ramblings and things

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Village Constable 1951


They called him Patsy Fagan
From a song of that name,
Never ever to his face  
Though he knew all the same.
He patrolled about a dozen villages
In a typical East Riding beat.
He was young and he was tall
Always smart and neat.
It was eerie what he spotted
With his ever observant eye.
Heaven help it if he saw you
As he randomly drove by.
The car would slowly stop
And Patsy would get out
If you ignored his calling finger
He would back it with a shout.
Towering skyward over you
He would play his little game
Look you keenly up and down
Before asking for your name
And what was it you were doing
And did your parents know,
Then depending on your answer
Wave that you could go;
Or maybe if you seemed guilty
And had stood a bit too near
And the occasion seemed fitting
HeĎd smartly clip your ear
In case you were naughty
When he wasn't around
That particular time
On that bit of ground.
He'd stand there and watch you
As you went on your way
Maybe feeling chastened
For a bit of that day.
Those were happier times.
We knew what to expect.
And PC Patsy Fagan
Had all our respect.





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Village Constable 1951