The people at the door clearly mean business. What is it about them? Even in plain clothes you know they are investigators. Two men and a woman and they all seemed equally formidable. A cursory show of their I.D. card followed by questions. Was I the owner of (named) property. Yes.
Currently housing (named) individuals ? Yes. "We're sorry to trouble you, but may we come in . . .? Of course - but do you have a warrant? "Oh no , we're not searching your house, we're more interested in the place you have rented . . ."
It did not seem worth making a fuss about warrants when over a cup of tea they explained they were "conducting investigations on behalf of the Post Office" - specifically under sub-sections etcetera of the Wireless and Telegraphy Act.
The questions are asked, answers carefully taken down. How long had I been renting accommodation to students? How many were in the flat? For how long? Where did they come from ?
Even as I gave the answers I was aware I sounded foolish. Letting to students, you just never know. You might rent to two on paper, but you can bet your last drink, three or four will be in residence at any given time.
The names on the rent book will not necessarily be on the cheque you get - a few months into term, you could be providing shelter for all sorts of combinations, sexual and fraternal, not to mention 2friends of friends" kipping down for the night.
So, to give The Investigators the names of my tenants seemed an exercise in optimism rather than reality. I told them that, from occasional visits, there always seemed to be four or five there, sometimes wafting in the sweet smell of student hash which was detectable under the putrid aroma of stale socks and jocks. One of the men joked that I should be grateful it wasn't the drug squad I was dealing with or the door of the flat might be coming down with a sledgehammer in the early hours.
Still, I did my best , describing my "official" tenants. I said I thought they were doing some kind of technical course , computers and electronics probably.
That seemed to spark interest in our Investigators, as if the safety of our Little Republic was at risk from two 19-year-olds in worn jeans who always seemed absorbed in some way-out music when I visited . One was pale- faced with an abstracted air, while the other constantly stroked a wispy growth in the hope that with constant stimulation it might become a beard.
A more unlikely pair of anarchists it seem hard to imagine. I was wondering if I could warn them on my mobile , to get rid of whatever it was that so occupied our Investigators, when the younger man (good cop, bad cop) remarked that an owner of a premises who "wilfully and knowingly harbours . . . equipment for Illegal Transmissions . . . shall also be guilty of an Offence . . ." Or words to that effect.
His mind-reading abilities had the effect of concentrating my self-preservation. I agreed to accompany them to the flat, give them access (save breaking locks) and observe the search.
Normally a landlord is required to give tenants advance notice of a visit, a legality which - for understandable reasons - I ignored. Mercifully, when we arrived, the place was empty.
It did not take the Investigators long, with the aid of some kind of geiger-counter, to lift out an entire rack of clothes from the wardrobe, to reveal what must have been one of the smallest radio stations in the world - all expertly built into the wall.
They took the stuff away in a boot of a car, saying that a formal notice of Confiscation would arrive for the tenants. That was some years ago The students duly became adults (surprise, surprise!) and I notice one of their names from time to time in the end credits of films, usually as a Sound Mixer.
So he must have learned something useful in the closet, so to speak, of my flat. Whether he managed to grow a full and convincing beard is another matter.
