
“We want you to make a statement so we can get it all clear,” the stripes came over brisk. “You go inside with one of my lads and he’ll write down what you say. Just so we can all get it right.”
It never happened. Ten minutes later I was standing outside on the steps having a smoke and waiting for Louise to show up. The police weren’t taking a statement and the dear old lady was on her way back to Hampstead. There’d been earlier complaints. Reports from nearby markets along the High Street. The same little old lady! She’d been busy elsewhere. I hugged Louise when she arrived. I’d been right after all! I hadn’t given way. She wouldn’t be doing that again in a hurry.
My wife disagreed. She’d only try her luck further afield. And for every trader who said no there’d be plenty who’d hand her the money. She was in a far better business than we were. A sophisticated kind of blackmail that probably worked nine times out of ten. She likewise gave me a hug. That was one of the reasons she’d married me. I was an honest man and I didn’t run scared.
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