This is a story that casts a shadow across the platitudes about the war years being a time when life was all about trust, community and the possibility of even leaving your door unlocked without fear of crime. In fact, this is a tale of neighbourliness gone wrong, as temptation came into the path of a woman who, on the surface was a typical ‘good neighbour.’ But the case of Linda Blythe also highlights another outcome of crimes committed in this community context: the notion of a bona fide entry into property rather than day-time house-breaking. Which was it to be? The issue kept the lawyers busy for some time.
In the wartime neighbourhood of Crosby, the Blythes and their next-door neighbours, the Goodyears, were clearly very close. Walls then were thin. Adults, children and pets often became the centre of mutual care and responsibility. The two families were in the habit of helping each other out in times of need. Yet there is a puzzle in this case: Mrs Goodyear was sure that her door could be opened by Linda Blythe’s key, but she was not sure about the case vice versa. This is because Linda was in the habit of popping in to attend to the dog from time to time.
Now, on Boxing Day, 1941, the Goodyears said they were going out for the day, and Linda was heard to ask them where they were going and for how long. Mr Goodyear tended to leave his wallet at home, in a case, and sometimes locked in a kitchen cupboard. On this occasion, the latter was the case. Linda Blythe, at about two in the afternoon, came in through the back door. What she had not realised is that the daughter of the Goodyears, Doreen, was still at home, with the dog. Doreen walked through to the kitchen and saw Linda Blythe opening the cupboard. When the girl asked her what she was doing she said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I have done it for. I hope this will not make any difference to me and your mother.’
It obviously did make a difference. The wallet, which had contained almost £20 in notes, now had, Mr Goodyear said, £4 missing. There seems to have been some problem with Linda Blythe. Maybe she was suffering from extreme mental pressures. All that is clear is that she went to D C Evinson and asked for help; at that point she said she had given in to temptation, but on 14 January, she denied all knowledge of the money and the wallet. It was this that led to the case going to court.
In court Linda said, ‘If it had not been for my family I would have admitted it before’, and her attempts to placate the Goodyears had failed. She had approached Mr Goodyear and offered to ‘pay some back on Friday and some more the week after.’ But it was to no avail.
The legal wrangling was centred on whether or not Linda Blythe had a bone fide custom of entry into the home of her neighbour. The case for the defence made much of this. To complicate matters further, a claim now was made that the Goodyears’ dog had been howling, and had indeed done so in the past; at such times Linda Blythe came in to attend to the animal. Therefore there was an element of good intention and in fact, actual assistance and concern here.
Nevertheless, the basic fact was that there had been a theft. What made the Goodyears’ case a little fragile was that Mr Goodyear had said that £4 were missing, but admitted he was guessing and not certain what, if anything, had been taken. The bone fide entry was denied by the judge. Linda Blythe escaped a custodial sentence, and it was clear that keys were never exchanged again. Good neighbourliness faded away, too, after this. The incident highlighted the common custom of reliance on neighbours for help in small everyday matters; it also shone a torch of contention in that dark area of trust and co-operation so urgently needed in a community when the world around was at war and bombers were droning over the Humber estuary.