Mrs Tennison frowned as she looked at Jane. ‘Well,
Pamela grinned. She and Jane had sometimes helped with the cleaning and cooking, but they had never washed or ironed clothes in their lives.
Jane took a sip of water. ‘I’ve been told that if I pass the interview I’ll start the residential course in September.’
‘Residential?’ Her mother looked forlorn.
‘I’ll do my training at Hendon but live in the women’s accommodation at Peto House in Marylebone. It provides all the necessary facilities for residents to use, canteen, washing machine, iron… ’
Pamela interrupted. ‘Can I have your room then?’
Jane shook her head, ‘No. The course is just sixteen weeks, Monday to Friday, live-in, with weekends free.’
Her mother forced a smile. ‘You’re only a couple of miles up the road then in Marylebone. Will you be coming home for supper?’
‘No, you have to sleep and eat on the premises.’
‘Could we visit you?’
Jane couldn’t believe that her mother wouldn’t let it drop.
‘I doubt that would be allowed. Now, can we please change the subject?’
‘Well, when I’m married with kids I’ll visit Mum and Dad as much as possible,’ Pamela said.
‘Because you’d never cope on your own,’ Jane muttered under her breath.
During the following two weeks Mrs Tennison said nothing more about her daughter joining the police, but Jane knew that her mother hoped she wouldn’t be selected, not out of spite but fear for her safety. Her father was more positive. On the day of her interview he wished her good luck and said that whatever happened she still had a job working with him.
Jane arrived at the interview wearing minimal makeup and looking smart in a skirt and blouse. She was a bag of nerves.
She was measured and weighed, only to be told by a rather portly female Sergeant that she was underweight. Jane thought that was the end of her interview process, failed because she was too thin, but the Sergeant declared that it wasn’t a major problem; if she was selected they could always ‘fatten her up’ on weight gain tablets and a daily glass of full cream milk.
Next came the eye test followed by a medical in front of a male police doctor. Jane had to strip down to her underwear. It was the first time she’d ever been almost naked in front of a man she didn’t know, and she felt quite embarrassed. The doctor asked a few general questions about her health, then told her to hold out her hands and turn them over. For Jane, the most humiliating moment came when he asked her to turn round, bend over and touch her toes. Red-faced, she gritted her teeth and bent down, wondering if this was some kind of sick procedure to test her reactions as she would no doubt have to suffer all sorts of humiliating situations as a police officer. The doctor didn’t take her blood pressure or listen to her chest, or give her any other tests, but finished by asking general questions about her health. ‘Everything seems to be in working order,’ he concluded as he ticked a few boxes on a form and told her to get dressed and wait in the room next door to be called for the interview.
Jane had never felt so nervous in her life. She was glad that she’d taken the time to visit her local police station and speak with a woman officer about the sort of questions she might be asked. She had been warned that many male officers were opposed to women being integrated into the police force.
As she went back into the waiting-room, she saw a pleasant-looking man in his early thirties, waiting to be interviewed ahead of her. He turned to her and smiled.
‘You alright, luv? You look a bit flushed.’ He spoke with a London accent.
‘Making you bend over semi-naked just to see how you’d react is a bit much,’ Jane responded, and the man laughed.
‘It’s so the Doc can see the curvature of your spine. Though, come to think of it, he could be a nonce.’
‘You think so?’ Jane looked troubled.
‘Well, he told me to bend over, then grabbed me by the testicles.’
Her eyes widened. ‘No!’
‘Yes, and then he said, ‘One, two, three, cough’. I thought he said
Jane gaped in amazement. ‘Really?’
‘Nope, only joking,’ he replied with a big grin and she started to laugh, feeling more relaxed.
The door to the interview room opened and a man in his mid-twenties came out, looking visibly shaken. He had long hair, and was wearing an open-neck frilly shirt, cravat, slacks and sandals with socks.
‘I can’t believe it. I passed the eye test, but they said I was colour-blind and failed me,’ he said despondently as he walked off, his head held low.
Jane found herself looking round the room at the colour of the walls, carpet and furniture. The joker nudged her as he got up to go in for his interview.
‘He’s not colour-blind. Truth is, they probably failed him because he’s dressed like a poofter.’
