Forty Years Catching Smugglers
Malcolm G Nelson
FORTY Years Catching Smugglers 2010 by Malcolm Nelson
Design and typesetting by Dolman Scott
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, optical, or otherwise except with written permission of the publisher. Except for review purposes only.
ISBN 978-1-905553-67-9
Dolman Scott Ltd
www.dolmanscott.com
Dedication
Forty Years Catching Smugglers is dedicated to my lovely wife, Carol. Without her support and drive it may never have been written.
About the Author
Malcolm Nelson was born on the 7th of August 1946 in Hackney, London, and he was brought up in Loughton, Essex. His career in HM Customs and Excise was unique, in that he rose from the lowest rank Assistant Preventive Officer to Assistant Collector (almost the highest), without ever moving away from the operational arm of the Department. In HM Customs and Excise promotion was invariably accompanied with or obtained by a move to Headquarters or VAT. Somehow he avoided this. He has been married to Carol for 40 years and he has three children, Mark, James, and Claire. He has one grandchild, Neoma Mary, and he now lives near Reading with his wife Carol, and their border collie, Daisy. He supports Spurs and Essex County Cricket Club, and drinks rum. This is his first book.
1. Introduction
It was my dads fault. As an ex Royal Navy Petty Officer of Signals Walter George Nelson was absolutely certain that the job of the Customs Officer was the best and most prestigious job on the dockside and was the career he had always wanted for himself. And as he was the person I respected more than anyone else in the world, except maybe Spurs manager Bill Nicholson, he had planted a seed that was to grow and grow until it reached fruition. Also, at a more down to earth level, he was the person who saw the recruitment advert in the Daily Telegraph, which is probably more relevant.
I duly sent in my application, I was fed up with Westminster Bank and their computers, so a change was on the horizon anyway. Of course I heard nothing. Not even an acknowledgement. Then one day, just when I had come to the conclusion that I never would hear anything, I received a terse letter informing me that I had to attend an office in Saville Row in three days time for an interview. It seemed very strange, I hear nothing for three months, then Im given three days notice to attend an interview at an address world famous for high quality mens suits.
However I duly attended, answered a whole series of seemingly meaningless questions such as:-
Which newspaper do you read?
Why do you want to be a Waterguard Officer?
I had by this time established that the Waterguard was the uniform Branch of HM Customs and Excise.
To the second question I replied,
To catch smugglers
It seemed that, to quote Basil Fawlty, I was stating the bleeding obvious. But I really couldnt think why else a person would want to be a Customs Officer.
I came away convinced I had got the job and was therefore a bit disappointed when I received a letter saying that I was borderline case and I would hear more in due course. I put it all down to the fact that I had dropped egg yolk all down my dark red waistcoat before the interview, and as I had the habit of walking in such a way that I could show off the waistcoat, which I considered to be the height of fashion, they couldnt have failed to see it.
However they did eventually see sense and decided that even if all I wanted to do was catch smugglers and even if couldnt eat a fried egg without getting it all down myself, I was worth a place in Her Majestys Customs and Excise Waterguard, I would be based in London Port and I would start on Monday the 3rd of March 1966
So just in case I never said it before. Thanks dad for nudging me into a career which, although not well paid, was full of interest and excitement, was never dull, brought me into contact with all types of interesting people, and gave me a sense of purpose.
**
Perhaps a little bit about me might be appropriate here. I was born on the 7th of August 1946, in Hackney, London. My dad, Walter George mentioned above, my mum Marjorie Alice, the brains of the family, and my sister Valerie Jennifer. I was brought up in Loughton, Essex; the family moved there in 1948 and were still there when my career began, although Valerie was by then Valerie Morgan, having married Tommy in 1964. Thats it really. I spent two years at a mixed sex Boarding School in Sonning Common, Berkshire, and five years at William Morris, Technical High School, in Walthamstow. I passed three A levels and eight O levels. I am now married with three children, more of them later, and a dog called Daisy. I am a Spurs and Essex County Cricket supporter, and I love dogs.
**
2. Welcome to the Waterguard
On Monday the 3rd of March 1966 I Malcolm George Nelson, son of the aforementioned Walter George, and Marjorie Alice, and younger brother of Valerie Jennifer Nelson, walked down the gangway on to the Harpy Waterguard Station in the Pool of London. The Harpy was a floating office at the end of a pontoon in the River Thames just east of London Bridge and directly in front of the Custom House on the north bank. The lovely smell of old fish greeted me wafting across from the old Billingsgate fish market. It was grey, it was cold and windy, it was an inauspicious beginning to 40 years of excitement, comedy, tragedy, of unusual happenings, of working with and meeting amazing people, and despite of everything a sense of achievement. Actually it was 39 years and 7 months but that didnt have quite the same ring to it.
As I walked into the downstairs office I was surrounded by men in dark blue uniforms with gold braid, I was greeted, sat down, and given a mug of tea by the Harpy Watcher. Now once upon a time the Watcher had a role that actually helped to protect the Revenue. However, by the time I arrived their main role was to keep morale high by providing copious amounts of tea and advice. The advice normally sounded something like,
I fink youve probably ad enough son dont you And they were usually right.
I then spotted another chap in civvies who looked about as lost I did. I soon established that this was Francis Alan Kiy, better known as Alby, and that this was his first day as well. Alby and I were to become lifelong friends. There were lots of handshakes, lots of introductions, lots of old timers shaking their heads in a very knowing way, and lots and lots of warm welcomes. Then as if by magic suddenly Alby and I were alone. One minute we were in the middle of a scene that resembled a Royal Navy reunion the next we were sitting there totally alone, even the Watcher had disappeared. We had just witnessed the tidal effect and it was something that would dominate our working lives until we moved away from the Thames. Ships were arriving, departing, or needing Customs attendance. And when they could move, or we could get alongside was dictated by the tides. Ergo the working lives and sometimes the social lives of the Waterguard Officers were dictated to by the tides.
Anyway, there was Alby and I, alone. We then did just what any young men would do when left to their own devices. No not that. There were no young women around. There was nothing to eat or drink, so we talked about football. And miracle of miracles discovered we were, and sadly still are, Spurs supporters. Having made this most important discovery we were about to explore it further when something happened that was to have a profound effect on the rest of my career. As we sat there an oldish chap; probably my age as I write, so not too old; dressed in civvies came half way down the stairs and barked:-
