Aubrey! Junior Guardian Angel. Sergeant Pilgrim And Constable 581H

Short Story with factual base!

          I started off in a very  minor way! Well guardian angels have ladders to

climb and lessons to learn, just as their human charges do. When I was "Aubrey, Junior Guardian Angel, Lower Sphere" the humans I looked after were quite average.  They were hopeful, potentially great but really just average stock!

 

          In 1970 I was permitted only two persons to guard!  The Man upstairs gives junior angels limited powers! I was very junior.  All I could do to my wards was to push their conscience, pressure-buttons in moments of crisis!  Pressure buttons are two fold. Firstly there is the  'Do the right thing button' and then the 'Listen you might learn something button.'  No miracles, no magic and most certainly no interfering with free will! 

 

          My two human endeavourers were a certain grocer's daughter born in Grantham, Lincolnshire!  Most Britons know what happened to her!  I sometimes ask, "Did I fail or succeed?"  History is still working that answer out!

 

          My younger charge was a certain Police Constable 581H. He worked at Bow Road Police Station in East London  and was a mere 20 years old.  I don't think he came to much in the end. 

 

          I do recall vividly one particular moment in his life. Never did one man learn so much in so few seconds. I confess 'Aubrey Junior Guardian Angel Lower Sphere" learned a lot too. It is so strange that even in my twilight angel years I recall more about that young constable than some of my later, famous, subjects. Modesty forbids I should mention them by name. 

 

          I shall reveal this single short incident for the curious. Firstly I should explain how the Metropolitan Police System of drunkenness management worked in those days which I should add were not long after the second world war conflict!

 

          Homelessness and drunkenness are wretched bedfellows. The harsh decades prior to 1970s had spawned countless alcoholics.  Vagrants who filled the Petty Session Magistrates Courts every weekday and Saturday!

 

           "Twenty shillings or 1 day!" was the usual magistrate's sentence, meaning the immediate release of the man or woman.  Released out and free, straight back into the ever open arms of the bottle.

 

            Metropolitan Police Officers would soon arrest the same drunks, again. Then detain the same drunks in police cells, again. The drink filled vagrants being rowdy, maybe violent or found collapsed in public places. It is sad but true Police cells and Police canteens provided the only warmth, sleep and food that the human creatures were likely to get!

 

             This fearful, cyclical life of post war vagrants lasted until the friendless chill of the hospital or public mortuary claimed their exhausted corpses.

 

              Vans called Black Moriahs ferried drunks by the dozen to busy Police Stations. Drunk men and women were searched, identified, recorded and left to sleep it off in cells that contained up to ten persons.  Vomit, excreta and stench challenged the Police and particularly the Police Station cleaners. Most Police Stations had their own special mortuary smell. 

 

              Individual officers felt differently about the nation of drunken vagrants that moved around East London!  There was some banter and laughter between arrester and arrested.  Mostly drunks were considered to be a never ending parade of nuisance offenders, a great waste of time.  Constable 581H owned, in connection to the drunks, the very stereotype of the unconcerned then irritated Police Officer of his day. He was subjected to Guardian Angel care status because he was not open to corruption. This because he had been well brought up. The Man upstairs was convinced 581H had  good potential.

 

             I say in contrast, the young Probationer Constable was very stupid in other ways.  He liked practical jokes, rugby, parties and alcoholic drink!  The latter fact somehow overlooked among the distain he sometimes extended to the drunken prisoners. I have to tell you that 581H chose quite naturally the best Police Role Models. On these he anchored his Coppering ways and behaviours!  I did not have to press a single one of his conscience buttons to enable this. At the pinnacle of role models is the redoubtable Police Sergeant 9H David Pilgrim. 

 

              Ah, Pilgrim! Such a man! A man of real integrity, zeal and drive!  Pilgrim was the terror of the local Bow criminal.  A man six feet six inches tall with a huge sense of humour matching his intimidating frame. Pilgrim motivated his constables to arrest criminals and never rest. Every minute of the day was to be used in the apprehension of offenders!

 

               Constable 581H just loved the man! I confess this relationship did make a Junior Guardian Angel's, Lower Sphere, job so much easier.   Confidentially I tell you I suspect Pilgrim was in the charge of a Guardian Angel Upper Sphere! 

 

                 Now the incident I have promised, the scene was set in Bow Police Station! Pilgrim was Station Sergeant filling in the Court Charge Sheets, charging the drunks before sending them to Thames Magistrates Court!  My, Constable 581H, assisted his Sergeant by readying the prisoners! In front of David Pilgrim sat a wiry, gasping drunk.

 

                 "William McComisky Hague?"  "Yes Sergeant!" Shouted the drunk in a croaky Scottish voice!  Sergeant David Pilgrim thumbed through a pile of grubby booklets from the drunk's property.

 

                  " Mr Hague have you had breakfast?"  "No Sergeant, someone else ate it" barked the drunk. The Sergeant turned to the Constable. "Off you go 581 and get Mr Hague's breakfast!"  "Sorry Sarge all the prisoners' meals tickets have been used!" came the puzzled reply.  Sergeant Pilgrim took out a ten shilling note from his wallet.  "Off you go constable and buy Mr Hague his breakfast and his tea" he passed the bemused young Constable the bank note.

 

                    Flo the canteen lady provided a most sumptuous breakfast that was served by 581H to the smiling prisoner who enjoyed his meal immensely.  Later William McComisky Hague and eight of malefactors were placed into a van for court and swept out of memory.

 

                     "Why did you spend your own money on that old drunk Sarge?" queried the puzzled Police Constable 581H.  "You saw his books lad?  They were his Merchant Navy Service Records!  They showed William McComisky Hague served in the war. He was on Atlantic and Russian Convoys Lad!  Without men like him you'd be dead or speaking German!"

 

                       Well even a Guardian Angel can be lost for words.  I was too slow to press the Constable's conscience buttons.  Officer 581's eyes were open wide as the information was absorbed.  His face broke into a broad smile, eyes dropping to the floor!

                       

                        Sergeant Pilgrim continued "William Hague worked till 1968 in the Merchant Navy. Working solidly till  his service record book was signed off DR. Now son, this means 'Declined to report,' all his reports had been graded excellent before.  It's called the double DR! Your Captain refuses to grade you and from that moment you are unemployable. It was probably the drink. Remember this, it's cruel and dreadful to see a country that will let a hero come to this."

 

                          From that moment on a subtle change came over the Constable.  It showed in little acts of kindness. He was gentler with the drunks, showing small acts of generosity and even chatting to drunks in the street. Making sure the drunks were breakfasted became important and providing hot tea became an imperative. The biggest change was to treat the men and women in a truly friendly, even in a sincere way.

 

                          Oh yes, Sergeant Pilgrim made a sea change in that officer on that day. As for William McComisky Hague he disappeared unnoticed into history but was indelibly imprinted into the soul of Probationer Police Constable 581H.

 

                            It is so funny that minor incidents such as these lodge themselves in the ephemeral memories of even 'Senior Guardian Angels Upper Sphere', like me.                  

 

            

 

      

 

          

Author's Note

This is basically true! One story out of a million incidents that happened to me.

Reviews

[Pat Nurse]

I do remember those days- just :). They don't make police officers like anymore, unfortunately, and drunks are now heroin addicts including those who served in today's wars like Iraq and Afghanistan. It's a well written thought provoking story. I like the angel as narrator but I don't think you need him. They story starts with "Homelessness and drunkenness are wretched bedfellow.." (which is a lovely line). I think those pars before it are just helping you to work your way into it. If I had to guess which character you are, then I'd plump for PC581H

[Ron]

Thank you so much Pat. I was PC 581H. EMF has left WC. Now he's published he has turned posh!

[Pat Nurse]

That's a shame but maybe I'll catch his books or writing somewhere else. Good for him. It will our turn next. :)

[Cherrie Palmer]

What a great story !!! I can not believe I missed it - them old drunks ya got to love'm.
You did a great job letting this story unfold.
You'll never guess but I'm going back to work in mid July of this year for a small County here in Oklahoma.

[Thurston]

What is inhibiting this man from writing his memoirs can only be the sheer volume of his life's experience making his task seem impossible.
Can we tell him how brilliantly observed, how funny, how true, how real to us, how uplifting to us, how much we want to read these memoirs? Would it make any difference. The trouble is, this man still wants to live, not just record, how each day is full of incident and anecdote and joy and tears too, so that to take up the pen with such almighty task ahead as putting his life in a book seems still so shabby to this humble man next to damn well living on and on. Writing can wait, he thinks.
We dont agree.
To read this author's account: "Whacking Down the New Patio" is to learn the incapacitating nature of true laughter upon the dignity of one's person.
Life among the angels of the constabulary...more chapters required post haste.