Poetry

My favourite thread so far, along with the favourite pictures one of course. Thanks Harry, Ray and Andy for your brilliant contributions. Get well soon Harry, we're all thinking of you and wishing you the best.

No problem, Lyn.   Apart from a week in Ireland, staying at the Clarion Hotel,  Limerick (I will join my wife in visiting her parents' graves, both of whom died some years ago of the dreaded "C"), we will stay with family in Manchester, Kent and Dorset. I hope to visit the Jurrasic coast, Kimmeridge, Tilly whim caves - though I understand they are now closed to the public. At the latter to refresh my memory in keeping with the subject matter of "Cataclysm". I have done much research of the area. John Legge has produced some wonderful books on Dorset.

Regards,

Harry

Sounds like you have a wonderful trip planned, Harry.

May you and your wife have a great time, we look forward to your pictures on your return.

Another short  story for you

A Pivotal Event

 When the young bobby is finally let out on the streets (of London, in my case!), He finds himself on a very steep learning curve.  He realises that many people actually resent him and his uniform; that he is often the subject of physical and verbal abuse, false complaints, and red-tape. He is also under pressure to keep up his tally or arrests, summonses, and cautions.

 He often feels that the only people he can trust are fellow officers. The policeman becomes a ‘black glove’ officer, tough, cynical, and spring loaded to deal with criminals. Sooner or later though, something happens: a pivotal event, which brings him back to earth; makes him feel humble; restores his faith in mankind; and makes him realise that it is so easy to misjudge people and their motives.

 One such event affected me: it was the business with Gerald.

 On routine patrol in a busy area of North London, I became aware of a young lad, who was showing an interest in cars parked along a quiet side street. The lad touched several door handles and cupped his eyes with his hands to look inside.

 I immediately drew back, into a doorway to watch this youth, whom I guessed to be   about 14 years old, more closely. He sauntered along the line of cars, every so often repeating his actions. He was alone. He should have been at school.

 I had seen enough. His actions amounted to me having the power to stop and search him as a ‘suspected’ person.

I left my doorway, adjusted my helmet so that the peak was one inch above my eyes, straight and level, and approached the boy.

 No preamble, ‘I have been watching you. What do you think you are doing’?

 I know you were looking at the cars, don’t get smart with me, you were looking to break into one of them weren’t you?’

 ‘No, no I wasn’t,

 ‘Yes, yes, you were.

 ‘Why were you looking at cars, you have seen cars before haven’t you?’

 ‘Why aren’t you at school? What are you doing here wandering around? Which school do you go to?’

 The boy seemed to have difficulties with these questions. He looked around him, perhaps he was going to try and do a ‘runner.’ I moved closer and held his arm.

I don’t go to school and I am waiting for my Auntie.’

‘What is your Auntie called, where is she then’?

 I don’t know, she is Auntie Broderick’

 ‘What is your name lad’?

 ‘Gerald’

Right Gerald, I am taking you back to the police station with me so we can sort this out OK’? I pulled the Bat-phone off my lapel to ask for a van. Gerald began to cry.

 Just as I was about to transmit my message, a woman approached ‘Ah, there you are Gerald, I told you not to move from where I left you’

‘Ah, Auntie Broderick I presume?’ I said.

‘Well, Sister Broderick actually, I am a Nun. Gerald is a resident at our children’s home. He has learning difficulties, a hole in his heart, and an orphan. He has emotional problems too. You can imagine officer, how glad I am that you have found him for me!’

 My God! I do not think, in my whole life, that I had ever felt worse. I was heartbroken for this lad, and totally disgusted and ashamed of myself for treating him to the ‘tough cop’ routine. I would have given my soul to be able to hit the ‘rewind’ button. Blinded by tears that I tried to wipe away on the blue serge of my sleeve, I said,

‘Gerald, please forgive me. I am so sorry for making you upset’ I could not think of anything else to say that would help.

He had, by this time stopped crying. He looked at me, up and down and said ‘What is it like being a policeman?’

‘Pretty bloody awful at this moment in time’ I thought. I then spoke to his ‘Auntie’ I told her what had happened. I asked her if there was anything I could do to make amends. She said ‘Could you arrange for him to look around the police station?’

To cut a long story short, I spoke to my colleagues and we arranged for him to visit the station for a day; to sit on a police horse, have a ride in a Panda car, try on a helmet and look at the police equipment. Gerald appeared to thoroughly enjoy his visit.

For several years after that, I was a regular visitor at Sister Broderick’s home, the children vying with each other to sit with me for lunch. I used to take Gerald, with my young son, to see his football team play. We spent several years in contact until I moved way from London.

 The sequel:

 After moving from London, I did not hear from Sister Broderick for quite a long time. One day she phoned me to say that Gerald had become involved in criminal activities with a local gang, and he no longer lived at her home. ‘You cannot win them all!’ She said.  

 Ray Stear.

Beautiful, Ray.  Definitely a heart string tugger.  You seem to have a tender heart for troubled children.  And your writing is wonderful.  Thanks for sharing these with us.

Ruth

Well Harry, I hope you and your wife have a great time when you get over here.

Great story Ray!

Sigh....how sad, Ray.  He didn't make it then? :(.  What a beautiful story. I agree with Ruth, you really are a softie  (but i like the way she put it better :).  Keep writing !