The Last Night on the Beat

by Harry Morris

  As I quietly slipped out of the canteen, Stook was still pleading his innocence but to no avail!

  Not only did I get Big Deke, but I also managed, through his eagerness to help out, to deflect the blame onto his partner Stook!

  Good one Harry boy!

  Something’s Missing!

  …

  While on police patrol at a busy shopping centre, I was walking about, speaking with some of the shoppers, when I saw a buxom young female coming toward me with one of her breasts blatantly exposed and protruding from her blouse for all to see.

  I reacted immediately and took her to one side and asked her to explain this totally unsociable behaviour.

  The young woman, stared at me for a moment, then a look of complete horror came over her face and with her eyebrows were raised, she blurted out in all sincerity, ‘Shit! I’ve left my wean up in the canteen!’

  It’s A Knockout!

  …

  One night my regular neighbour on the Shawlands Cross beat was off on long-term sick leave and they organised a senior cop from the Gorbals police office, to attend and partner me. Now the cop detailed, was a good guy called Roy Dunsmore, who had great experience and just happened to be a former boxer.

  Roy had a good sense of humour and a likeable way of dealing with members of the public, who had drunk more than they could hold and were becoming a nuisance, to everyone in the near vicinity.

  Such was the case on this particular night, when we encountered two spoiled brats, who were set on trying to enter a local night club.

  The stewards, or bouncers as they used to be referred to, refused them entry. As this was obviously something they were not accustomed to, they were name calling the stewards and becoming totally argumentative towards them.

  On seeing what was developing, Roy and I went over and intervened and Roy put his arm around one of their waists and pulled him gently aside, ‘C’mon now boys, I think you’ve had a good night and drunk your last pub dry. So, how about heading home to your bed and sleeping it off?’

  The one that Roy was holding onto began to struggle free and said,

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are talking too? I don’t drink, so you can apologise to me right now!’

  Slightly bemused by this statement, Roy replied, ‘Well you both do a good impersonation of a pair of Muppets for somebody who doesn’t drink!’

  ‘Are you deaf?’ Said the other brat, butting in. ‘He said he doesn’t drink!’ And leaning over to look at Roy’s shoulder insignia number, he said sarcastically, ‘Cuntstable!’ Then they both began giggling and laughing like a pair of nursery-school children.

  Roy’s attitude changed right there and then. ‘Okay boys, you’ve had your fun, now I’m telling you both to move along.’

  They both looked at Roy intently for a moment, before bursting out laughing again. This was not a very good idea! Not in front of Roy, that’s for sure!

  ‘I think you pair of mummy’s boys better head for home and not say any more!’ Roy warned them.

  The first one replied rather indignantly, ‘Who are you calling “mummy’s boys”? I’ll get you the sack, you pleb!’ Do you know who my father is?’

  Roy promptly responded, ‘So that’s it, ya wee spoilt bastard. You don’t even know who yer faither is, well, I’m no’ surprised, I wouldn’t own up to it either?’ At that, Roy grabbed both their arms and led them away before releasing them, to walk unassisted.

  ‘Final warning to you boys, go home now!’ He said in a firm voice.

  ‘Who do you think you are, you pig? My family could buy and sell you!’ The first one said, as he lunged forward at Roy, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling at him. Roy shrugged him off, but he was persistent and lunged forward at Roy again.

  Big mistake!

  As nice as you like and as quick as a flash, Roy pulled him around and hit him with a short, sharp, right-hook upper-cut straight to the chin. The spoilt little brat collapsed like a deck of playing cards.

  His legs were like rubber and I had to assist Roy in holding him up. He was slabbering at the mouth, as he tried to talk, but was making absolutely no sense.

  The other brat, quickly sobered up, on seeing his friend collapse.

  ‘What happened to him?’ He asked unaware of what had occurred.

  ‘I think your pal is a wee secret drinker son!’ Roy said. As he sat him down, propping him up against a lamp post on the kerbside pavement. ‘I think it’s gone straight to his head!’

  ‘What will I do?’ He asked pathetically.

  To which Roy replied with great satisfaction, ‘Well if I was you! I’d get a taxi and take him home to Mummy and Daddy, before the same thing hits you as well!’

  Roy then looked at me, winked and said, ‘Know what I mean ’arry?’

  Fishing For Jaws

  …

  When I was a student at the police college, Tulliallan, the pride of place was an amazing six-foot tropical fish tank, containing a wide variety of small shoals of many different shapes, sizes and extremely colourful specimens.

  This wonderful focal point took centre stage in the main entrance of the police college, ‘Crush Hall’, for all staff and visitors to admire.

  At that time my father was also a keen tropical fish enthusiast and I informed the college sergeant of this. The college sergeant had accepted the responsibility of looking after the maintenance of the tank and was busily feeding the fish.

  ‘Well, if he ever has an abundance of fish, tell him I’ll accept any surplus he has for our show piece aquarium!’ he said.

  With this in mind, the following weekend, whilst visiting my parents, I was telling my father about the college aquarium and the request for any surplus fish for their impressive tank.

  As it was, he did have some surplus fish and supplied me with three large tropical species called Oscars!

  With the fish packed safely in a double layer of polythene bags and wrapped in towels to keep the heat in, I made my way back to the police college the following Sunday evening.

  On my arrival, I immediately went to the police instructors’ office, looking for Sergeant Lancaster, in order to present him with the Oscars, to add to his impressive array of tropical fish.

  However, I was informed he would not be returning to the college, until the following morning.

  Armed with my bag of Oscars, I went to the Crush Hall and, opening the tank hood, I placed the bag in the aquarium water, in order to acclimatise the Oscars to what was to be their new surroundings.

  Later the same evening, before I retired to my dormitory for the night, I returned to the aquarium and, opening the bags, I introduced the Oscars to their new abode.

  I watched for several minutes as the new arrivals swam around the aquarium, surveying every inch of their new home, as they settled in.

  Next morning, I arose and headed down to the dining hall for my breakfast convinced that my contribution had earned me some much-needed brownie points at the police college and they would be a good addition and a pleasant surprise for the entire college staff.

  En route, I met Sergeant Lancaster in the corridor as he was arriving and briefly informed him of my new introductions to his show piece tropical fish aquarium.

  ‘Great stuff, Morris!’ he said. ‘I’ll check them out after!’

  A short time later, halfway through my cornflakes and smoked kippers, I swear the college building shook, as a voice screamed out, ‘Morris! Where are you?’

  Not exactly the cheery voice I half expected to hear. I looked over towards the door in time to see a very irate Sergeant Lancaster enter the dining room with steam blowing out of his ears. (that’s an anagram).

  Lancaster by name and Lancaster by nature! This guy was flying!

  What was wrong? I asked myself.

  Apparently, the new arrivals which I had introduced to his prized aquarium, had attacked, massacred and subsequently eaten most of his aquatic fish stock during the night and what they didn’t eat, they maimed or
killed for later, leaving the tank resembling a scene from the Amity beach resort in the film Jaws!

  Which reminds me of a quick joke.

  Q: How did they know that the girl in Jaws had dandruff?

  A: Because, she left her Head and Shoulders on the beach!

  (OK! OK! It was funny at the time.)

  Anyway, there were wee bits of fishy heads, tails, parts of fins and bodies discarded everywhere, floating about the tank.

  ‘What the hell did you put in my beautiful aquarium, it looks like it has been blown up?’ he asked, trying to curb his obvious anger, as his pride and joy showpiece and main foyer focal point, was reduced to what could only be described as a battlefield.

  These Oscars were the Rambo of the aquatic world, and this wasn’t their First Blood.

  As I stood there, trying to summon up an acceptable answer, my nerves got the better of me and I couldn’t prevent myself from laughing hysterically, as I watched one of my fishy friends, swimming effortlessly past, with a large angelfish dangling out of the side of it’s mouth.

  As for Sergeant Lancaster, he didn’t see the funny side and stormed off to his office. The alternative action would have been to batter me or give me a right good dressing down, I think!

  For the rest of my time at the college, I had to maintain a very low profile when around him.

  I also had to endure the endless jokes, ‘Hey, Morris, I’ve got an aquarium at home, do you think you could fillet?’

  ‘Good “Cod” Morris, there’s something “fishy” about you!’ And my particular favourite, ‘Hey, Harry, I heard you went out with a mermaid to a crustacean disco and pulled a “mussel”!’

  With regards to the trio of Oscar fish, well, suffice to say, they went on to clean up and lived happily ever after, in the showpiece aquarium, within the Crush Hall at the police college in Tulliallan. Alone!

  They also continued to grow very big on their seafood diet.

  With my intervention and influence, it became a much safer plaice to be!

  However, I’m reliably informed that since I’ve left, the Tulliallan Police College, there’s been a remake of the Codfather with ‘Marlin’ Brando!

  ‘Fins’ just ain’t what they used to be!

  Night Out, Now and Again

  …

  I worked with big David Toner, who when off duty, became a good friend of mine and we would socialise regularly.

  One night, David and his wife were over at my house for a meal and a few drinks.

  During the evening, my kids had joined us, prior to going to bed, and Samantha, my oldest daughter, asked, ‘Uncle David, do you drink every night?’

  ‘Don’t be silly darling.’ replied David. ‘Apart from the fact that I couldn’t afford it, your Aunt Margaret wouldn’t allow me to!’

  ‘Well, how often do you drink then?’ she asked him.

  ‘Let me think!’ said David, rubbing his chin.

  ‘On a Monday, I go to the police club to play darts … and I’ll maybe have two or three pints – just to steady the nerves.

  ‘Then on a Tuesday, I play billiards at the British Legion Club and I’ll have a couple of pints of Guinness. It’s good in there…

  ‘On Wednesday, I’ll go to the football and maybe have one or two pints … to celebrate or commiserate, depending on the result of the game …

  ‘Thursday, I’ll stay in with your Aunt Margaret and relax with a few gin and tonics …

  ‘Friday, now that’s my snooker club night, so I’ll go for a pint or two with the boys afterwards …

  ‘Then on Saturday, it’s my day at the horse racing, so I’ll usually have a bet on a few horses and afterwards, win or lose, I’ll have a right good bevvy of gin and tonics, washed down with a few beers …

  ‘Then, finally, on Sunday, I usually stay in with a carry-out and watch the highlights of the Rugby on television.

  ‘So, the answer to your question, Samantha, is probably “Yes”! But in saying that, you would have to agree, I do like my Sport!’

  All For a Packet of Crisps

  …

  The other night, I called in at my local pub and taking a seat on the stool at the bar, I ordered up a pint of heavy and a packet of crisps.

  I sat there for several moments, eating crisps, drinking and reading my newspaper, when an older man entered the pub along with a large Rottweiller dog and occupied the bar stool next to me, where he commanded his dog to lie down on the floor beside him before ordering up a drink.

  I was very impressed by the obedience of his dog in reacting immediately to his command and looked down at it. As I was looking at this monster of a dog, it put it’s head between it’s hind legs and began to lick it’s own testicles.

  I jokingly remarked that I would love to be able to do that!

  To which the owner replied, ‘If you give him one of your crisps, he might let you!’

  Fun With the Buses

  …

  Several years ago, whilst still a serving police officer, my younger brother Hughie was a Corporation Passenger Transport Driver. In layman’s terms, he drove a big orange and green double deck bus about the housing schemes of Glasgow, picking up and dropping off passengers.

  It was the practice of all drivers employed on the buses, to save money throughout the year and hold a special sports-night competition, with free alcohol and buffet for all involved. They would acquire a local social club and make the necessary arrangements for their free night of entertainment with monetary rewards, along with trophies for the winners. Through my younger brother Hughie, I got to know a lot of the drivers and on these special occasions, I would receive an invitation to come along and join in.

  It was 7pm on the Friday night when Hughie arrived in a taxi to pick me up. He was wearing a white suit and T-shirt to match, in total contrast to me, who was wearing a black suit and black T-shirt. Making me resemble a photographic negative of him.

  ‘Change your suit Hughie!’ I told him.

  ‘No way!’ he said, ‘I look like Brian Ferry in this suit!’

  ‘I don’t know about Brian but you definitely look like a “fairy” that’s for sure.” I remarked.

  Anyway, Hughie was not for changing his new look, so off we went on our ‘Sports’ night out looking like the new Randall and Hopkirk Deceased! On our arrival, the committee members who ran the entire event handed out raffle tickets, five at a time, to the assembled drivers, who were present. Each raffle ticket handed over at the bar, was the equivalent of one drink, therefore, five raffle tickets equalled five pints of heavy or lager or any spirit you cared to order.

  As the committee member carried out the distribution of tickets, at intervals of every fifteen minutes, he would say to me, ‘Sorry Harry, but Hughie will have to share his drink raffles tickets with you!’ Then as he was about to move away, he would turn back and, as subtle as a brick to the head, would press ten raffle tickets into my hand.

  This would annoy Hughie, ‘How come he gave you more drink tickets than me?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’ I said, ‘We’re both going to drink them!’

  ‘Aye, right enough. I’ll go and get them in. Is it rum and coke for sir, with a beer chaser, or are you on the whisky tonight?’

  ‘One thinks one will enjoy the company and hospitality of one’s favourite double act, Mr Whyte and Mr Mackay thank you very much!’

  Off Hughie went to join the queue at the bar armed with our first supply of drink tickets.

  Suddenly a voice rang out across the room, it was Tommy, ‘Are you entering any of the competitions Harry?’

  ‘I might as well.’ I replied. ‘Put me down for the dominoes and pool. I’ve trained all week for this.’

  ‘What about the synchronised swimming event?’ He said jokingly.

  ‘Oh, I think I’ll give it a miss tonight, Tommy, my bikini top has a rip in it anyway!’ I replied.

  During the events of that evening I was beaten at the dominoes, that bloody double six beat me ever
y time. Anyway, I was waiting to take part in the pool games.

  Whilst sitting there, draining every drop of the amber liquid from my refillable glass, with my brother Hughie seated alongside me, a greasy long-haired male appeared. He was wearing a bright blue- coloured jacket with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow so as to reveal several pieces of what looked like barbed wire wrapped ever so ridiculously around his forearm. To crown it off he had a large brass crucifix dangling from his neck. It was that heavy I would reckon that within six months he would resemble the Hunchback of Notre Dame with a dowager’s hump.

  He sat down in the chair beside me and said, ‘So are you on the buses too?’

  ‘No!’ I replied.

  ‘Oh right,’ he said, nodding his head. ‘What do you work at then?’

  ‘I’m a lorry driver.’ I responded.

  His eyes opened wider, ‘A lorry driver? I’ve always wanted to be a lorry driver. What kind of lorries do you drive then?’ He enquired.

  ‘A Scania 110.’ I answered.

  ‘A Scania 110? That’s my favourite lorry of all time. How long is it and how many wheels does it have?’

  Now, at this point I’m thinking, this guy is just out for the day, where’s his psychiatric nurse. He was obviously a lump of wood in an earlier life! Anyway, I turned to Hughie and on seeing my facial expression change, Hughie got up from his seat and walked over to another bus driver friend and said, ‘Here Archie, yer mental brother is annoying oor Harry, so ye better have a word with him and tell him to do a drum roll and “beat it”.’

  As Hughie returned to his seat on the opposite side of me, Archie signalled to his brother to come over and said, ‘See that bloke ye’re talking tae, he’s a polis, so don’t annoy him, awright?’

  Conversation finished, Archie’s brother comes back over and sits down on his seat next to me. He then composed himself, looked both ways and behind himself before staring me right in the face. He then winked and whispered in a low voice out of the side of his mouth.