Aye That Will Be Right

by Harry Morris

  ‘I’m a postman, Harry!’ he replied.

  I thought for a moment and then asked, ‘So, have ye left the polis then?’

  He gave me a puzzled look, before replying, ‘Ah wisnae in the polis!’ pausing for a moment before continuing, ‘Dae ye no’ remember me, Harry? Ye gave me the jail for a breach of the peace and vandalism, for kicking my burd’s door in! By the way, best thing that ever happened tae me – made me get my life sorted out and settle down.’

  Needless to say, I quickly drank down my beer and gave my excuses before making a hasty exit!

  Name Dropper

  • • •

  Two cops were out on patrol one day when they saw two men having a punch-up on the grassy area of a busy roundabout.

  They pulled up alongside them, got out of their police vehicle and promptly separated them, at which point one of the men ran off across the busy junction, narrowly avoiding being struck by traffic.

  ‘Right, what’s your name?’ the cops asked the other.

  ‘Audrey Hepburn!’ was the reply.

  This prompted one cop to administer a slap to his head.

  ‘I’ll ask you again, what’s your name?’

  ‘Audrey Hepburn!’ was the repeated reply, prompting a second slap to the head.

  ‘Right, smart arse, you’re getting the jail.’

  They bundled the accused into the rear of the police van and drove to the station.

  They took the accused to the charge bar, where the duty officer opened his large station journal to note the relevant details of the accused and the charge.

  ‘Name?’ he asked the accused.

  ‘Audrey Hepburn!’ came back the response.

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that … so we’ll start again. Name?’ he repeated.

  Once again the accused replied, ‘Audrey Hepburn!’

  The duty officer looked at the accused, shook his head, closed over his large journal and, lifting it up, brought it crashing down on the head of the accused – wallop! – causing the legs of the accused to buckle.

  ‘Take the accused to the side and search him,’ the duty officer ordered.

  As the cops began to search the dazed accused, they received the fright of their lives when one of the cops frisking him down discovered the accused possessed a small pair of firm, perky and neatly developed breasts.

  ‘Er, excuse me, sir …’ the first cop said.

  ‘Yes! What’s the problem now?’ the duty officer asked.

  ‘I think we are going to require the services of a police-woman,’ the cop replied.

  ‘A policewoman? How come?’ the duty officer enquired.

  To which one of the arresting cops replied, ‘Because I think the accused just might be Audrey Hepburn after all.’

  Order in the Court

  • • •

  True Stories from the Law Courts

  SOLICITOR: How was your first marriage terminated?

  WITNESS: By death.

  SOLICITOR: And by whose death was it terminated?

  Ah … Bisto!

  • • •

  Once when my daughter Kimmy was about seven, she was at Sunday school when the young minister taking the class was explaining the story of Elijah the Prophet and the false Prophets of Baal.

  He was explaining how Elijah had built an altar with wood and cut the steer into pieces, before laying it upon the altar.

  Elijah then commanded the followers of God to fill up four buckets of water and pour it all over the altar.

  He then ordered them to perform this feat another four times.

  The young minister then asked the members of the Sunday school, ‘Can anyone in the class tell me why the Lord would instruct Elijah to pour this water all over the steer on the altar?’

  Kimmy put her hand up in the air and started waving it about to attract his attention.

  ‘Yes, Kimmy?’ he asked. ‘What’s your answer?’

  To which Kimmy confidently replied, ‘To make the gravy!’

  Nice Thought

  • • •

  One of the biggest issues that got to me as a police officer, and earned me a certain amount of ribbing from my colleagues, was at refreshment time, when I would sit down with the other members of my shift and take out my sandwich box, because I never knew what to expect.

  My sandwiches were always better than the norm, but it was the fancy wrapping that caught the eye, as I would take them out from my box to find them all neatly wrapped in a very colourful, seasonal Christmas paper.

  Fed up with the taunts from my colleagues about this, I decided around March one year to bring up the matter with my wife.

  ‘Darling, you know I look forward every day to opening my sandwich box and discovering what goodies you have for me, but must you continually wrap them in Christmas paper? After all, we’re three months into a new year.’

  ‘I was only using up the wrapping paper that was left over rather than waste it,’ she said, making her point.

  ‘Well, let’s have a compromise then,’ I suggested. ‘Use up the last of your paper to wrap my sandwiches in, but for goodness’ sake, promise me you’ll take down the Christmas tree for me coming back from work!’

  Desperate Dermott

  • • •

  Every now and again, someone takes you seriously and writes to you, looking for you to provide them some of your expert advice. This was one of those times:

  Dear Harry,

  I would be grateful if you would kindly supply me with your worldly, expert experience of life and provide me with advice for the following problem.

  I am twenty-five years of age and have two brothers.

  One works for John Brown & Company and is an ardent Rangers supporter.

  The other is an inmate in Barlinnie Prison, serving eight years for rape and wilful fire-raising.

  My father is a fine old gentleman, living off the illegal earnings of my two sisters, who are prostitutes working on the streets of Glasgow, where they both hold down good positions in the West End.

  My mother is seven months pregnant to our next door neighbour and, because of this, my father is now reluctant to marry her.

  Recently, I have met with a sweet, lovely and charming girl who is an ex-prostitute, having only taken it up in the first place to support her drug habit.

  She is a wonderful, sweet girl and makes me feel really good and her three children, of whom two are black, call me dad.

  My problem is, Harry, should I tell her about my brother who is a Rangers supporter.

  Yours faithfully,

  Desperate Dermott (Mullen).

  Dear Dermott,

  Difficult one to answer here, so can I suggest that you please write to Linda Robertson at the Evening Times, Joan Burnie at the Daily Record, or Lorraine Kelly at the Sunday Post.

  Yours aye,

  Harry the Polis

  P.S. Please don’t hesitate to write again, I’m here to give help and advice!

  Order in the Court

  • • •

  True Stories from the Law Courts

  ADVOCATE DEPUTY: Can you describe the individual?

  WITNESS: He was about medium height, with a beard.

  ADVOCATE DEPUTY: Was this a male or a female?

  The Sting in the Jag

  • • •

  This is an unbelievable story about how gullible some Glesca punters can be, but more about how they really believe they can pull off such a ridiculous scam and expect to get away with it.

  Information was received about a gang trying to set up a big heist which involved the theft of several brand new unregistered Jaguar cars from the safe, secure premises of a reputable company dealer’s showroom.

  It was decided that to successfully set up a sting to trap them would require the involvement of several undercover police officers from a totally different force.

  Four undercover officers from the Metropolitan Police were recruited to carry out the operation, with the knowledge that
they would have absolutely no connection in Glasgow.

  After a thorough briefing, highlighting the background of the case with regards to the main suspects and the information already collated, the arrangements were made to put into place the set-up, using the four main officers recruited from the Metropolitan Police, who would be known as Sid, Bill, Nick and old George Dixon.

  How original were they names then?

  Unbelievable as it may sound, these were the names chosen by themselves and, apparently having used them before with a certain amount of success, they were accepted.

  Fortunately for their part, our wannabe big-time con men were so blinded by greed that they didn’t have an inkling and therefore, unbelievably, never once suspected our English counterparts’ involvement, or considered for a moment their ridiculous but very obviously assumed names and identities.

  The sting was based around two ‘Mr Big’ characters, who boasted openly to the informant that they could provide, at a price, these high-powered, highly priced, unregistered cars, the cost of which would also include their guaranteed delivery.

  Several hush-hush meetings were arranged between the big two and the prospective buyers, with the discussions culminating in how many vehicles Sid, Bill, Nick and George were prepared to purchase, the total cost, the expected method of payment being cash, and, last but not least, the location and date for their delivery.

  Having been informed of the specific arrangements at the meeting, the undercover cops returned to their Scottish police colleagues to relay the information required to set up the sting.

  It was agreed they would purchase twelve brand new, unregistered Jaguars at £5,000 each, half of the money to be paid on confirmation that the vehicles had been safely loaded on to the vehicle transporters, with the balance to be paid once the transporters had reached a certain location on the motorway, en route to their new destination.

  The gang had also paid off the garage company’s security, in order to have them open the yard gates and turn a blind eye during the forthcoming proceedings.

  However, the gang required one of the Mr Bigs to accompany Sid and Bill to their hotel room on the night, in order to check the £30,000 cash down payment, prior to the OK being given to the second Mr Big, signalling the start of the hijacking.

  Senior officers quickly set about arranging the cash down payment and presented Sid and Bill with it, to retain in their hotel bedroom while awaiting the arrival of their guest.

  While this was taking place, Nick and old George were required to accompany the second Mr Big and his team of drivers to the garage location.

  During these separate operations, both Sid and Bill, along with Nick and old George, were being tracked and all conversations being recorded and relayed back to the Scottish undercover and uniformed police officers, directing them to the exact location, to take observations and await the code word being broadcast, whereupon they would move in and arrest all persons involved.

  The hotel room door was opened and the first Mr Big was greeted by Sid and Bill, who invited him in to examine and check the bag containing the first down payment on the deal.

  Having counted the contents of the bag, he contacted his partner by mobile phone to confirm all was in order, and to start the next part of the operation.

  Quickly and efficiently, the cars were driven out of the secure yard and loaded on to the transporter.

  Having completed the second part of the operation, the transport drivers were about to move off for the next location when the code word was broadcast and the observation teams of police officers swiftly moved in and arrested everyone involved in the sting at the showroom and over at the hotel.

  At the subsequent trial of the accused, when the circumstances of the events leading up to their arrest were revealed and showed how blatantly naïve and idiotic they had been to be duped like this, their obvious stupidity had rubbed off on their high-profile defence counsel, who tried to cover up for his clients’ gullible involvement in the entire incident.

  Cross-examining the undercover Metropolitan Police officers – in a closed court in order to protect their true identities – he unwittingly provoked a hilarious response among the police witnesses by having to refer to them by their operational identities, i.e. Bill (the old bill), Sid (the CID), Nick (arrest him) and old George (George Dixon, affectionately taken from one of the first police TV programmes, Dixon of Dock Green), all names instantly recognisable and synonymous with the police and an obvious reference to police officers.

  It was also most noticeable how professional the Met officers were in giving evidence and how they remained perfectly calm under the pressure of giving evidence and were not easily intimidated by the defence counsel or their high-profile reputations – usually an extremely stressful duty for all police officers.

  One particular piece of the cross-examination that raised a smile was when a ridiculous scenario was suggested by the defence counsel and directed at ‘Bill’ in the witness box, whereby it was alleged that it was his intention and that of his colleagues involved in the operation, Sid, Nick and George, to double-cross the accused and retain the money for themselves.

  Bill answered the defence agent’s allegation by stating that due to working regularly with accused clients, the defence counsel was beginning to think and talk like them.

  However, he and his colleagues were dedicated police officers performing a specific duty and as such, they never forgot who they were, even when working closely along-side accused persons such as those in the dock.

  The defence counsel, frustrated by the clever, precise and unruffled replies, coupled with a lack of any relevant and pertinent defence evidence, very quickly returned to his table in the centre of the court and sat back down, dejected and somewhat deflated by the expert police witness’s sharp response.

  After the accused were found guilty and informed of their custodial sentence, it was hysterical to see their defence counsel drive off from outside the court in a Jaguar! How ironic.

  … And no! It couldn’t be!

  Police Landscapes

  • • •

  A cop I worked beside who was Irish came into work one day all excited.

  ‘Sure, you’ll never believe this, Harry boy. An old distant relative on my father’s side has gone and popped his clogs and left me a farmhouse and an acre of land in his will.’

  ‘Lucky you!’ I said. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It’s just on the outskirts of Dublin,’ he replied. ‘I’m heading over on my weekend off to see it.’

  That day, he phoned around and arranged the ticket for his flight over.

  On the following Monday night, after our weekend break, I met up with him on the shift.

  ‘How did you get on with your farm?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure, it was wonderful, I’ve even taken some pictures to show you,’ he replied.

  Later that evening, we sat down for our refreshment break and he enthused about his inherited property and produced the photographs he had taken of it.

  ‘The farm cottage is going to require a bit of renovation and modernisation, but I can do that at my leisure. However, as you can see, the land round about it needs to be dug up and levelled.’

  ‘That will be costly to do that,’ I remarked.

  ‘Not at all, Harry boy! In fact, it’s being turned over and levelled out as we speak,’ he responded confidently.

  ‘Who’s doing that for you?’ I innocently enquired.

  ‘Sure, the local constabulary are doing that for me.’

  ‘How did you manage to arrange that?’ I asked him.

  ‘To be sure, it was me cousin Kevin’s idea. He just made an anonymous phone call, stating that there was a cache of firearms buried on the farm grounds. Christ Almighty, have they not being digging it up for two days now and they’re almost finished it already!’

  An Honest Mistake

  • • •

  An elderly woman called at the police station to report having lost
the tax disc off the windscreen of her car.

  ‘Has it been lost or stolen?’ I asked her.

  ‘Definitely lost,’ she answered.

  ‘How did you lose it, ma’am?’ I then asked.

  ‘Well, I was driving down the road, when it just blew off my window,’ she replied.

  ‘And where was it?’ I enquired as to her location.

  ‘It was on the outside of my windscreen,’ she responded.

  ‘No, ma’am, I mean, where did it happen?’

  Then I paused for a moment, digesting what she had just said, and as I looked up at her she shook her head, looked me straight in the face and said, ‘Yes! I now know it goes on the inside of the window!’

  Don’t Even Think It!

  • • •

  A man was arrested for shouting abusive remarks at two uniformed police officers on the main street.

  He was immediately warned regarding his conduct but ignored the warning and was subsequently arrested and charged with the offence.

  At the police station, he was informed that the circumstances would be reported to the procurator fiscal and after confirming his details, the accused was allowed to go.

  Several moments later, the police officers involved were leaving the station to continue with their duties when they were approached by the accused, who had been waiting for them outside, directly opposite the station.

  ‘Excuse me, officers, but you arrested me for shouting that you were a pair of stupid ignorant bastards, right?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir,’ one of the officers politely replied.

  ‘So, if I just thought you were a pair of stupid ignorant bastards, would you still have arrested me for it?’

  Both officers looked at each other, aware of what was coming next: ‘No, sir. We can’t arrest anyone for what they might think.’

  ‘Well, in that case,’ the man said, with a smirk on his face, ‘I think that you are a big pair of stupid ignorant bastards!’