The Last Night on the Beat

by Harry Morris

  I tiptoed upstairs and, as I neared the window, I saw him hanging on to the window ledge by his fingertips, like grim death.

  So I surprised him by jumping in front of the window and shouting, ‘Boo!’

  The suspect got such a fright he lost his grip and fell from the window ledge, landing with a thump on the paving slabs below, immediately in front of Stevie.

  Unfortunately for the ned, he broke his ankle in the fall and had to be conveyed to hospital afterwards.

  The expression on the face of the officer on duty at the police station had to be seen, for after the suspect was charged with the offences, he was asked how he had injured himself and he replied rather pathetically, ‘That big polis did it, he shouted “Boo!” at me and gave me such a fright, I lost my grip o’ the windae ledge and fell aff!’

  However! It’s just a pity that ‘Boo!’ doesn’t work more often!

  Someone To Talk To

  …

  Having broken down outside a house, a woman came out to see if she could help me. I informed her it was OK as I had a mobile telephone and had already called for a recovery vehicle.

  The woman then offered me tea or coffee, the use of her toilet and generally remained outside in her garden, leaning on her garden gate, talking to me until the recovery vehicle arrived.

  As I was leaving, I thanked her for her help and she replied, ‘Don’t mention it, son, it’s only when some poor bugger like yersel’, breaks down that I get a chance tae talk to somebody!’

  He Fancies You

  …

  Big Andy was the son of a former British army major and spoke like an officer himself, with clear diction and politeness. When he appeared at the shift as a probationer, I was detailed to look after him.

  One evening, having attended a disturbance at a local pub, Andy saw Rosie the barmaid, a cute, petite blonde girl, with Meg Ryan looks and a bubbly personality to match.

  He was immediately smitten by her.

  ‘Go and chat to her and ask her out for a meal or a drink.’ I said.

  ‘I can’t, Harry, I’m too shy,’ he replied. ‘Would you ask her for me? Please, Harry! Please.’

  ‘OK!’ I responded and succumbed to his request. So, like cupid, I sauntered over to Rosie and said, ‘Rosie! My big mate over there is a bit embarrassed to ask you, because he’s never been out with a woman before, apart from his mammy for the messages, but he’d really like to know if you would be interested in going out on a date with him?’

  Rosie replied instantly, in her broad Glaswegian accent, ‘I’d really love tae pal, but right noo, I’m sookin’ the face aff a young guy fae the Calton!’

  “Sookin’ the face aff a guy!” Now that was a priceless response.

  Ye just cannae dae better than that for an answer.

  I went back to tell Andy her answer … Well, my answer.

  ‘Well, what did she say? Will she go out for a meal or a drink?’ he asked, eager to know.

  ‘She would be delighted to go out for both, a meal and a drink.’ I said.

  Andy punched the air with delight, ‘When!’ He asked.

  To which I replied with a straight face ‘Tomorrow! I’m taking her out tomorrow!’

  His face dropped and he looked like he was about to break down in tears, ‘You’re taking her out!’

  ‘No! I’m only yanking your chain, she’s booked up for the future.’

  A Word in Your Ear

  …

  A police sergeant, Ray McVicar, was having a running dispute with a civilian telephonist, Jesse Stewart.

  One day in particular, she was deliberately diverting his calls to other extensions in the office and generally mucking him about.

  Finally, he had had enough and confrontation was inevitable. He went to the telephonist’s room and said, ‘Excuse me Jesse, can I have a word?’

  To which Jesse replied, without turning around to face him, ‘You can have two and the second one’s off. Now close the door.’

  The Birthday Cake

  …

  One particular nightshift, whilst working alongside Big Joe Kelly, I was telling him it was my son Scott’s birthday the following day and I wanted to go to a local twenty-four-hour bakers factory, to get a birthday cake for him.

  Later that morning, we called at the bakers and I informed one of the staff what I was looking for. Unfortunately, he said there were none left and the ones they did have were ordered beforehand. However, if I came back later, he would see what he could do for me.

  On returning, several hours later, the baker produced a cake for me with the message, Happy Birthday Margaret, thereon.

  ‘I can scrape off the name Margaret for you and put the name of your son, with a model car or something similar over the area where her name was!’ said the baker.

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ I responded. ‘That will be perfect!’

  Big Joe then asked the baker, ‘Bye the way, who is Margaret and what about her cake?’

  ‘They usually have two or three spare cakes in the shop, so the staff will just pipe her name in cream onto another one for her, although it won’t be as fancy as this one,’ he replied.

  The baker then went off to take ‘Margaret’ off the cake and returned moments later with it all boxed up for me. As we made our way out to the CID car, Big Joe said, ‘So if you have Margaret’s cake, what about Margaret?’

  ‘What about Margaret?’ I said, totally unconcerned. ‘She can just have one of the spare cakes out the shop.’

  We finished our shift and both went our separate ways to enjoy our days off.

  As for my son Scott, he was delighted with his birthday party and particularly his fancy coloured decorative cake!

  After my days off, I resumed my duties with Big Joe. Later the same day, we were both going in for our refreshment break and Joe had been muttering on about how that woman Margaret’s birthday party went, without her cake? So, when he went to his car to get his sandwich box, I went into the canteen, where another colleague, Eddie McIvor was sitting having his meal. Quickly, before Big Joe came into the room, I briefed Eddie about what had occurred, regarding the birthday cake and with his help, we planned to wind up Joe, with regards to Margaret’s cake. We both settled down and were eating our food, when Big Joe entered the refreshment room and sat down beside us.

  I then began the wind-up by asking Eddie, ‘So how was your weekend, Eddie? What did you get up to?’

  ‘Oh, the wife and I were at an old friend’s surprise birthday party down at the Institute!’ he replied convincingly. ‘It was packed with all her relatives, old friends and neighbours.’

  ‘I take it that she had a good night then?’ I asked him.

  ‘It was absolutely superb.’ he replied. ‘She had immigrated to Canada twenty years ago and only came back this week to visit some friends and family, so we all got together and organised a surprise party for her, knowing it was her birthday and she might not be back here again. What a brilliant night it was!’

  ‘Sounds like it was a lot of fun!’ I said.

  All the time, Big Joe sat munching away on his food, totally oblivious. So I gave Eddie a nod to continue.

  ‘Mind you! It would have been even better if that baker in the main street hadn’t let us down with her surprise birthday cake.’ Remarked Eddie.

  Big Joe’s ears pricked up at this and he suddenly looked over.

  ‘How come, what happened with her birthday cake?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Oh! They tried to make out that the cake was never delivered from the factory, so we didn’t have one for her. The lying bastards – they probably forgot to bake it!’ Eddie replied.

  Now I’m sitting there and acting like nothing has happened and not paying too much attention to the conversation. However, Joe was kicking me under the table and pulling facial expressions at me.

  He then asked Eddie, ‘So what was her name then?’

  ‘Who, the birthday girl? Margaret, Margaret Brown! Why, do you know her?’ asked Ed
die convincingly.

  Joe couldn’t contain himself. ‘Margaret?’ he said, as he started sniggering and laughing nervously, spraying some of the contents of the food in his mouth, all over the table in front of him, while trying to attract my attention with the utmost subtlety. Not!

  As for me, I’m playing it very cool, taking absolutely no notice at all and pretending to read a newspaper.

  ‘Did you hear that Harry?’ asked Joe. ‘Her birthday cake went missing and was never delivered to the shop.’ he continued with his nervous laughter.

  Without looking up from my paper, I replied, ‘And what do you want me to do about it? Call Delia Smith? By the way, I don’t think it’s that funny Joe! How would you like to turn up at a surprise birthday party being held in your honour and they don’t even have a cake for you! Ye’re a bit sick, if you think that’s remotely funny!’

  Eventually, Joe couldn’t contain himself any longer, or his nervous sniggering and had to leave the canteen, as the tears in his eyes, with laughing, began to blind him, coupled with choking on his food.

  After he left, Eddie and I had a right good old chuckle at his expense and how well the wind up had gone. However, it didn’t finish there and when I went to the car to join Joe and resume our duty, he said, ‘What do you make of that then? That was Margaret’s birthday cake you took for yer boy! How rotten can you get?’

  ‘What are you on about?’ I said.

  ‘Eddie’s old neighbour, it was her cake you took.’ he replied.

  I shook my head, ‘Don’t be stupid Joe – it was only a wind up!’

  ‘Was it fuck! Ye canny kid me. He was serious about that birthday cake. He knew all about it!’ replied a convinced Joe.

  ‘Naw!’ I said, shaking my head. ‘We were winding you up. I set it up with Eddie before you came into the canteen!’

  ‘I doubt it very much, Harry. I’m not that gullible. He knew too much about it and he was even at her party!’ he responded seriously.

  ‘Of course he knew about it, but it was because I told him what to say. We set you up, ya big diddy!’ I repeated.

  ‘Naw, naw, naw, he wasn’t kidding there, he was genuine. Crikey! He even said it himself – he was at the party with his wife! I suppose his wife is lying too?’ replied Joe, still totally convinced a party had taken place involving this woman called Margaret.

  ‘There wasn’t any birthday party – it was a joke, I made it all up with Eddie to fool you.’ I reiterated.

  However, try as I might, I couldn’t convince Big Joe it was a set-up, or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit he was that stupid and was duped so easily!

  On another occasion, while we were working together, I asked Joe, ‘Do you know where the saying, “What’s up Doc?” comes from?’

  ‘Yeah I do!’ he replied. ‘Bugs Bunny, of course!’

  ‘Wrong!’ I said. ‘It comes from a film called Gunfight at the OK Corral, where Wyatt Earp and his brothers have a shoot out with the Clanton family. Ward Bond played the part of Virgil Earp and Victor Mature played Doc Holliday, who was suffering from tuberculosis and was coughing up blood into his handkerchief. As he did so, Ward Bond looked over toward him and asked, “What’s up Doc”!’

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ I answered totally convincingly. ‘I won a pub quiz with that answer.’

  Later that evening, as I entered the front office, the station assistant immediately confronted me, ‘Here Harry, do you know where the saying, “What’s up Doc?”, comes from?’

  ‘Aye – me!’ I promptly replied. ‘I was winding Big Joe up and told him it was Doc Holliday. He believed me and told you, am I right?’

  ‘Ye’re right!’ he replied, ‘He told me he had read it somewhere!’

  Not only was Joe gullible, but the big diddy was also a big liar!

  The Cigar Man

  …

  Big Deke was a colleague of mine in the motorcycle section.

  I say big, because he was six foot five in height and when he walked, he was very self-conscious about it and tended to stoop. He was a good guy, but gave the impression of being quite a dour and unfriendly character. Coupled with his deep-set eyes, he had an intimidating appearance, suffice to say you would rather he was on your side than against you.

  It was a regular occurrence for all the police motorcyclists to meet up at 3 pm every weekday, in the canteen of the police training school in Oxford Street, prior to carrying out our parking ticket duties, or ‘radial routes’, as it was better known.

  Due to Big Deke’s size and appearance, nobody ever played any practical jokes or tricks on him, but he would laugh wholeheartedly at everyone else, when his partner ‘Stook’, played a practical joke on some of the others. With this in mind, I decided to test Big Deke for his sense of humour, when he was the victim of the joke.

  Deke wasn’t a cigarette smoker, but was partial to the odd cigar. Now the exploding cigarettes were a regular thing with the rest of the guys, but an exploding cigar had never been done so, prior to going to the training school one day, I made a quick detour and stopped off at Tam Sheppard’s joke shop in Queen Street in Glasgow city centre.

  I told Tam what I was wanting and he supplied me with this genuine-looking top-of-the-range mega-cigar. This new type was just in and he hadn’t even tried them out himself yet, but he guaranteed me it was a cracker, pardon the pun! There was no way Big Deke could resist it!

  When I arrived at the canteen, most of the other bikers were already seated around a table, sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. So I casually pulled a chair over and sat directly opposite Deke. I then nonchalantly produced the cigar from my pocket and was slowly, but deliberately unwrapping it as Deke looked on.

  ‘That looks a beauty, wee man, have you anymore?’ asked Deke.

  ‘Nope, sorry.’ I replied. ‘I only have the one and it’s Cuban.’ I then paused for a moment before continuing, ‘But if somebody wants to give me a cigarette, you can have the cigar!’

  Quick as a flash and totally unrehearsed, Deke’s partner Stook took a cigarette packet from his jacket pocket and threw it over to me, saying, ‘Here you go, Harry, have one of them and give Deke the cigar.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, handing the cigar to Deke, who accepted it gratefully.

  I then sat back in my chair to watch his reaction to what was about to happen, as he confidently sniffed at it, then wrapped his big horrible lizard-like tongue around it to dampen it down, in order for it to burn slower.

  His partner Stook put his lighter to the cigar as Deke sooked on the end of it several times before he satisfied himself it was properly lit. He then relaxed back in his chair, puffing away ecstatically.

  ‘How’s that then?’ asked Stook.

  ‘Superb! You can’t beat a good cigar!’ he said, viewing it in his hand. ‘Rolled on the bare thighs of a beautiful half-naked Cuban woman – it ranks up there with an orgasm.’

  ‘That good! Maybe I should have smoked it myself then.’ I remarked.

  Little did he know that this particular cigar was probably rolled on the bare arse of a Guy Fawkes look-a-like and he was about to experience an entirely different thrill!

  After several more puffs, Deke was really settling down to enjoying his big ‘orgasmic’ Cuban cigar and had just put it back up to his mouth, tempting his lips, when – BANG! – the end of the cigar blew up in a small explosion.

  I couldn’t contain myself, as I burst out laughing, with several others around the table joining me in laughter at the look of surprise on his face, as his deep-set eyes almost popped out their sockets.

  ‘Now you can say you’ve had a Cuban blow job!’ said Davy Holland.

  However, fare dues to the big man, who did get a fright, but accepted it in good humour, as a practical joke.

  ‘Were you part of this as well?’ he asked Stook, who had, after all, supplied me with the cigarette and Deke with a light.

  ‘No!’ h
e replied, shaking his head unconvincingly. ‘Definitely not!’

  As the laughing died down and not about to ruin a good cigar, Stook cut off the end that was damaged and handed the cigar back to Deke. He then provided him with another light. Before putting it to his mouth and puffing on it again, Deke enquired, ‘Are you sure it’s alright this time?’

  Before I could respond, Stook spoke up, answering for me,

  ‘Aye! They’re just the same as the cigarette ones we bought – they only bang the once!’

  Well that’s what he thought – and me, I might add.

  Deke again sat back in his chair, puffing away as most of us around the table, particularly myself, watched with great interest.

  ‘What are you all looking at?’ he said. ‘If you missed it the first time around then too bad. I don’t get caught out twice!’

  That’s what he thought!

  With perfect timing, he took a lingering puff on his cigar when – BANG!!

  This time, he got an even bigger fright, and this time he wasn’t laughing. He pushed backwards on his chair, sliding along the tiled floor, and threw the cigar as far away as he could.

  As it landed on the floor – BANG!!! – It went off again.

  He then turned to Stook and said, ‘Ya sleekit big bastard, you’re out of order doin’ that!’

  Stook shook his head and tried to defend himself that he had nothing to do with it, but Deke was convinced Stook had been involved in specially arranging it.

  Davy Holland couldn’t resist adding to the mix by saying, ‘C’mon Stook, come clean. It couldn’t have worked without your involvement!’

  ‘He’s right! You provided Harry with a cigarette and gave me a light twice – you set me up and I know it! You were too quick to give him a fag!’ he said.

  No matter how much Stook tried, he couldn’t convince Deke that he had no involvement and I certainly wasn’t going to help him get out of it.