by Harry Morris
Bert quickly rushed over to a window at the side of the Tavern to try and observe what was taking place with Johnny, before returning to the police car.
As they both waited patiently outside, Johnny appeared in full view, larger than life, walking toward them like a free man, albeit for a brief moment, from the door of the Tavern, carrying three tins of Pale Ale.
He walked straight over to the unmarked police car handed them over to Donald.
Donald took possession of the beers, but a look of disappointment came over his face, as he looked at Bert and said.
‘Tin opener! No tin opener. How are we going to open them?’
‘Not a problem’. Said Johnny, interrupting him, he placed his hand inside his jacket pocket and handed over a small metal tin opener. ‘It was lying on the bar just asking to be lifted!’
‘Johnny!’ Donald said. ‘You’ll get us all the jail for stealing!’
Taking it from him, Bert opened each tin and handed them out.
As Donald took a swig from his can he couldn’t hide his obvious pleasure.
‘Ahhh! That’s brilliant, but in all honesty, I would have preferred to drink it from a cool pint glass, rather than out a tin!’
No sooner had Donald uttered these words, when Johnny produced two pint tumblers from the inside pocket of his jacket.
As Donald and Bert looked at him for an explanation, Johnny replied dismissively, ‘They were also lying on the bar just asking to be lifted!’
A short time later, their thirst fully quenched, they continued with their duty of escorting ‘gentleman’ Johnny Ramensky to his final home, HMP Peterhead.
Donald just loved telling that story about him, Bert and Johnny.
Several months after our meeting that night, sadly, my former police colleague Donald Lindsay passed away peacefully in his nursing home in Glasgow.
All Bets Are Off
…
‘Tank’ was a ‘scrap metal man’ and likeable rogue from the Bridgeton area of Glasgow, who received some unexpected bad news when visiting the Cardiology Department of the Royal Infirmary for a check-up.
It appeared he was required to undergo immediate triple heart bypass surgery and the doctor wanted him admitted no later than the following day.
Tank informed some of his close friends regarding his news and the following scenario, is the reaction he received from his old Bridgeton buddies.
‘Gonnae gi’es yer motor? Seeing that ye’ll probably die during the operation!’ Remarked Wee Dougie.
‘Naw, ah will not!’ Replied a confident Tank.
‘Ye might. It’s a serious operation that bypass.’ Came back Dougie.
‘Nae chance!’ Said Tank, lighting up a cigarette. ‘I’m as strong as a hoarse!’
‘Right then!’ Said Dougie. ‘I’ll bet you, ye die in the operating theatre!’
‘I’ll bet ye I frigging don’t!’ Replied a confident Tank.
‘Ye’re on. Ah say ye will and you say ye won’t. How much?’ Enquired Dougie.
‘I’ll bet ye a Tenner!’ Said Tank. (That’s £10.00 in money)
‘Ye’re on!’ Replied Dougie.
At that, they both licked their thumbs and rubbed them together sealing the £10 bet.
A couple of days later, Tank underwent his triple bypass operation.
Afterwards, he was wheeled out into the recovery room before being admitted into the intensive care unit for observation.
Wee Dougie, on hearing Tank had gone through his operation, contacted Tank’s wife and enquired how he was and asked if he could visit him in Hospital.
Tank’s wife informed Dougie that the operation had gone well and that he was in the ICU, but visiting was restricted to close family members only.
Wee Dougie was concerned about his good friend and decided to con his way into the hospital ward, to pay Tank a visit and see for himself.
As he arrived at the ICU, he informed the nursing staff that he was there to visit his older brother and was directed down to the far end of the ward, where Tank was.
Dougie, slightly apprehensive as to how is old friend would be, began his slow walk down the ward towards Tank.
As he got closer to the bed, he could see several metal stands and bright monitors all around him, with various tubes leading from them, going into Tank’s body where he is lying with his head to one side and his eyes closed, apparently asleep.
On seeing all this highly technical monitoring equipment, Dougie nervously bent over the hospital bed to look at Tank’s face and, as he did, Tank opened one eye, looked straight at Dougie’s face, put his hand out in front of him and with total conviction said, ‘TENNER!’
Who Was That?
…
Whilst working within the police motor vehicle garage at the start of my traffic patrol officer career, I was being shown all the various parts of a car engine, what can go wrong and how to repair it. Like I was remotely interested!
However, later the same day, I was finished my shift and walking down to the end of the garage, when the wall telephone started ringing.
The garage sergeant shouted, ‘Do me a favour Harry and answer that!’ So I went over and picked it up and the following is what took place.
‘Helen Street police garage, can I help you?’
‘Yes you can,’ replied the caller. ‘You can tell me what is happening with the nightshift superintendent’s car?’
‘I’m sorry mate, but I have absolutely no idea what’s happening with it!’ I replied.
To which the caller responded, ‘Do you know who you are speaking with?’
No!’ I replied, before adding. ‘So who am I speaking to?’
‘You are speaking with Superintendent White!’ He said in a voice of authority.
I paused for a moment, and then asked him, ‘And do you know who you’re speaking to!’
‘No I don’t’, he answered.
To which I replied, ‘Good!’ And promptly put the telephone down.
As I walked away, the garage sergeant enquired, ‘Who was that Harry?’
‘Wrong number sarge!’ I replied, before quickly walking off.
The Heilan’ Coo!
…
A few years ago, back in the days of the City of Glasgow Police Force. A newly promoted, young and ambitious inspector arrived at the Gorbals police office on a whim, like the proverbial new broom.’
One day, he called for the older and more experienced sergeant on his shift to come into his office.
‘Willie,’ he said, ‘Have you ever heard of a female from the Govanhill area of Glasgow, nick-named the “Heilan’ Coo”?’
The elderly sergeant thought for a moment, shook his head and said, ‘Can’t say I have. Why? Should I?’
‘Well,’ said the Inspector, ‘I have it on good authority that this particular female is allegedly, allowing uniformed police officers to frequent her house in order to drink alcohol and sample her sexual favours!
‘Och, I don’t believe that for one minute.’ replied the sergeant rather dismissively.
‘Well that’s what I’ve heard.’ said the inspector. ‘But we’ll leave it meantime until I have something concrete to go on!’
A few weeks later, the inspector received further information relative to the inquiry he was making and this time there was an address to go with it.
He rushed into the sergeant’s room and ecstatically announced.
‘Quick, Willie, come with me – I’ve got an address to check out. I think it could be the house belonging to the Heilan’ Coo.’
Both Supervisors left the office and made their way down the road on foot.
Finally, they arrived outside a large red sandstone tenement building in the Govanhill area of Glasgow.
Confirming the address written down in his notebook, he said, ‘This is it!’
He appeared very excited by this news and as they both entered the close entrance, he said, ‘It’s on the first landing to the right Willie.’
Upstairs they we
nt, whereby the Inspector knocked on the door.
A moment or two passed, before the door was eventually opened by a small, dirty-faced little boy, who on seeing the police officers standing there in full uniform, stood staring back at them.
Then, a female voice, with a broad South Uist accent, called out from inside the house. ‘Well! Who is it William?’
Too which the small boy confidently replied, It’s my uncle Willie, wi’ another wan o’ his pals!’
Timex Watch
…
My neighbours are two cute young lesbians, who asked me what I would like for my birthday. I was quite surprised, when they gave me a Timex! It was very nice of them, but I’m pretty sure that they misunderstood me, when I said: ‘I just wanna watch!’
Talking Too Much!
…
Jimmy and I were away with the Traffic police football team to Edinburgh for a Scottish cup game, after which, one of the opposing team was looking for a lift into Glasgow.
‘Jimmy and Harry are going your way, they’ll give you a lift, won’t you guys? The inspector said. Reluctantly, we agreed to his request.
All the way back, our unwanted passenger sat in the rear with his head between our front seats, talking non-stop crap.
Every now and then, whilst driving along the M8 motorway, I would look at Jimmy and make a sign with my eyes. Convinced we were on the same wavelength, I suddenly indicated and pulled onto the hard shoulder, prior to our exit road.
‘What’s up Harry?’ Jimmy asked.
‘The motor behind was flashing me. I think I might have a problem at the back of the car.’
‘Do you want me to get out and check it for you?’ Asked our chatty volunteer.
‘Would you mate!’ said Jimmy
‘No problem.’ At that he got out the car and as he walked to the rear of the car to check … I promptly drove off, leaving him behind.
Whereby, we both laughed uncontrollably all the way home!
The Polis Interpreter
…
A Chinese man was apprehended and conveyed to the police station, suspected of theft and credit card fraud.
During the subsequent interview regarding the charges which he had been brought in for, the Chinese man deliberately gave the impression to the arresting officers that he could not speak or understand any words of English, although he had lived in the UK for more than twenty years.
The arresting officers were convinced their suspect was deliberately delaying proceedings and could understand and speak English fluently.
However, the duty inspector intervened and informed the arresting officers that they would require to follow police proceedings by the book and contact an interpreter for their Chinese suspect, to inform him of his legal rights, before they could proceed any further.
One of the cops then went through to the front office to call the force control room, in order to contact an interpreter to attend.
Whilst he was doing this, Gerry Docherty, a uniformed cop, approached him and asked, ‘Who jailed wee Sammy Wang?’
‘I did!’ replied the young cop, ‘but the bugger doesn’t speak a word of English, so the inspector wants me to get an interpreter from Pitt Street for him.’
‘Whit? Don’t bother phoning Pitt Street,’ said Gerry, ‘I know Sammy very well – I’ll interpret for him!’
‘Oh, brilliant Gerry, do you speak Mandarin?’ asked the young cop.
‘Not really.’ Gerry replied. ‘But I eat a lot of Chinese grub, so I think that qualifies me to be able to speak in Sammy’s language!’
Gerry then accompanied the young cop along the corridor to the interview room where Sammy was sitting. On seeing Gerry enter the room, Sammy’s eyes lit up and he sat upright in his seat, whereby Gerry promptly slapped him across the head.
‘So all of a sudden you don’t speak English, Sammy?’ asked Gerry. ‘Well let’s try and help you with some useful tips.’ At that he gave Sammy an almighty thump, knocking him clean off his chair and as he was preparing to do so again, Sammy screamed out, ‘All light! All light! I speak the f*cken Engrish, no need to take it so seliously, it was just a joke!’
Gerry then turned to the arresting cops and said, ‘There ye go boys, he just needed a wee reminding that he has a perfect understanding of the Engwish language.’ He then imitated Sammy. “Would you rike flied lice wiff your charge?’
As Gerry left the interview room, he was met in the corridor by the Duty Inspector who asked, ‘What’s all the commotion?’
‘Nothing to concern you Inspector, I was just giving Sammy a crash course in English in order to save time and the added expense of an interpreter!’
This was achieved not only by Gerry’s local knowledge and understanding of the language, but more importantly, knowing how to interpret and administer it properly.
Nothing to do with the police manual or, political correctness, much to the annoyance of the duty inspector.
However, Gerry added that it helps considerably, if you eat regularly in the Chinese Restaurant where Sammy works as a waiter and therefore, know him personally!!
Got A Light Mate!
…
Stuart Bailey was a former colleague of mine from Lanarkshire who liked a dram and a cigarette.
One evening he was standing in his local pub, prior to the No Smoking ban, having a quiet drink, and had just lit up a cigarette, when a stranger, standing at the bar next to him, holding a cigarette in his hand, asked Stuart, ‘Excuse me, mate, do you have a light there please?’
Stuart, looked him straight in the eye, and replied, ‘Yes I do thanks!’ At that, he turned away with his back to him.
The stranger then tapped Stuart on the shoulder and asked, ‘Well, do you think you could give me a light please?’
Stuart turned around to face the stranger and said, ‘Naw! I’m not giving you a light! Now bugger off!’
The stranger remarked, ‘There’s no need to be so rude! After all, I was only asking you for a light for my cigarette!’
Stuart responded to this remark by saying, ‘Is that right mate? Whit’s your name?’
The stranger answered, ‘It’s Richard, but my friends call me Dick for short!’
‘Well Dick “for short”, just let me analyse your request for a moment. Now, you’re asking me to give you a light for your cigarette, is that correct?’
‘That’s correct!’ confirmed Dick.
Stuart continued with his analysis, ‘Right then! So, I give you a light and you offer me a cigarette as a polite gesture and I take the cigarette off you. Next thing is, we start talking. Y’know, the usual pish! Where are you from? I’ll ask and you’ll reply, “Oh, I’m from such and such a place, but I’m just up here on business,” and we’ll get right involved in conversation.
‘Then I’ll go to buy a drink for myself and I’ll feel obliged to ask you if you want one and you’ll say, “Yes please, Stuart, I’ll have a whisky and a half-pint of lager.” And while I’m getting them in, you’ll give me a fag and I’ll give you another light.
‘Then it’ll be your turn to order up the drinks and so on and so forth and we’ll both end up totally pished.
‘So I’ll ask you how you got over here? And you’ll reply, “Oh I drove over in the car, I’m staying in a hotel in Glasgow.”
‘Then I’ll feel terrible for getting you so drunk and I’ll say, “Well you cannae drive yer car like that, Dick,” and I’ll invite you back to my house, which is within walking distance o’ the pub, for a cup o’ coffee and when we get back there, my missus will take one look at your face and say to me, “Stuart! You cannae let that Dick drive a car in that condition, we better let him stay the night and sleep it off!”
‘So I’ll invite you to stay the night and sleep it off. But there’s a slight problem with that synopsis, Dickie boy. You see, my house only has two bedrooms – the missus and I sleep in one and my innocent, gorgeous, voluptuous, seventeen-year-old daughter Britney, sleeps in the other one.
> ‘So you, Dickie my boy, would have to get yer head down for the night on the sofa in the lounge, with the spare duvet o’er ye. And sure as shite in a wean’s minging nappie, during the night, ya randy bastard, yer old hormones will start twitching and ye’ll get up and go for a wander about the house, with yer aroused boaby sticking oot in front o’ ye, like a divining rod, leading the way.
‘Lo and behold, you’ll go sneaking upstairs into my innocent, gorgeous, voluptuous, seventeen-year-old daughter Britney’s bedroom for a gander at her pure lily-white, untouched body, and while she’s lying there like a wee angel, in a deep sleep, ye’ll slip into bed beside her and have yer evil end away!
‘My innocent young virgin daughter will be totally oblivious to this and just think she’s been having her first sexually explicit erotic dream during the night, having never met you.
‘Next morning, the wife and I will get up out of bed and discover that you Dickie my boy have buggered off in a fast black intae Glesca afore we’re even down the stairs.
‘Oh aye, and another thing – my wife will be so worried about you, she’ll say, “I wonder what time that Dick got up this morning?” and, “I hope that Dick had some breakfast afore he left the house?” and best of all, Dick must have been aroused early, I just hope he wasn’t frozen stiff with the cold during the night?”
‘Aroused? Probably. Frozen? Maybe – Stiff? Most definitely!’
‘Nothing else will be said and I’ll think everything in the garden is rosy. Totally unaware of course, that during the night, you have planted yer family seedlings in my daughters incubator, ya manky bastard!
‘My young, innocent, gorgeous, voluptuous daughter Britney, will suddenly and without trying too hard, gather more weight than Bridget Jones! And instead o’ getting ready for the school prom dance, she’ll look like she’s getting ready to go sumo wrestling with the Wan Hung Lo brothers!
‘Then nine months down the line, guess what? We’re Granny and Grandpa Bailey, to a wee Richard, call me Dick for short, who my once, innocent, gorgeous and voluptuous young daughter Britney has just dropped off at the Royal Maternity Hospital, compliments of a Mr Richard (call me Dick) Boner, who just happens to have done a Lord Lucan!’
