I worked at Mitchell’s back in the late 70’s/early 80’s. I can remember the police coming into the shop and asking me if they we had rented a Transit to anyone who had a name that could be shortened to ‘Rammy’. Apparently, someone had fallen out of the back of a Transit van on the way back from the game. I checked the paperwork and there it was, some lad with the surname of Ramsden had rented an Transit on the previous Friday. What a quandary, do I grass up a fellow blue who I don’t know or do I run the risk of getting nailed for perverting the course of justice? I waited and waited in the back office for about 10mins, went back out and said to the two un-uniformed coppers, ‘can’t find anything at the moment, but if you pop in tomorrow, that will give me more time to check — I’ve got a shop full of customers returning vans at the moment, so give me a day’. Later that day, Snr Ramsden turned up with the van when I was out at lunch. I figured that if the police came back, they were serious and we’d have to cough up, but if they didn’t, they had either found him anyway or had moved in to something else. They didn’t come back thank fuck, although that probably meant that they’d caught him anyway.