Journal Entries
SH. THERE's A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE.
Posted Oct 29, 2004
That reminds me, but don't laugh! well go on then, do.
Screams from our kitchen long ago, top note, a cee I think, maybe not quite.
"There a mouse in the house!"
I don't think so, not with that bloody noise."
Yes is still here." "It can not possibly be, it will be miles away by now"
" Yes it is, it's behind the fridge."
"Not a chance."
"Go and look!"
Allways right! aren't they?
There it was the poor little sod, all four little feet going like the clappers, no grip at all on the highly polished floor, due to the fact that one highly adrenaline charged female, had dropped one of my best spanners right on the end of it's little tail.
You can ask, but I am not telling!
Oh alright then, I put it in the garden. I believe the local shop had thousands of them later, I don't think they looked a bit like ours, no kink in their tails at all.
Cheers H.
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Latest reply: Oct 29, 2004
DEFINITELY AN INSIDE JOB.
Posted Oct 28, 2004
Truth is stranger than fiction, and usually fictional crime writing bears no resemblance at all to the real thing, so herewith a real life crime scene.
Weeks of investigation and observations had got nowhere and I had spent night after night laid out under the stars with my police dog Storm, no one came and the only thing worth putting in the book was the fact that Yuri Gagarin passed over head at high speed, even Storm could not have caught him.
It took weeks of fruitless observations and I now can write the full story in seven paragraphs, case solved.
There were some peculiar goings on at Fleetwood Docks and a bullion theft had recently taken place there. A CID investigation with searches of the area and detailed enquiries, had failed to solve the mystery of the missing cash.
It is amazing that this type of theft was so rare, in view of the pathetic security attached to the movement of coin around the country.
The thieves of Manchester, especially from the Ardwick and Collyhurst areas would have had a field day had they known about it. Because the drums of coin, delivered each week to the city banks in King St Manchester, had always spent most of the night completely unguarded in Ardwick West Goods Yard.
The entire railway staff most certainly knew about it, because the railway drivers had to deliver the bullion with the three wheeled mechanical horse and trailer, and the shunting staff had to put the containers into position for unloading.
Everyone had full knowledge of the contents of those containers, and that information had been well known for many years. I think that everyone could see the vulnerability of the bullion, except for our inspectors who should have arranged it’s protection, and the local thieves.
Perhaps some of these thieves preferred to do it the hard way, because there was another siding nearby at Ashton Road where Billy Redfern had a huge scrap yard, and he suffered some losses from his enormous store of copper and brass.
The thieves knew where the non-ferrous metals were kept, because they had usually brought it in and sold it to him. They just came back, stole it once more and then sold it again somewhere else.
To get to the copper and brass in store they had to climb over a high fence, negotiate a very steep hill and break into the building where the metals were kept.
What they did not know, was that the very steep hill in the centre of the yard was actually a mountain of copper wire, it had been stored there since the First World War, and had lain there undisturbed for more than thirty years.
Also in the very next sidings, there was occasionally a goods train carrying the drums of bullion for delivery to the city banks the following morning. Amazingly these drums of coin seemed to be reasonably safe, despite a total lack of security during the hours of darkness.
The missing drum of bullion at Fleetwood may also have been more secure with less security as it happened. Shortly after the disappearance of the drum of bullion from Fleetwood Docks, a certain police officer was on a rest day, and another officer had run out of tea and sugar for a brew?
By a very strange coincidence, his key just happened to fit the other Bobbies locker, and inside the locker there were stacks and stacks of brand new sixpences, all arranged in neat little rows across the top shelf of the locker.
When the policeman was arrested, and shown the contents of his locker he denied all knowledge of the missing bullion, and he said that he had been collecting sixpences for some considerable time.
When it was pointed out to him that all of the coins had the same date he changed his mind, and led the way to the rest of the loot. A steel barrel containing the missing bullion was found suspended by a rope beneath twenty feet of water, in the trawler dock at Fleetwood near to the police office.
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Latest reply: Oct 28, 2004
The City BY Night.
Posted Oct 28, 2004
posted by LMScott | posted 3 Weeks Ago
A poet and a far better writer than I will ever be asked, "What is the City really like at night, having told him one of my stories, comprising two A4 sheets, he said "why don't you write a poem on this fantastic subject. So I took the same story, and condensed it to nine short paragraphs. The result is far deeper than first appears, and covers a side of the City completely unknown to the average commuter and night life visiter. In this format, the story could be used as a guide for any writer to use imagination, and any personal experience to expand it back into a short story of merit. Any offers?
The City by Night.
With crowds long gone, phases of the night pass by until silence reigns supreme, and nature makes one more futile attempt to regain her Kingdom.
The Observer-Hunter's wait, a shadow to the right appears and two heads turn as one, just a large rat as it slowly crosses the cobbled, dimly lit street, and starts to feed on the pile of bones left in the Tatter's yard
The two resume their patient watch, the second rat ignored as it joins its fellow at the feast.
The next silent shadow is the quarry, a thief just visible on the skyline as he makes his greedy way, just once too often. Soon he returns from the warehouse with his prize, then another and another, the pile grows and still he goes back for more.
The trickle of rats has become a stream, a flood. They are in front of us,behind us, Hell! they are even under the van. Thousands of them, fighting, squeaking, squealing.
The silence of the night has gone. The pile of bones a heaving mass of bodies, boring and ripping, stripping marrow and flesh from rotting bone.
At last the cobbled street is clear, the party is complete, Then the trap is sprung; the thief's adrenaline charged body has wings, To no avail, this Hunter is the best.
A scream of fear drowns out the feeding frenzy of the horde squabbling over rancid flesh, brief respite, a moment of silence, and then the morbid feast resumes.
Nature has reclaimed her throne until the final phase has passed, and returning crowds in ignorance take charge once more.
The end.
We never know just what we can achieve, this little piece is actually in The Buckingham Palace Library, part of H.M. collection that includes all of my thirty years of work, pleasure really.
Cheers H.
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Latest reply: Oct 28, 2004
High Flyers.
Posted Oct 28, 2004
The Blitz of 1944, had been quite bad in Manchester and Liverpool, and it was quite common to see a German plane trapped in the beam of a searchlight at night. Even so they seemed to drone on and on forever, none of them appeared to be affected by the ack- ack gunfire or the barrage balloons and cables below them.
Following one such night, my best friend Colin and I were on the Moor enjoying another perfect day, having no thoughts at all concerning the war, or anything else for that matter that was not directly in our line of vision. We were exceedingly busy doing nothing, except enjoying another beautiful winter’s day. Then we saw it, what a sight to behold, a real barrage balloon and it was loose, only partially inflated the tail being crumpled and flat and it was dragging a wire cable behind it.
It was enormous, and despite its neglected appearance, the Silver monster was bobbing merrily along the ground propelled by a fresh cold breeze. One impetuous youth cried out, “ We’ll have that. “ I decline to take credit for that stupid remark but we both jumped up and grabbed the cable. The balloon obliged, and lifted us both deceptively in a very gentle manner about ten feet or so in the air and then across a small gully for about fifty yards. But then fear, discretion, or just plain old common sense prevailed, and I yelled out, “ Let go.” Colin was very strong for his size and his age, quite capable of holding his own weight for ten minutes or so. He was very reluctant to let go of his prize but he did, his face was a picture swiftly changing from adrenaline rich elation to pure fear. In the blink of an eye, a sudden gust of air or a thermal had taken charge and whipped our wonderful new flying machine away, up into the clear Blue Sky.
Then we watched as it soared sedately across the Rossendale Valley at about four hundred feet, with the very tall chimney of Ross Mill smoking away far below it. We both sat down on the grass and not a word was spoken for some considerable time, I presume that my own face was somewhere about the same colour as his, a bit like fresh putty. I really do not know about Colin, but I never told anyone about our wonderful flying machine, perhaps someone would have wanted to know why we were not at school.
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Latest reply: Oct 28, 2004
Memories Are Made Of This.
Posted Oct 27, 2004
The aim of my writing in the first place was to restore and record historical events that should never be forgotten, and the numerous people on the highway of life that I had passed by so often. I could try to make an impression by mentioning the famous persons that I have met on that bumpy road, over too many years, but they have been needlessly recorded over and over again already.
My main concern was to record events concerning infinitely great people who now sadly no longer exist, except perhaps in my head, and of course now in H.M’s Buckingham Palace Library a postumous tribute at last.
It is back in the late 1940’s, and although we are only teenagers, we are working fully loaded passenger trains in and out of The Big City during the blitz. While the German bombers were using the firebox glow as a guide, and trying to score a bull’s eye down the engine’s chimney.
The gallant engine drivers knowing our fears, often say “ Don’t worry son, I have done this run all week and I will get you safely home tonight,” and with a great skill never acknowledged, they did just that. They never mentioned that their proper firemen had also done it all week, and we were only there because he had gone off sick, but who could blame him?
Somehow we seemed to have obtained a sense of complete immunity from harm, slight injuries did actually happen by accident, but as my mum said, “you will heal, but be careful with your clothes.” I am sure that she was only joking, but replacement clothing was difficult to obtain at the time, except of course the railway issued uniform.
At this time I had already escaped instant death several times, so my sense of invulnerability was probably even stronger than anyone else’s. Especially when one near miss of a broken neck at the age of about eighteen years was only prevented by what can only be described as a supernatural miracle. (Yet another story.)
There would be many more near misses, no more miracles, but there would be several definite warnings of danger later as my senses and reactions became honed to a fine edge by my own experiences, and the expert tuition of two great philosophers of life in the City.
Later, when I was fortunate enough to be teamed up with Police Dog Storm, the fine edge was honed even sharper, as some of his superhuman abilities seemed to be transferred in my direction. We could confidently enter the largest of buildings in the dead of night, and we both knew immediately if there was anyone in there or not.
This unique partnership was demonstrated quite clearly one morning when a Uniformed Inspector of little talent himself, called me into his office about 9am.” This is David Furness he is the son of the Chief Detective Inspector, and our latest Cadet. I want him involved in a good arrest as soon as possible, and I have been told that you are the man who can do it.
Take him with you for about a month, that should be long enough, but get him to court as soon as possible. “Has he got a pair of handcuffs?” I said, and after the Inspector had been to the large cupboard in his office, he handed David his first pair of the brand new American styled handcuffs, and off we went in my police van.
By now being in great favour in high places, I had actually sprayed the brand new police van dull green, and removed all insignia and reflective chrome parts, this was a great advantage towards actually catching thieves in action.
We went into Osborne St warehouse, a large railway building just off Oldham Road, Manchester. Storm and I just looked towards each other and I said, “ You are in luck David there are two in here now, taking lead off the roof.”
There was not a sound from anywhere that we could hear, and David was obviously not convinced. But he most certainly was when I gave Storm silent permission to detain anyone inside the warehouse, and away he went to the top floor and began to bark furiously. We both joined him, and I said “ Come down here both of you and bring some of that lead with you” Alright, but fasten that B dog up first” followed by “ Please” as Storm gave a further warning growl.
Down from the roof with a bump, came a small rolled up piece of lead flashing weighing about twenty pounds, followed by two very dusty figures, men of about thirty years of age.
I knew quite well that a lot more lead had been stolen, but by now the patient words of my mentors had taught many lessons. Such as, if the thieves thought that they were gaining an edge, they would plead guilty to the theft of a smaller value the next morning, I also knew that the value was of little importance, I only wanted the guilty plea. If there were any problems I would have to take the evidence to court, perhaps several times, and the lighter it was the better.
David was back in the office with his two prisoners in less than two hours from setting off, and his brand new American type handcuffs had been put to good use in record time. The arrest of two thieves, on the first day of service was also quite a record in itself.
He was completely bewildered, he could not understand exactly what he had just seen and heard. Although he rose swiftly thorough the ranks as expected, and eventually became a Chief Detective Inspector in that other big city London, he never found out just how it was done.
I do know that he made enquiries in that direction from my own tutor and good friend, the legendary Chief Inspector Shelton, but that old fox could not be quizzed by lessor mortals and the secret remained so, until now of course.
It is a fact that two persons can become almost as one, knowing almost exactly what the other one is thinking. On the other side of the coin, occasionally two persons may actually live together for many years, and still have no idea of the thoughts of their partner on any subject at all.
If the partnership is with an animal of superior senses, such as scent discrimination, hearing and speed, then that team is a great deal more efficient than just a human one.
Our partnership had become The Perfect Team, so that even the slightest glance conveyed a message or a silent instruction that no one else could detect. Even expert judges in police dog competitions, never knew how we communicated to such a perfect standard as time and time again we obtained maximum marks in obedience and control. Except Chief Inspector Terry Shelton of course, he was actually the foundation of our success.
The remainder of the mystery is easier to explain because the arrest of the two men was actually due to good old-fashioned police work, an art seldom practised today.
Enquiries had been established previously regarding the right time to expect a good result, and as it was usual for the thieves to work in two’s to steal lead flashing, there was no reason to doubt that the scenario would be any different to normal. The apparently supernatural predictions were nothing more than educated guesses, assisted by the cooperation of a superhuman police dog, the legendary Storm
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Latest reply: Oct 27, 2004
LMScott
Researcher U934904
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