I have just discovered a forgotten folder on my PC and I thought this particular story it contained might inject a little bit of humour to these dull days between Christmas and New Year. I didn't intend to make much of this event but encouraged by my friends who know I'd spent a long time in the army and knew what I was talking about, I have put the facts as they should have been told by the correct end of the horse. This is a clipping from the local newspaper and tells the tale of our gallant force of crime fighters... This is what actually happened... “For God’s sake, chuck the thing out.” A cry heard for the 127,584th time in 29 years since my partner took a dislike to my novelty paper-weight. Well, not wanting to upset her I thought I would do the right thing and get rid of it; “it” being a replica 25lb artillery shell that had been in my possession since 1956. The chain of events which followed are worthy of a script not enacted since the great days of those silent movie stars, the Keystone Cops. Here is my diary of events... It was a dark and stormy night... Actually it was brilliantly sunny, but it doesn’t convey the severity of the ominous events about to unfold... 18:47 Phone the Durham Light Infantry Museum and ask the curator if he would be interested in accepting a replica, nay a Proof artillery shell. This was to prevent any confusion about the condition of the beast. Replica might infer possible working condition, proof on the other hand implies 25lb of inert brass used to check barrel dimensions and handling capabilities of equipment. The 4 inch white painted band around the pointy end is a standard military give away. “Sorry mate, you said the date on the information panel is 12-55 (Dec 1955) it’s a bit post war for us. I suggest you ask the local police if they want it for their “Black Museum” 18:50 The phone at the local cop shop is answered by PC Stewart Planck (known to his mates as Thickassah). “’Ullo, Durh’m Police...” Good evening officer, I’ve just been talking to the curator of the DLI Museum and he advised me to phone you for some advice. “Very wise of ‘im, sir. What can I do for yer?” Well, I’m having a clear out at home and my partner insists I get rid of an object I’ve had for about 50 years. “What type of object, sir?” Well actually it’s a replica military shell or to be more exact, a proof or dummy made to check dimensions... “Right sir, and I don’t suppose you have the replica gun that fires it as well?” Actually I think you’re thinking of the American term of shell. This one is not exactly gun-size...it’s a little bit bigger. “Well then sir, does this mean you have the replica rifle that would fire it? I don’t think you understand what I mean officer. This is a lump of brass made to look like an artillery shell,; it weighs 25lb and the “gun” used to fire these things weighs about a ton. I offered it to the DLI museum and they suggested as its a dummy you could help me get rid of it. I wouldn’t like falling into the hands of someone who could cause a severe panic in a shopping centre or something like that. The penny (or something) finally starts to drop “So what your sayin’ sir is you have in fact got a bomb in your house? Christ NO! It’s a replic.... “Right sir, I’ll ‘ave someone round right away.....click! 18:54 “So what’s happened, says ever caring partner as I wander back into sitting room. I don’t think he quite understood what I meant....They’re sending someone round. At this point I sit down and place my lump of brass on the carpet at my feet and get back to watching the swimming finals on Eurosport. 18:58 Attention is diverted by the reflection of a set ... sorry two sets....no...three sets of blue lights whistling past the front window and parking, as only a policeman in the course of his duty can, anywhere! As first car on the scene, the driver WPC (this hairdo cost £50 so I’ll stay in the car and maintain radio contact with base) Idle, takes charge of the op. Acting Constable Dipstick (five weeks into his training) is sent to find the door. Come in officer. “Right Sir, where’s this bomb?” Sorry officer, I think the constable at the station might have inadvertently started a panic here. This is what I was on about (straining to pick it up off the floor) a replica artillery shell. “Right sir, that’s enough, put it down...” Well its actually harmless except if you drop it on your foot ...ha ha! “PUT IT DOWN SIR....” I change my grip to lower the damn thing. “JUST PUT IT DOWN SIR AND BACK AWAY....” at this point his right hand is moving to his pepper spray cannister. Sure thing officer, but it really is harmless.... Sick of the man’s attitude I playfully drop it the remaining 2 feet on to the carpet. Several things happen at once. Partner shrieks with laughter as our hero tries to fly the 8 feet out of the front door only to find his other two colleagues had gotten 4 feet into the house, turned and reached the door at the same time. A break in the TV program was showing a clip of the forth-coming athletics exactly as the starting pistol was fired. This results in the spontaneous generation of a rapidly expanding cloud of cabbage scented gas as our three heroes squeeze through an opening barley big enough for one. 19:02 Telephone rings. I answer it. Police station controller wanting to speak to officer in charge. Stick head out of door and try to get someone back in to take call. Bit of reluctance there, so I ask what’s its about. Apparently the Bomb Squad have been scrambled from Catterick (2 hours down the motorway) and they need to have directions. 19:04 Stick head back out of door and notice another officer Constable Sealy Buggah has been delegated the task and is fighting his way through a 40 strong crowd of children that has suddenly appeared on my front lawn. 19:05 He arranges to escort the military to the scene from the nearest motorway exit and informs me there will be another call soon from the sergeant of the bombsquad. Of course this was barely audible over the noise of the crowd as he exits stage left across my lawn. 19:06 Acting Constable Dipstick returns with an older officer. Aha! three stripes on his jacket, now we’ll get some sense think’s I. Think again! “Doesn’t look dangerous,” says Sgt Divvie. ‘Y’can never tell with these war-time bombs, sarge” Actually gentlemen, it was made 6 years after the war ended. It is ONLY a brass replica of a shell, you know! Partner pointedly turns up TV volume to hear over the noise. “Best evacuate them then,” say Sgt Divvie. ‘Okay you’s lot, I’m going to have you out of the house,’ says Constable Dipstick already mentally prepared for his Chief Constable’s Examination. 19:09 “You’re joking,” says partner, “ the damn thing’s been knocked over by cats this past 20 years, its fallen down stairs several times and it stood for ten years next to an open coal fire, do you HONESTLY think it might decide its not a lump of brass and go off for your entertainment?” She’s right offic_ ‘Have you ever been blown up by a bomb sir?’ ‘Do you want the responsibility of killing all your neighbours?’ Hey, Kojak...I’m not the one who’s panicking here! 19:15 “Hello Stan.” Friendly greeting from next door neighbour as he returns from work and meets us both 50 feet from the house. “What’s up?” Better ask the officer in charge, mate. He’s got the situation fully in hand. We've now got an extra problem. One hungry neighbour being refused entry to the street to have his tea. Extra confusion ensues as his wife comes from other end of street from her friend’s house and crosses no man’s land to get to the car as they both decide to go out for a meal. Acting Constable Dipstick addresses the gathering crowd with the question, “Is no-one taking me seriously here?” only to be greeted by derisive laughter when people have been informed the Joculator’s infamous paperweight is in fact a highly dangerous device. “There’ll be more damage if Stan explodes...” is the comment from an unseen by-stander. 19:25 WPC Idle finally gets out of the car and approaches me to say my phone is ringing. I tell her its probably not for me and she can answer it if she moves the crowd of screaming children away from my front door. The argument is settled when long suffering partner storms past and heads for the house muttering evil curses on my head after missing final results on TV, answers phone and informs the gathering its the bomb squad wanting some details off the side of the “device”. That settles it, I’m escorted to the door and pushed in to give the details. Meanwhile some of the neighbours are bringing out trestle tables and food for the kids. 19:30 Tempers are now becoming a bit frayed. Bomb squad have promised to phone back when they check out the details I gave them. Acting Constable Dipstick now decides to enter the aforementioned domicile with the idea it would be better to place the bomb in a safer place. I notice with interest how obligingly he wipes his feet at a growl from long suffering partner. Now he wants ME to take it into the garden. Friendly advice about warm metal in a potentially dangerous condition being taken into cooler surroundings and laid on damp grass go unheeded. But if I close the curtains, officer, the thick velvet will dampen the blast and we may only put out the opposite windows (and probably kill about 60 children - if we’re lucky!). If you’re right and it does go off outside, we could have a blast area of about 250 yards radius. (Might as well play along) “Just MOVE IT sir!” 19:33 Back in to the house via the front door which is now deemed “safe”. Several of the crowd control contingent are heading in the same direction with looks on their faces which foretell a tea famine is imminent. Aha, saved by the bell. The bomb squad are hot on the trail and can they speak to the officer in charge. The phone is passed out to Sergeant Divvie 6 feet away down the path. A look of disappointment passes across his face. “Right lads, all of you can return to normal duty except ..er...who’s on community patrol this week?...PC er..mumble. You can stay here and bring the bomb squad in when they reach the motorway exit. They’ll contact us and we’ll radio through to you.” Then, turning to me.....”I think I can put your mind at rest, sir...[b:e58a837733]It appears that the object is in fact a dummy so you and you good lady can stop worrying...[/b]” I thank him as I rapidly close the door to the living room on my partner... Ah hell, I can remove the axe and carry out repairs later. 19:34 At this point nature lend’s her own touch to the proceedings. A mild breeze send’s the front door swinging rapidly on its hinges to the closed position. The resultant crash of the open aperture being filled by 15 square feet of solid timber sees the birth of a new sport....Synchronized Pig Jumping. The collective members of the constabulary reach a combined height off the ground of around 16-18 feet. And the good news....the flowers down the side of the path are expected to be 2 feet higher than the national average by next year. 19:45 Despite bribes of cream cakes and sandwiches, community officer stays four houses down in his car, which appears to have developed suspension problems. 21:20 Noise of cheering bursts forth as gathered thong of children and now their parents, start moving towards the end of the street. The Bomb Disposal Team have arrived. Now there are so many cars parked they have to walk the last 50 yards. Groans of disappointment from onlookers when they steadfastly refuse to bring out the robot. I take them along the side of the house to the back garden where the staff sergeant falls about laughing. Lying curled up absorbing the heat from the “bomb” is the cat. “Might have more trouble dis-arming that,” he says as a warning hiss and the unsheathing of 20 razors threaten severe retribution for any disturbance. A plate of meat scraps resolves the situation and they can now see their objective. “Pass ‘s a spanner corporal..” and 20 seconds later the result of the night’s entertainment is lying strewn across the grass looking remarkably like.....several pieces of turned brass. To save face, it is rapidly re-assembled and carried out to the vehicle amidst cries of... “A’yer gonna blow the bugger up here, mister?” “Well, is that IT?...Not very big is it?” “Hev ah stood 2 hours for that bloody thing?” 21:25 Bomb Team readily accept tea and sandwiches for their wasted journey (I’m glad to say) and we discuss the merit of whether I should declare the half pound tub of weed killer and bag of sugar kept elswhere in the house. Better not just yet...save that for another day. 18:00 Thursday 17th July The aforesaid article appears in local rag. 07:50 Monday 4th August - Partner finally says a full sentence to me....Don’t ever do that again!
Don't be silly Joculator, that sort of thing only ever happens in Fawlty Towers. Were any of the policemen from Barcelona ?
I'll explain the origin to lessen any confusion. The area is about 2 miles north of Durham City. During the Napoleonic Wars, French pow's were sent to the area to be imprisoned. A camp was built on an area of the moorland that contained dozens of small ponds and lakes. The French called the area 'Petite Mer' which meant 'small sea'. The Durham accent was rather unkinder to the phrase and it developed over the years to become Pity Me. Strange, but true If that sounds confusing, there is another village about 6 miles away called No Place.
I love the bit where you dropped the shell and the starter gun on the TV went off at the same time. Pure gold!
