Free Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) by J. J. Salkeld Page A

tried to stop me filming in public places.’
    ‘Tried to?’
    He laughed. ‘You’re right, I’ve always stopped. Some people make an issue of it, but I just don’t have the balls for it, I suppose. It’s yet another erosion of our liberties, and I know I should say something, but the police are so intimidating, close up.’
    Jane nodded. ‘I sometimes think that the only people we do intimidate these days are the ones who’ve got nothing to worry about. You wouldn’t believe how some people, kids even, speak to us.’
    ‘The Met’s bad press can’t have helped. It just seems to be one thing after another. Do you think they’ll have to reorganise now? Change their name to protect the guilty, maybe?’
    ‘The normal procedure is that we ask the questions, Mr. Baker.’
    ‘Alex, please. So what do you want to know? I have given a statement, and you’ve already got all of the footage I shot on Friday. Every last second of it.’
     
    Mann came back to the table with a tray and sat down.
    ‘I was after a bit of background, as much as anything’ said Jane, when Baker had thanked Mann for his coffee. ‘What made you come all the way up here to film Uppies and Downies?’
    ‘It’s a sort of hobby, really. I film all sorts of old customs and practices, all over Britain. I’ve wanted to do this one for years.’
    ‘And what happens to your films, when they’re finished?’
    ‘I put them up online, so people can see them.’
    ‘Free?’ asked Mann.
    ‘Yes. As I said, it’s a hobby.’
    ‘And what is it you do, as a job?’
    ‘I work in a planning department for a local council. I’m based in Guildford. My films are just a way of recording things before they disappear.’
    ‘Do you think Uppies and Downies will disappear?’
    ‘I don’t know. But it will certainly change, because everything does. It used to be really big, you know. The game used to get up into the town pretty regularly, and one time the scrum even went into the cinema, when a film was actually showing. Can you imagine? Popcorn flying everywhere, I expect. I’d love to have filmed that happening.’
    ‘So did you contact anyone before you came up?’
    ‘No. The thing about events like this is that they don’t have any organisers, not really. So you just turn up, and get on with it. One of the problems about filming almost anything now is that it’s all so controlled. In a way games like Uppies and Downies are just a reminder of when people were free to do what they wanted. I suppose that’s what attracts me, really.’
    ‘Even if people get hurt?’
    ‘They don’t, not usually. I spoke to a few people on Friday night, and they were shocked, really shocked about what happened. But I heard that there was some sort of gang thing going on. It’s in my statement.’
    ‘Yes, we’re aware of that, thanks. So give us your impressions, of the game I mean.’
    ‘What I expected, really. The atmosphere was good before the start, very friendly, and the game got off to a slow start. It doesn’t help that someone like me let the local Council build it’s HQ right on the pitch, but that’s how it goes I suppose. Anyway, I didn’t notice anything was amiss, right up until I heard all the shouting about that poor lad being in the water.’
    ‘What did you do then?’
    ‘Tried to help of course, as best I could.’
    ‘And you weren’t filming, when he was being bought to the bank?’
    ‘No. Like I say, I was trying to help. It’s not a war zone, and I’m not a reporter. It’s just my hobby really, a bit of fun. Maybe, in a hundred years time, someone will look at my stuff, but I’m not banking on it. And if they do it’ll probably the the stuff that I filmed by accident that they’ll be interested in, because those are the things that no-one bothers to record at the time.’
    ‘So you’ll be there again tonight?’
    ‘Oh, yes. I have to go back down south again on Thursday morning. I think I’ll need Wednesday to recover,