Several years ago I penned a piece about traffic warden John Hancock, a man who i thought to be, and still do, a proper Nottingham character, someone who contributed a unique slice of spice to our somewhat dullish lives. He was not well pleased with the piece, not angry, but not well pleased. There were threats from his soldier nephew that if I did not remove it from my blog then solicitors would be consulted; that he would report me to the Bar Council and to my union’s General Secretary. But nothing came of such threats, it was more the belligerent soldier/nephew that it was the man himself.
You can read the contested piece here: http://bit.ly/2Mke0VC
Last week I heard the sad news that Traffic Warden Hancock had passed away. Such is his loss to the character and spice of Nottingham life that I thought a few words of obituary would not be amiss.
He was, I concede, a difficult man. Zealous, diligent, unforgiving and completely ruthless in his persistent pursuit of errant West Bridgford motorists. Few escaped his wrath.
Because of his small black moustache, he was, often and rather maliciously compared to Herr Hitler. But in fairness Herr Hitler had ambitions well in excess of issuing fixed penalty tickets. John did not. it would never have occurred to him to stray carelessly into Ruddington, let alone invade Poland. He was in his element, never happier, than to be poised with a fresh pad of fixed penalty tickets, a new biro and a whole eight-hour shift before him. Fear would stalk the double yellow lines of Bridgford. Terror lurked at every Bridgford parking meter. No one was safe. Small boys earned pocket money keeping watch for the approach of the dreaded and indomitable Hancock. Sympathetic Shopkeepers would keep a special hoard of coins to furnish harassed motorists rushing back to feed their meters.
And yet i have no doubt that there lingered a begrudging respect and admiration for his diligence, even a touch of affection. For he certainly kept west Bridgford traffic on the move. I suspect that in some public house, perhaps the Trent Bridge Inn, a multi scarred veteran of the Hancock ticketing regime will, misty eyed as he sups his pint of Shipstones, admit that he was once caught , perhaps on Musters road, by traffic warden Hancock. And slowly, others at his table will admit that they too were caught, On Colwick Lane, Fox road, Lady bay Road, Pierpoint Road, Wilford lane, Davis Road, Exchange lane, Loughborough road, Radcliffe Road, Edward Road, Trent Boulevard, Priory Road, Abbey Road, Holme Road, Epperstone Road, Ruddington Lane, Gordon Road, Sherborne Road, Central Avenue,, Albert Road, Byron Road, Tudor Square, until everyone in the Trent Bridge Inn and several other local hostelries will admit to having been caught by the indomitable John, And those who were not caught will feel themselves accursed and that their lives were somehow incomplete, having no scars to show, no tales to tell.
But be not misled, for if, in his time and prime, some begruntled motorist, and there were legions of them in West Bridgford, if some such begruntled man, for he rarely ticketed women, was to seize John Hancock by the throat and hurl him into the raging torrents of the River Trent then such a man would he be hailed a hero by great masses of motorists, waving their fixed penalty tickets in wild abandon and approval.
And if you, dear Samaritan, would happen to be passing by and observing him being hurled into the waters, halted, leapt from your vehicle and dived into the roaring Trent to rescue Traffic Warden John, you would not have many friends and it would have been unlikely that you were granted freedom of the city. John Hancock himself would profusely thank you as his saviour but, safe and dripping wet, a brown trout caught in his blue uniform trouser leg, he would take out his waterproof biro and serve upon you a fixed penalty ticket for having left your car in a no stopping zone. Ah yes, he had some difficulty making friends. But I count myself as one of them.
Behind the unforgiving Warden, beyond the severe dark blue of his uniform, there was in fact a somewhat sensitive shy and generous man. I recall that upon my wedding day he gave to us a rare bottle of a fine Italian orange liqueur. So rare in shape was the brown bottle that I have kept it all these 35 long years, using it as a candle holder in which service it has seen many romantic evening meals and several power cuts.
He was a family man and happy were the Hancocks. Seven chidren. He lost his son George to cancer and one of his daughters was also taken from him by the same evil of cancer. He was devastated by their loss as any father would be. He too, in the end, succumbed to cancer, and one of his surviving daughters said to me, It is not how its meant to be, and that no man, by which I think she meant, not even a difficult man, , should have to bury their children.
Amen to that.
May he rest in peace.
Broadsides - A collection of bits and pieces 
I remember this story well, and have just reread it. I see that Aurum liqueur is still available and still in the same shaped bottle, so if you wish to relive the memory it is available on Amazon, but cheaper elsewhere. He lived to a fine age!
Like!! Really appreciate you sharing this blog post.Really thank you! Keep writing.
You replied to this comment.
No, his other daughter confirmed it to me
I have heard many stories over the years both form and about my grandfather, from the time he ticked several hundred cars at a cricket match, to the time he tried to sue the Beano for a story calling him ‘Bacon face Hancock’, the time he ticketed his own motor bike that had been borrowed by George without his permission to the stories about his falling out with Nottingham Notts darts league about a car. Thank you for writing this article and fro paying not to the passing of my mother and uncle. I enjoyed reading it and it is a very pretty bottle.
He was a real character, your gtanddad. He deserves to be remembered and my life was made more interesting foe knowing him
Thank you John, another great story of my dad and his ways. He was a tough man inside and outside the house, he did have a kind heart but not many people seen this side of him . He’s back with mum & his son and daughter, I think of him every day and miss him now just as much as the day he passed. I hope you’re well , take care Pem