BEASTLY TALES

THE CONSTABLE

A policeman’s lot is not a happy one.
So why was it so supposed, and why no fun?
Could it be that society was most wary of them?
Unable to avoid them they might split phlegm.
More wary, in fact that they were of thieves.
For most villains will rob you, as one believes,
But coppers want to bang you up in jail,
A most irksome action, that would never fail,
To cause rancour of the “copper” brand,
Their charges are sometimes so underhand.
That one’s initial respect and trust,
Is supplanted by good old-fashioned disgust.
“Have you made your full quota of arrests this week?”
The quota, applies to those brought up before the “beak”.
In other words, they have a goal of arrests,
That they must achieve to fulfil their behests.
To achieve this, evidence they must twist,
A practice that should cease and desist.

If you’re so accosted, don’t take it on the chin,
Do not be compliant if coppers want to “run you” in,
Because, after they have successfully achieved this,
They would want to “bang you up” which isn’t bliss.

“’Ullo, ‘Ullo, ‘Ullo, what we got’ere then?”
Is a supposed constabulary greeting,
Made by coppers on suspicious meeting,
A group of lads loitering in the dark,
Before going off to do holdups in the park.
Now of “hold-ups” we decidedly do not approve,
Nor keeping ‘likely lads’ well on the move.
But dropping one’s “aitches” is quite on the nose,
A bit like accepting that anything goes.

An early copper’s transport was the humble bike,
He could be seen pedalling, rather than hike,
To the suspected scene of a crime,
Blowing his whistle from time to time.
This, supposedly, would instil very great fear,
On villains who happened to be lurking near.
The truncheon was the final piece of the copper’s defence
They were very hefty, indeed immense.
Of course he could scream, “Stop, in the name of the law”,
But that would have been a most tiresome chore.

Constable Plod was a diligent copper,
If you didn’t tow the line you were right for the chopper,
He was walking his beat when he saw an old lag,
Walking the street with his burglar bag
His jemmy and hammer were clanking quite loud,
When he suddenly disappeared into a crowd.
Constable Plod then did blow his whistle
Making honest folk pause, turn and bristle.
He cried out, “Stop, in the name of the law!”
Causing many of the crowd, on hearing this roar,
To freeze on the spot, supposing it was they,
That Constable Plod was addressing in such a way.
“Come quietly, if you value your life”,
And half a dozen lags thought they were in strife.
If was the biggest arrest, all were in accord
So big was it that it made the local nick record.
So Constable Plod (who was a large gent).
For his valour was promoted sergeant.

So Sergeant Plod became even more officious
Arresting folk only mildly suspicious
For a country copper he was now renowned
For behaving quite unacceptably – so he was found
So when on his bicycle he did ride
Folk would see him and run and hide.
His new found power had gone straight to his head
Confused folk began wishing him dead
If, into the pub he did go,
Suddenly there would be a steady flow,
Of patrons wishing to be away quite far,
With Plod sitting alone by the bar,
The Publican would suggest Plod vacate
“Can’t you now see you’ve got not a mate?”
Impervious to such criticism was Plod,
It was true that a lonely path he trod.
Success or Friendship? Friendship or Success?
Plod’s social life was a bit of a mess.
Friendship has it’s value most any day
But Success surely does bring in more pay!

“Evenin’ all!”