The Last Night on the Beat

by Harry Morris

  Blowing Your Own Trumpet

  …

  Several years ago, the Strathclyde Police Federation, held a meeting with their counterparts, the Royal Ulster Constabulary, whereby the Irish officers, treated the Strathclyde members, to a slap-up dinner followed by a cabaret.

  As they took their seats along the front of the stage, Willie Irwin, who was the Strathclyde Federation Secretary and had a fairly big nose, coupled with a dashing Clark Gable lookalike moustache, positioned himself at the centre of the delegation.

  Halfway through the show, it was the turn of an Irish comedian to perform for them. After a few jokes, the comedian, looked at Willie, sitting at the front of the stage, and with a puzzled expression he said, ‘Here big man, you must be really proud of that nose you have there, I mean, why else would you want to underline it?’

  A Midge’s Dick!

  …

  Tommy Payne and I, dealt with a serious assault, whereby a young male was struck on the face, with a knife.

  We obtained statements from witnesses, including the hospital doctor, who treated the victim’s wound and a short time later, we arrested the person responsible for this vicious assault.

  Months later, I received a citation to attend the Sheriff Court as a witness in the case for the prosecution.

  Tommy called me and said he would attend at the registry in the police station and obtain the necessary witness statements required for the court case.

  At the court, prior to the case being called, I was reading over my statement, in order to familiarise myself with the incident reported.

  ‘What did the doctor at the hospital say about the victim’s injuries?’ I asked Tommy, while thumbing my way through the witness statements.

  Tommy casually replied, ‘The Doc stated, he was a midge’s dick away from losing his eye!’

  ‘A midge’s dick? That close eh!’ I said, shaking my head ‘A midge’s dick?’ I repeated, before flicking my way through the hospital doctor’s expert medical statement again.

  ‘I’m sure that must be a new medical term for it Tommy. But I doubt very much, if it’ll make it into the British Medical Journal!

  What a Plonker!

  …

  All dressed up in our casual clothes for a shift night out, we decided to meet up at a local pub, within our working area.

  As we all sat around, with numerous drinks in front of us and taking up several of the tables, the door opened and in came a typical Glesca punter, dressed in a black jerkin and black baseball cap, carrying a large, fully-laden sports bag.

  He walked up to our table and bending down to open up his sports bag to display the contents, he pulled out some really nice colourful T-shirt tops and said, ‘Right guys, if you’re interested in a bargain, I’m prepared to let you have these, for a steal!’

  Then jokingly he added, ‘Mind you, if the polis stop you, I’ll deny I sold them to you!’

  He then paused for a moment and looked around at us all staring straight at him, then, shaking his head, he threw his arms out by his side and said, ‘What?’

  The reaction from us all was as one, as we produced our Police Warrant Identification Cards in unison, at our cocky little Del Boy Trotter.

  As he focused on them, first, there was shock! Secondly, there was horror! And thirdly, there was a loud, ‘Whoosh’! ‘Bang’! ‘Wallop’!

  He was off like an Excocet missile, leaving the bar doors swinging in his wake along with some tasty designer T-shirts in his fully laden sports bag!

  It wasn’t long before he was apprehended, with the many volunteer witnesses present, all too keen to accept a recall to duty and the guaranteed overtime payment that goes with it!

  To crown it all off, his real name was Roddy Bain, full name Rodney!

  What a Plonker!

  We Live in a Concrete Jungle

  …

  Tank, the likeable rogue, who was the scrap metal man, around the Bridgeton area of Glesca, where he lived, decided to take the wife and weans, away for a day, to the Blair Drummond Safari Park.

  All packed up with the sandwiches and bottles of Irn Bru, they were off to spend a day with nature and wildlife!

  After stopping at several interesting spots on their way around and enjoying the view of the various animals on show, they stopped to see if they could spot any lions!

  ‘Oh look, Dad – there’s a sign! We’re in the Dangeroos area!’ ‘Let’s see if we can spot Flipper hopping aboot mad!’ Said one of the kids.

  ‘That’s no’ “Dangeroos” son,’ replied Tank, ‘It’s a sign saying, “Beware, Dangerous Area! Anyway, you’d have a hard job spotting Flipper, cause he was a dolphin, ya wee tottie!’

  ‘Oh so he wiz! Ah meant to say Zippy!’

  ‘Ye meant tae say Skippy!’ said his Mum.

  They sat in their van for quite a while, waiting patiently to hopefully catch a glimpse of a lion, but to no avail.

  Getting slightly frustrated and restless, the kids, decided to open the side door of the van for some fresh air and slip outside to stretch their legs and maybe even have the obligatory pee against the side of the van.

  No sooner had the kids got out, when all hell broke loose.

  Loud sirens and wailing horns went off at a high pitch, terrifying the poor weans, who all panicked and promptly, jumped back into the van slamming the door shut.

  Moments later, two Land Rovers with safari park rangers, all kitted out, came screeching to a halt, alongside their van.

  As the rangers got out and pulled the side door open to check everything was all right with them, the weans, terrified by the alarms sounding and the appearance of the park rangers, blurted out in a true Glaswegian fashion, together as one, ‘We never touched yer fucken lions!’

  Cobblers

  …

  A prisoner was released after serving twenty-five years in prison.

  As he searched through his property, he finds a receipt in his jacket pocket for a cobblers.

  He made his way to the repair shop and handed the receipt over to the cobbler, who studied it carefully for a moment.

  ‘Were they a pair of brown brogues, to be soled and healed?’ He asked.

  ‘Aye, that’s right!’ said the prisoner.

  To which the cobbler responded, ‘Be ready Friday!’

  Roast Chicken and Chips

  …

  I think all the resident nutcases in the areas where I worked, waited until I was on nightshift duty, so they could pay me a visit at the police station and obtain some free counselling sessions, followed by a cigarette, a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit.

  At one point, I was performing that many counselling sessions I thought I was employed by the NHS.

  One of my many regular visitors was a larger-than-life woman called Georgina Hill, or Georgie, as she preferred to be called.

  Georgie was a big woman in every sense of the word and I would describe her as a female, not blessed with the best of looks. Suffice to say, when she put her make up on she had a face like a Hallowe’en cake in Gregg’s window display.

  Obviously, mirrors were a novelty in her house.

  She was also excessively overweight by several kilos and with her womanly body shape stuffed into a tweed coat that was several sizes too small for her, she resembled a burst sofa!

  Now that I have dispensed with the pleasantries, I will relate my story to you.

  The station door opened just after midnight and in breezed Georgie.

  ‘Hello, Mr Morris. Just popped in to see how you are and have a wee blether with you!’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine thanks, Georgie. What about yourself? I haven’t seen you around the Main Street for a few weeks?’ I replied.

  That was my first big mistake of the night! It was the cue for Georgie to begin relating her entire medical history, pausing only to catch a breath!

  ‘Well, I don’t think I told you but I’ve been in hospital. I was suffering from a bit of woman trouble!’

  She
then proceeded to perform a Les Dawson female impersonation, followed by a mime-artist impression as she pointed to her fat belly!

  ‘All oot! All oot!’ she said as she made hand signs across her stomach like she was signing into a meeting of the Masonic Lodge.

  Her voice became quieter and as her actions became more animated, the more serious her operation sounded.

  ‘Anyway!’ she continued, ‘the surgeon opened me up right across my stomach and done the business. I was that wide open they had to call in an upholsterer from, DFS to staple my wound together. The nurses said, “Georgie, what a mess you were in hen! That was major woman problems you had!” D’you know, Harry, see after that operation, I was bloody ravishing, I could’ve eaten a scabby cat ’atween two slice of stale bread …’

  I interrupted her. ‘I think you mean ravenous, Georgie!’

  ‘Same thing, Harry!’ she said dismissively. ‘Anyway, the staff nurse said, “I’m sorry Georgie, but ye cannae eat, You’ll need to wait for the doctor to come round first. Then they started all the small talk with me, like, “Have you got any kids Georgie?” and “Are they boys or lassies?”

  ‘Well bugger me! Pardon my expression, but by this time, my stomach thinks that my throat’s been cut during the operation and all they can talk aboot is kids! Now, don’t get me wrong, Harry, I love kids and right at that moment I could probably have eaten a whole wan tae myself, but, right then all I’m thinking about, is Colonel Sanders’ Kentucky Fried Chicken – I’ll even pluck the thing myself!

  ‘Anyways, next thing is, the nurse tells me they have a special surprise for me! “What is it?” I’m thinking to myself! Has the surgeon removed the wrong orgasms? Has he lost his Rolex watch? Or maybe they’ve found bits of Shergar inside me, ’cause that butcher in the main street is definitely dodgy – or maybe he just fancies me.

  ‘Gonnae put me oot my bloody misery and tell me? I said to them.

  ‘They both looked at each other for a moment, before the staff nurse said, “Right, after you’ve had a nice hot bath, I’ve arranged for the kitchen staff to make your favourite meal – roast chicken and chips, just for you!”

  ‘Oh ya wee dancer!’ I said. ‘I hope it’s legs are the size of an ostrich, ’cause I’m feeling pure anorexic!’ Well, you never seen anybody get in and oot a bath as quick as me and when ah looked at my old Jean Brodie, with all they staples across it, I resembled a centre page, of wan o’ my weans school jotters! It was the first time I had seen myself in a full-length mirror and my big jazz drum was sticking oot, like a pigeon’s landing board! I kid you not you could’ve balanced a tray o’ drinks on my erse! Anyway, I’m diverting again. However, I’m oot the bath and I’m drying myself and just as I lifted my left leg up tae dry my feet – guess whit?’

  She then performed her Les Dawson impression again and started mouthing, ‘Some o’ the staples started popping and I thought I was gonnae burst oot all over the floor.’ (God forbid! That’s me thinking to myself!)

  ‘Ah shouted for the nurses, but it was really another upholsterer I needed. The nurses came rushing in and whisked me away – I had to get emergency treatment and the next thing I know, they’ve put me on a drip and gave me an emergency blood transmission to replace what I had lost!

  ‘As if that wasn’t enough, the nurse then tells me, “I’m sorry Georgie, but you can’t have anything to eat!”

  ‘I said, Whit! Are you yanking my chain? I’ve had that Nil by Mouth sign up on my bed that long, my family thinks that’s my real name in French!

  Just at that the auxiliary nurse comes over to me and asks, “Do you need a bed pan, Georgie?”

  ‘Ah said, are you trying to take the piss? You need to eat, before you can excrete!’ I then turned my attention back to the nurse and said, ‘And who is going to get my roast chicken and chips then?’

  “The bin!” she replied. “The cook threw it out.” Now, as she put her arm across me to tidy my bed sheet, I thought about biting it aff!’

  Just at that point, there was a noise at the rear of the police station and the door was opened and I could hear my police colleagues coming in for their tea break.

  Interrupting Georgie in full flow, I said, ‘Well Georgie, I could sit and listen to you going through your entire medical history, but I’ll need to interrupt you, because that’s the boys in the police panda arriving for their refreshment period and you’ll never guess what I’m going to have for my dinner?’

  She stared at me for a moment, before a smile broke out across her face and she said in an excited voice, ‘Roast chicken and chips!’

  To which I replied, ‘No hen, three quarters of an hour like everybody else!’

  Good night, Georgie!

  J.F.K.

  …

  Many police officers of a certain age remember where they were on that fateful day when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

  Although such an event sticks in the memories of our older colleagues, it is sometimes a surprise to learn, that more than half the world has only just been born since then.

  With this in mind, two police officers in the city centre were interviewing a not-to-bright female suspect.

  When asked for her date of birth, she replied, ‘The twenty-second of November 1963!’

  The older cop, immediately recognising the significance of the date said, ‘I bet your mother remembers where she was when John F. Kennedy was shot dead?’

  At which point the female suspect immediately protested in a rant, ‘My mammy knows ‘nuthin’ about any shooting! She’s no’ intae that kind o’ stuff! Who says she is? I’m her daughter and I have a right to know exactly what she’s accused of and who grassed her up!’

  Needless to say, both cops just looked at each other slightly bemused and shook their heads.

  Dr White at Your Disposal

  …

  Whilst on duty one night in the station, I was sorting through some reports when the front door burst open and in came a known offender in his mid-twenties, who ran past me into a back room.

  The male was known to me as the son of a convicted drug dealer in the area, who had taken over the family business.

  As I went through to the back office after him, he was holding his chin together, with blood streaming profusely, from a large deep laceration. It’s usually caused by someone slashing you with a Stanley knife or similar and is often referred to as a Kirk Douglas!

  He was scared and screaming frantically, ‘Help me! I’m getting chased wi’ a team and they’re tooled up wi’ blades!’

  Suddenly, I heard a loud disturbance outside and I saw about eight youths, staring over at me from the pedestrian walkway, armed with knives and clubs.

  I immediately lifted the office radio and called for assistance, whereby on seeing this, the youths all ran off.

  My next priority was to try and stem the flow of blood from his serious facial injury and summon the assistance of an ambulance.

  Using paper towels and applying pressure to the wound, I was able to stem the flow of blood, while I searched through the office first-aid kit for a bandage. However the items inside were so old, they would not be out of place on the Antique Roadshow! The sterile pads would’ve given him gangrene!

  At this point I noticed on the wall of the female officers’ toilet, a Dr White sanitary towel machine.

  Now they’re most definitely sterile!

  Out of sight of my young gangster victim, I quickly ripped open the small package and removed the sanitary towel, which was a pad about four inches in length, with a hoop at either end.

  Removing the sodden bloodstained paper towels from his face, I replaced them with the sanitary towel, covering the wound, and unable to resist it, I looped the hoops on either end, over his ears, to hold it in place.

  (Why hoops I’ll never know? But I’ll accept explanations on a stamped address envelope. From women only!)

  I then told him to apply pressure to it.

  He sat quietly, for the first time
the victim of a crime, while awaiting the arrival of the ambulance, totally unaware of what the sterile dressing on his chin was.

  That was, however, until four of my police colleagues arrived at the office, in response to my call for assistance.

  As they rushed in, they instantly recognised the victim, who was sitting quietly feeling sorry for himself, with his hammock-style dressing dangling from his ears. This was the cue for them to start asking, ‘So Harry, are you taking first period for your break, or second period?’

  They just could not contain themselves as they fell about laughing and making trivial excuses to the victim, in order to leave the office.

  A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived and after a few titters of laughter from the paramedic crew, they soon removed the injured man, complete with sanitary towel stuck to his chin, to the local accident and emergency hospital.

  After they had left, as you would imagine, there was the usual lengthy ‘period’ of sick jokes from the cops who were present.

  Particularly, as this was the beginning of the festive ‘period’!

  Prison Riot Solution

  …

  My brother Freddie related a story that he heard, during a golf club function.

  The guest speaker was a former deputy prison warden and he was explaining that, while employed by the prison service, he was performing duties as acting governor of the prison, when staff contacted him at home regarding a riot taking place within the prison.

  They also informed him that several of the inmates had climbed on to the roof and were ripping the slates off and hurling them into the prisoners’ exercise yard.

  He immediately attended at the prison to assess the situation and was quickly briefed on his arrival by his senior officer, on duty.

  He then went out into the yard, where a few of the trustee prisoners, were attempting to clear up the debris.

  With the aid of a loudspeaker, he tried to reason with the rebellious inmates, protesting on the rooftop of the jail, but to no avail, as the prisoners ignored his request to come down and discus matters.