A Penny for the Guy? - Part Two
Created | Updated Nov 17, 2009
PC 98
The other week I told you about our guy and how much money we made. But do you remember what we did with him afterwards?
While you go back and check, I shall just tell you a few things about my Dad. He joined the Manchester Ship Canal Police in 1953 after his National Service, where he served as a Military Policeman in Triesse, Northern Italy. For the next 16 years Dad's shifts moved him between Eastham – the canal entrance on the river Mersey, Ellesmere Port and Stanlow – the main areas are to offload crude oil into Shell, Burmah, Esso and other refineries that then made up Oil Sites Road between Ince and Ellesmere Port. Also, the MSC was the only private police force outside of the London Dock Police. During the 1970s it was merged with the local police forces along the length of the canal.
During his years of service Dad had to make his rounds on a regular basis. For this, he had to be at certain telephone stations for him to tell the switchboard operator that all was well. The operator would log all the calls and the phone where the call was made – woe betide anyone who was more than 10 minutes late without good reason!
On his rounds, Dad was often accompanied by his faithful Alsatian, Lassie, who had saved him from many a drunken sailor's skirmish... Dad would also leave Lassie with the officer taking over the night shift.
Now, back to our story... Yes, we had left the guy leaning nonchalantly against the wall at the top of the steps near the front door, all 5' 10" of him!
Dad finished his 2 till 10pm shift and made his way home, only lit by one solitary lamp on the roadside near the house. He took the side gate, which would have been almost pitch black at that time of night, and made his way around the house to the front door... Which is where he could just make out the silhouette of a man slumped.
Oh, Dad was used to finding strangers in the gardens to the house, but this was the first time one was stood at his front door!
'Hello. Can I help you, mate?'
No reply.
'What do you want, mate?
No reply.
Now Dad was becoming concerned, as this could be a trick and others could be hiding in the darkness of the trees. His mind was whirring as he worked out the best strategy for dealing with this situation.
- He could attempt to go back and get Lassie from the Police Office across the road.
- He could bring out his wooden truncheon (stop laughing at the back there!), and also use his torch.
Why hadn't he thought of that before?!!?
Fast thinker, my Dad! So, he began to draw his truncheon, and as he reached for his torch he said:
'Come along, lad! It's getting late. Do you need help?'
Still no reply!
Carefully moving up the steps until he was facing the man, Dad quickly beamed the torchlight into the man's face and...
Well, I can't tell you what Dad actually said, because it wouldn't get past the profanity filter!
The next morning, we were gruffly told to 'shift it from the steps', so we dragged the guy to the embankment behind the old stable block and began to build our bonfire.
Finally, the great day was here! We had loads of fireworks, and Mum and Dad had invited lots of their friends and families around to share with us, most of them were other policemen Dad worked with. When it came to placing the guy on the bonfire, there was a lot of loud laughter from Dad's workmates:
'No wonder you nearly cr@pped yourself, Arthur. That's one hell of a size!' laughed Uncle Eric.
Dad grinned and heaved the guy on top of the bonfire and lit it. Mum had placed lots of potatoes around the edges, and as the night wore on we had wonderfully hot jacket potatoes to keep us warm.
Eventually, all us children were put to bed in the house, while the adults continued with their party. That £10 went a long way!
