The Last Night on the Beat

by Harry Morris

  ‘What kind of nuts are they?’ I asked him.

  ‘Almonds!’ he replied. ‘The wife was given them as a present, from one of the old men she looks after.’

  Now, to let you understand, this particular police officer’s wife worked as a care assistant to the elderly and made regular visitations to their homes.

  However, with this in mind, I had occasion to speak with his wife at a police function.

  During the conversation, I was saying to her about how healthy her husband eats, with his fruit and nuts, especially the almonds. And I suggested, she speak to some of her elderly clients and talk them into buying walnuts and hazelnuts and give some to me, for a change.

  She appeared to blush slightly, before saying, ‘Do you know the full story, behind the almonds?’

  Unaware of what she was talking about, I shook my head.

  She then confided in me, (I love it!) and related the following story, which she made me swear, I’d keep to myself!

  Apparently, while she visiting one of her elderly patients, he had asked her if she liked almond nuts. She stated she didn’t, but her husband was very fond of them.

  At that, the elderly patient presented her with a glass jar, filled to the brim with almonds, to give to him.

  Delighted by the old man’s kind gesture, the cop had tucked into them, munching away while watching TV, crushing them over his breakfast cereal, adding them to his home made Indian curry meal, in fact, just about anything you could add nuts too, he added them.

  The following week, on returning to the elderly patient on her routine visit, she handed him a large Galaxy chocolate bar as a thank you for the jar of almonds.

  The old man thanked her kindly and producing a full jar of sugared almonds, he said, ‘I’ll give you this jar as well, once I have sooked all the sugar icing off them!!’

  YUCK!!

  Hearing Things

  …

  A ned in the sheriff court in Glasgow was being sentenced for his offence and was asked by the sheriff.

  ‘Have you anything you would like to say?’

  The accused replied rather despondently, ‘Fuck all!’

  The sheriff called out to the procurator fiscal, ‘What did he just say there?’

  ‘Fuck all! m’lord!’ replied the Fiscal.

  To which the sheriff said, ‘I’m sure I saw his lips move!’

  The Truth, The Whole Truth

  …

  As a young newly appointed police officer, I was cited to attend the Sheriff Court for the first time, in order to give evidence for the prosecution in a trial involving a breach of the peace.

  I was very nervous as I stood in the witness box being asked questions by the procurator fiscal. During my evidence, I stated that the accused had been bawling, shouting, cursing and swearing in a public place.

  The procurator fiscal asked me to tell the court what they had actually shouted during the disturbance.

  Nervously, I replied, ‘They were shouting that the police were a bunch of “effen bees”, sir!’

  ‘Yes constable, I appreciate what you are saying and realise that you are trying to spare our blushes, but I need you to tell the court the exact words they used,’ explained the fiscal.

  ‘They used swear words at us sir,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, I’m well aware of that constable, but what I would like you to tell the court today, is the actual words the accused used toward you when they swore.’

  The procurator fiscal, was by now becoming exasperated by my inexperience. So I took a deep breath and blurted out, ‘They shouted that we were a bunch of … “Fucken Bastards” sir.’

  ‘Thank you for that!’ responded the procurator fiscal before continuing. ‘And did you apprehend them?’

  To which I replied without any hesitation, ‘You’re fucken right I did!’

  I’ll Tell Him Tomorrow, Maybe!

  …

  One evening, a well-dressed male accountant picked up a young female prostitute from the red-light district of Blythswood Square in Glasgow.

  Having agreed to a price for full sex, he drove off with her in his car, to her home address, on the Southside of the City.

  They both stripped off and engaged in sexual intercourse, after which, while the female was in the toilet washing, the accountant got dressed and quickly left the house, neglecting to pay the prostitute the agreed fee for the services she had provided.

  Not to be outdone so easily, the aggrieved female contacted her minder, who just happened to be in the nearby vicinity.

  Armed with a baseball bat, the minder confronted the accountant as he made his way out of the high-rise tower block, en-route to his parked car.

  The accountant, displayed some wonderful athleticism and ran like hell, pursued by Babe Ruth, armed with the baseball bat.

  At this point an anonymous call was made to the police station, regarding one male being pursued by another male, armed with a large stick.

  I was immediately dispatched to attend the call, whereby, on my arrival, I observed and apprehended Babe Ruth. After hand-cuffing him, I placed him in the rear of the police car, while I obtained a full statement about the incident from the visibly shaking accountant.

  Whilst noting the statement, I was beckoned over by a young woman in the large assembled crowd. It was the young prostitute who had been involved and she proceeded to relate her side of the story with regards to the events that had taken place earlier in the evening.

  Having been made aware of this new information, I returned to the accountant, who immediately blurted out, ‘Whatever she said, she’s lying, she’s a lying little whore!’

  I then informed him of the story related to me by the young female and asked for his comments. The smug accountant freely admitted giving her a lift home because she had looked unwell, but strenuously denied being involved with her in any sexual act. In fact, he went as far to say, ‘I did not have sexual relations with that woman.’

  (Where have I heard that line before Bill?)

  ‘She’s a lying little whore, but then, what do you expect from the residents about this area?’ he replied condescendingly.

  I said, facetiously, ‘You’re right enough sir, who ever heard of an accountant cheating a client out of their money!’ I then paused for a moment before continuing, ‘Anyway, sir, I have to ask you a personal question here! Do you definitely deny having had sexual intercourse with this girl?’

  ‘I certainly do! What do you take me for? I’m a happily married man.’ The accountant responded with his pitiful denial.

  ‘Well sir!’ I replied. ‘I’m ever so glad to hear you say that, because apparently she’s been diagnosed HIV positive and she continues to entertain men in her house for unprotected sexual intercourse!’

  On hearing this, the accountant’s facial expression changed dramatically, as the colour visibly drained from his face and he became unsteady on his feet.

  ‘Are you OK sir?’ I asked him. ‘You look as if you’re going to faint!’

  The accountant replied very quietly, ‘Not really! I’m feeling a bit nauseous and would like to go home to my wife and family now!’

  ‘But what about Babe Ruth with the baseball bat? We haven’t charged him yet?’ I said.

  The accountant replied, ‘I’m not interested. I’d like to drop all the charges against him and go home please, I’m not feeling very well with all this going on!’

  ‘I’m not surprised, sir, but are you sure, because he looked really nasty with that big baseball bat?’ I remarked facetiously.

  ‘Yes I’m positive, now can I just go home please? I’ve wasted enough time here.’ the accountant said.

  ‘Not a problem, sir. Just sign my notebook to the effect that you don’t want to proceed with the charges!’ I said. ‘That way, there’s no harm done, so by all means, you can go on your way now!’

  The accountant then walked off rather unsteadily to his car before getting in and driving off.

  ‘You might hav
e told him you were only kidding about the HIV stuff!’ responded my colleague.

  To which I replied, ‘What for? You heard him give the Bill Clinton speech – “I did not have sexual relations with that woman!” ’

  Now why would I disbelieve the lying, cheating, adulterous bastard!’

  PS. If you’re the accountant involved and reading this, remove that rope from around your neck. I was only a joking!

  No Armchair Stampede

  …

  There had been an incident, at the rear of Celtic Football Park in Glasgow, whereby, it was alleged, that Strathclyde Police mounted officers, had deliberately stampeded, football supporters who had congregated in the area of Janefield Street, Glasgow.

  This sensitive police enquiry was being investigated by one of our most senior and respected officers, Chief Superintendent John T. Dickson.

  During this ongoing enquiry, there was an international football match coming up, between Scotland and England at Hampden Park and I was desperately trying to get tickets for it.

  This particular day, I was called into Superintendent Jim Irwin’s office and he said to me, ‘I’ve to ask you, Harry, are you still looking for tickets for the big game? If so, Mr Dickson has two for sale.’

  Having replied that I was looking for tickets, he called Mr Dickson at his office in Pitt Steet HQ, to inform him.

  ‘Right Harry!’ said the superintendent. ‘You’ve to go up to his office right now and collect them!’

  I went straight to HQ and knocked on the chief superintendent’s office door.

  ‘In you come, Harry!’ he shouted, then he opened a drawer and taking out the match tickets, he handed them over to me.

  ‘Don’t you fancy it sir?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course! But nowadays I prefer to watch the game in the comfort of my armchair in the house!’ he said convincingly.

  To which I couldn’t resist replying, jokingly of course, ‘Well, let’s be honest, sir, you’ve less chance of getting trampled by a big bloody polis horse!’

  Needless to say he was not amused by my comment. But I bet he had a right good chuckle after I left his office!

  Elvis Lives

  …

  After his umpteenth road accident whilst driving another police car, a certain police officer was transferred from mobile patrol, to assisting the station counter staff.

  His fellow officers, had cruelly dubbed him, ‘Elvis’, because, he had more hits than the Beatles.

  Whilst I was over at the office with a prisoner, Elvis was working at the charge bar, processing the prisoners, by means of the computer.

  I asked him if he was enjoying working at a computer?

  Without pausing or lifting his head, ‘Elvis replied facetiously. ‘Put it this way, I must be doing okay – I haven’t crashed it … YET!’

  Ladies and Gentlemen – Ben Doon

  …

  Whilst a member of the Police Social Committee, it was your duty from time to time to act as the master of ceremony for the night at a cabaret function being held in the club.

  Up until then, I had always managed to avoid it but, with the absence of some of the members, I was nominated to take my turn.

  The star of the cabaret was a very funny Scottish comedian, called Ben Gunn, whom I was introduced to on his arrival at the club earlier in the evening.

  He gave me this spiel that he wanted me to say in my introduction, about how he had just returned from a very successful tour of America and was now appearing as top of the bill on the Sidney Devine Silver Jubilee Show, being held at the Pavillion Theatre, in Glasgow.

  ‘After the performance’, he said, ‘we’ll have a drink!’

  Now, earlier in the evening, this would not have been a problem but, after several large Whyte & MacKay whiskies, the art of breathing was becoming a big problem for me.

  It came to the penultimate act, a Caribbean steel band, dressed in bright orange shirts. They looked like they had all been Tangoed as they played their big oil drums.

  By the way, the nearest they came to the Caribbean, was in a holiday brochure, because I knew three out of four of them personally, having recognised them as drivers on the corporation buses, working out of the Larkfield bus garage in Glasgow.

  With the previous turn, a country and western act called the Pheasant Pluckers, I had developed dyslexia and read their introduction wrong referring to them, as some ‘C***s with vests on,’ and, ‘They’re Pleasant F*****s.’

  The other committee members put it down to nerves and were telling me, ‘Right Harry, we think you got away with that one, but don’t make any mistakes with the introduction of Ben!’

  I jumped on to the stage with my microphone and said confidently, ‘Let’s hear you one more time – all the way from Jamaica (Street), the Govanhill Caribbean Steel Band!’

  The assembled audience applauded enthusiastically.

  As the applause died down I said, ‘They rejected an engagement to go on a worldwide tour. Apparently two of the band members wanted to go somewhere else! I’m also informed that the boys want me to tell you, they’re sorry there will be no encores as there’s a shortage of bus drivers tonight and they’ve all got to report for double shifts!’

  I continued in this vein, getting carried away with myself, leaning on the microphone stand like a real pro.

  ‘Two of the band members are actual twins! They used to be triplets but they ate the other brother between them one night! In true conundrum fashion, he was ate before he was seven!’

  Just at that, a committee member from the side of the stage whispered loudly, ‘Get on with it Harry.’

  ‘Now! We have come to the star of our show, an act that has been thrown off more stages than big John Wayne! In fact, he was telling me he is just back from America, where he underwent a nose transplant, but unfortunately, his finger rejected it!’

  Suddenly, through the smokey haze I could see some of the committee members making their way down the sides of the hall, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, but I was on a roll and wasn’t going to get off the stage that easily, so I continued, ‘He was also telling me earlier that while he was in America for three weeks, he lost 9 stones of ugly fat – apparently he got a quickie divorce!’

  That was the last straw – one of the committee had the other end of the microphone and was pulling and tugging it, so in order to prevent any further embarrassment, I quickly announced, ‘So will you please put your hands together and give a big Lochinch Police Club welcome to the one and only Mr Ben Doon! Hic!’

  Ben was not one bit amused at my introduction. He took the mike off me and called me a frustrated comedian.

  He then did his performance, cutting his cabaret act short by twenty minutes and promptly left the club.

  Needless to say, I was never again asked to perform as the MC at a police social club! I did apologise to Ben when we met on another occasion! But I think he still held a grudge!

  The Spark-le is Still There

  …

  After twenty-five years of marriage, a police inspector surprised his wife by returning with her to the hotel, where they had spent their first honeymoon night.

  The following day, the inspector drove her to an area where a beautiful big oak tree stood, near to a farmer’s field. This was where they had enjoyed their first romantic kiss!

  They both got out of the car and hand-in-hand, they walked over to the special spot.

  He took her in his arms and leaned her against the fence and kissed her ever so passionately.

  The wife suddenly responded in an erotic manner, digging her nails into his back, gripping him tightly and biting his face.

  She then jumped up on him and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, squeezing him as she yelled and squealed ecstatically.

  The inspector’s reaction was one of total sexual excitement: ‘Woah, darling, you were never aroused like this twenty-five years ago!’

  To which his wife replied, ‘No, and th
e farmers fence wasn’t electrified then either!’

  Relief, For My Relief!

  …

  One evening, at the completion of my shift, I was attending a friend’s house to view a live boxing match and had arranged for another friend of mine also going, to call at the police station at the end of my duties so that we could share a taxi.

  Now, my good friend Brad, is a six-feet-plus black guy who just happens to be a deaf mute!

  Anyway, he duly arrived at my front office at the agreed time and I informed him, using sign language, that I was just awaiting my relief station officer to arrive, before I could leave, but, in the meantime, to just wait in the front office area.

  Brad nodded his head that he understood and decided while waiting there to view some of the various posters of information, on the wall display.

  After a few moments, the front door to the office opened.

  Brad immediately felt the draught from the door on his neck and turned around to face it, as in walked Donnie, my police colleague.

  With Donnie looking at me behind the office counter and Brad with his back to me, looking at Donnie, I spoke in a loud voice and said, ‘For the last time, sir, there is only one officer working in this station called Donnie and I can assure you he hasn’t been sleeping with your wife and daughter. Now will you fuck off out of the police station?’

  All the time I was talking, Brad had his back to me, staring at Donnie, who had physically frozen in his tracks and was now staring back at Brad, with what can only be described as a look of total shock on his face that now lacked any colour.

  Everything stopped for a moment while Donnie suffered in silence, then I allowed a huge grin to cover my face and said, ‘Don’t look so worried Donnie, it’s a joke, he can’t hear a word – he’s totally deaf!’

  At which point Donnie heaved a huge sigh of relief, before scurrying off to the toilet to relieve himself! No doubt!