The Pole Dancer

What follows is a true story.

There was a time, in the not too distant past, when getting children to school safely did not necessarily involve clogging up the streets with their parent’s cars. Children were trusted to walk.

In these ‘far off’ days, school crossing patrols were a common sight throughout our communities. They stood at strategically identified points, where children going too or returning from school would cross the road. These guardians of our children’s safety were easily identified, bedecked in their bright yellow attire, long coat and hat and wielding their famous and iconic, ‘lollipop’ stick’.

When they had gathered enough children about them, including on some occasions, an adult or two, they bravely and on some occasions, in foolhardy fashion, marched out into the traffic, children streaming in their wake, secure in the knowledge that their ’lollipop’ waving, misplaced pied piper, would keep them safe.

In that way the education system was assured of clients and rolled on.

But it was not always that simple and things occasionally went awry, particularly when a yellow bedecked, lollipop toting, guardian of the pupil safe road crossing point, was absent. On such occasions the guys and gals in blue, that will be the police, eagerly responded and rushed forward to fearlessly throw their bodies into these gaps in the thin yellow line. Well, perhaps not eagerly.

I was a police sergeant in a smallish town in the central belt of Scotland one cold, wet, late autumn morning when serendipity intervened in an already full on, busy morning. Not long after eight that morning the telephone call that would lead to one brave officer becoming embroiled in a situation that, no matter how the rest of his service panned out, would leave him forever labelled, like the tattoo he regretted sitting for.

‘We are short of a school crossing patrol,’ was the cry from a local school. ‘It is at one of the busy junctions and we need it covered, we have no replacements’.

I selected one keen young probationary constable, gave him his instructions and the location and sent him about his business.

I then got on with my busy day.

Less than an hour later the Chief Inspector in charge of the station arrived at work and, interestingly, veered out of his usual routine; coffee, daily paper and upstairs to his office.

No, this day his ‘veer’ saw him burst into my office, where he deposited his daily paper in the middle of my desk with an almighty slap, followed by, ‘who is that idiot you have sent out to cover the school crossing?’ I think there may have been an expletive or two included in his terse question.

I responded, in a respectful but perplexed fashion, ‘is there a problem boss?’

‘Problem, aye, there’s a fucking problem, he’s wearing the school crossing lady’s uniform and her stupid hat and he’s waving her ‘lollipop’ stick about like he’s a fucking pole dancer. Get him back up here and get him told.’

He grabbed his paper and stormed out of my office, with the parting retort, and don’t bother me, I am busy.’

And it came to pass that the inexperienced, but keen young officer, returned to the station, whistling, not a care in the world, job done, children safely in school. He popped into my office to seek further instructions for the day and I took the opportunity to calmly ask how things had gone.

‘No problem’ he replied. ‘In fact I saw the Chief Inspector heading to his work’. I mischievously asked if said Chief Inspector had said anything to him. ‘No, but I gave him a wave,’ said my innocent young charge.

‘And were you wearing your uniform at the time’?

‘No sir, I got that bit right, I got in contact with the school and got her home telephone number. I then telephoned the crossing lady at her house and asked her what to do. She said she kept her gear and the ‘lollipop stick’ in the local garage, right beside the crossing point and I could get it there.

‘So that was what I did. The jacket was a bit snug, so I didn’t button to up’.

‘Good for you,’ I replied.

‘Next time, you don’t need to bother the lady, particularly if she’s off sick.’

Before I could continue, he eagerly responded, ‘no sir, I won’t, anyway I know where to get her stuff now.’

‘Good thinking constable, initiative will get you far in this job, but, if you’ll allow me to finish. Next time, don’t wear her uniform, your police uniform gives you far more power to stop traffic and keep the children safe than her yellow coat, so just trust it. You OK with that?’

‘Yes, sir, I just got a bit flustered and wanted to do it right’.

I sent him to make a pot of tea, not that I was needing tea, but I couldn’t hold my chuckles in for much longer.

And so another wee episode in the rich tapestry of policing our streets concluded. A win, win, no harm done, lesson learned, children safe, Chief Inspector able to exercise his power, winners all round and life goes on.

Oh, the officer concerned was unfortunately named, Richard. So, unlike many of us who long for at least one ‘nick name’, he found two on the same day, and forever after was known as, either, ’The Pole Dancer’ or ‘ The Dick with the Stick.’

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