All risks, no risk
Antonia Martin
To wake up one morning and find that you have become a bad insurance risk induces a curious feeling of having strayed inadvertently beyond the bounds of respectable society. The company with which the contents of our house have been insured for the last six years has decided to call it a day, and has advised us, in a letter that managed to be only tolerably polite, to take our custom elsewhere.
The reason is that we have had five robberies in six years. Each time the premium has been raised. After the last incursion, we expected to be subjected to a further rise, but hardly to be shown the door. Six years in which a small terraced Georgian house in central London has gradually been transformed into a Lubianka with window boxes, its owners burdened with bunches of keys that would send a Paris concierge reeling, count for nothing.
There is no particular affluence about our house. Others in the neighbourhood have been 'done', but none so frequently as ours. I ask myself if the bolts and bars with which the house is now girded are themselves an Invitation, hinting at non-existent riches within. Unfortunately, the price of living in a crime-ridden society does not just end with Your losses, but with the knowledge that one day you might not even be able to insure against them.
We do not want to move. Anyway, where nowadays is the risk of robbery ? Our area is mixed socially and racially: within a hundred-yard radius, it combines a down-atheel inner city ambiance, the occasional vino and all, with a freshly-painted, ivytrailing chic. The residents include a couple of barristers, a scrap-dealing family, whose Parents used to keep their donkeys in the house, an artist, a cabinet-maker, a naval officer, a Rolls-Royce-owning council tenant and a West Indian family—a piece of contemporary urban Britain co-existing on a .basis of well-mannered detachment and friendly curiosity. The vigilance of our scrap-dealing neighbours enabled one set of thieves to be identified: others gave descriptions of the second and third sets. None of the thieves appears to be a local.
The first break-in was in broad daylight. The thief had apparently come from the pub on the corner, made his way down the front basement steps, smashed the locked dining-room window and climbed in, gashing himself liberally in the process. AS he was helping himself to cutlery and a wireless, a neighbour, suspicions aroused
hY the sound of breaking glass, called to ask if he was supposed to be there. 'Yes, I'm doing some repairs,' he shouted back. While she was ringing the police he disappeared,
leaving a good deal of blood but no cutlery behind. Result—thief never caught, steel bars put over all accessible windows.
Break-in two: the wire-reinforced glass of a small window in the front basement door broken, lock forced for entry into downstairs cloakroom. Thieves probably alarmed, got no further, stole four small prints from walls. Result—the door nailed up while a new one being made, order placed with blacksmith for outdoor iron grille gate at entrance to basement. Thieves never caught.
Break-in three: four days later, before new doors had arrived. The temporary door forced open, locked inner door leading from cloakroom to rest of house was kicked in. Nothing stolen, but sitting room and bed rooms were wrecked. Whisky, sherry, soft drinks poured over sitting-room carpet and into rented television set. Beds overturned, contents of cupboards and dressing tables strewn around. Result—culprits never caught; the suspects were schoolboy van dals, strange teenagers seen knocking at doors, running away when challenged. Although police called in immediately on discovery, television rental company add insult to injury after five years of blameless custom by barely-concealed suggestion that we ourselves had poured drink into set during wild party.
Break-in four : day-time, professional job. Padlock on outer iron gate at basement jemmied, sophisticated lock on new inner door jemmied, bolt forced. About £400worth of property stolen, biggest item rented colour television set carried coolly out by two thieves through front door. Another neighbour, suspicious because both were wearing gloves, telephoned the police. Result—men caught in later break-in, our case included in the tot-up, jailed for three years. Learn our house was robbed while they were on bail. We add new 'unbreakable' padlock to outer iron gate, further protected by large sheet of steel on outside. New lock and two sunken bolts put on inside door. A third iron grille gate, with two padlocks, is added indoors. There are now three doors in a row. To put rubbish into the basement bin means unlocking three padlocks, a Chubb lock, a mortice and two sunken bolts. It is a fortress so impreg nable that it is not possible to get in from the outside, only to go out from the inside if you have the time.
Nevertheless, there came break-in number five; three men make lightning frontal assault at noon on the main streetlevel front door, solid, visible and at the top of five steps, but no one about at the time. Strong lock intact, but wood on door jamb breaks away. Two rush in and upstairs to rifle bedrooms, one keeps watch. Neighbour sees from window, telephones police, men dash out, neighbour gives chase, but they get away. Their haul is a wireless set, camera, binoculars, coats, ring and best suitcase to carry it all away. Result—thieves not caught, wood around front door reinforced by steel plates, another mortice lock and sunken bolts added.
It was on his last post-theft inspection that our insurance company's assessor left with the words: 'Short of taking the measures a factory would take, I can't think what else you can do'. A fierce dog ? Unfair to leave him cooped up in a house on his own all day. A burglar alarm ? This will be our next costly step, although reports of false alarms that are themselves self-defeating are not encouraging.
It is at this point that the insurance company has said that it does not want to know us any more. Others have turned us down, too, although they have agreed that our precautions have been just what they would have asked. They reject us on two counts— we live in a 'bad' area, and we are both out all day. We have found just one company prepared to take us on, at double the premium and on condition we meet the first 20 per cent of any future losses ourselves.
We have been taught several lessons. One is to travel light because even if you replace the stolen property, it might only be stolen again, and this becomes tedious as well as more expensive each time. The second is that daylight is no deterrent, even to the clumsiest thief. The third is that if theft continues on its present scale and insurance companies discard their clients in the line of fire, the strong box buried in the garden may become the only option for many people. But how do you bury a television set ?
Previous page
