The short arm of the law

He’s short for a copper. But of course now, what with ‘non discrimination’ and stuff, you can join the police whatever your height – I wonder if they have any dwarfs? Or midgets? Or what about one-armed policemen? Or WPC’s with a wooden leg? That would be true non-discrimination.
He swings himself up with an ease that shows his youth – he’s far more agile than me – and he’s on the girder. He picks his way delicately over the wire. ‘Watch out for that patch of oil’ I call out. There I go again, taking responsibility for everyone. I don’t know if he’s heard me.
In a matter of seconds he’s traversed that first sloping walkway – it took me minutes – and has reached the handrail at the start of the main arch. He stops, holding on to the rail. What’s he waiting for? A round of applause?
Suddenly, night turns to day. They’ve switched on the bridge lights. I find myself looking down a long, curving arc of steel, bolt-heads glinting in the electric glare. And fifty feet away, looking up at me, a rather small policeman with a strained, but determined expression on his rookie’s face.

That could have been me, thirty years ago. I applied for the police force. Got accepted too. Then, at the last minute, I got cold feet, and backed out. I don’t know that I would have made a good copper. I think I would have been too tolerant – me with my philosopher’s temperament. I would have always seen the other person’s point of view. And that is not a good trait for a policeman.

We stare at each other, for what seems minutes. Then,
‘Would you like to tell me your name?’
His voice is surprisingly melodious, and strong, for such a small person.
‘Not particularly’. I don’t want to encourage him.
‘My name’s Sam. Do you want to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Are you Jewish’ I call back.
‘No – why?’
‘Well, ‘Sam’ – short for Samuel; that’s a Jewish name’
‘ I’m C of E’
C of E. The old faithful. I’m C of E too. I was confirmed and all that. But it’s a long time ago. I’ve still got a photo though. I’m standing at the back of the group with a sort of sheepish grin. Come to think of it, I’ve got that same sheepish grin in most of the photos I’ve had taken. It’s almost like I’m apologising for being here. As if I am some kind of intruder, and shouldn’t be there at all.
I wonder if this Samuel person is a church-goer.
‘Do you believe in sin? I shout. He doesn’t reply; he’s thinking it over.
‘Well, I think we all know right from wrong’
Of course he would say that, he’s a policeman.
‘You speak for yourself’, I retort, ‘I’ve always had the greatest difficulty in knowing right from wrong.
‘Is that why you’re up there? Because you feel you’re a sinner?’
He’s inching slowly up the slope while he’s talking to me. He thinks I haven’t noticed.
‘Ok. That’s far enough’, in my sternest voice. He stops.
‘Well, we can hardly have a metaphysical discussion shouting at one another’. Oh, metaphysical. This must be one of their bright ones. What do they call them? Fast track? PC plod this month, sergeant the next, inspector the next. He’ll be Chief Superintendent within the year. Unless he cocks this one up.

‘No, that’s not the reason I’m up here’ In fact, I realise with a shock, it may be the real, the underlying reason.
‘So why are you up here then?’
‘Well, if you really want to know: I’ve travelled over this bridge hundreds of times; in a car; on a motor-bike; a push bike even. But always on the road. I wondered what it would be like to walk across over the arch, like’.
Sam ignores the sarcasm. ‘I came here from Birmingham. My dad got a job. When I first saw this bridge – I’d be about four – my dad told me that if you wanted to walk across, you had to climb the arch. I believed him. Funny what you believe when you’re a kid. Anything your parents tell you.’
Almost without thinking, I find myself saying ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad…’
He finishes it off for me:
‘They may not mean to, but they do;
They give you all the faults they had
Then add some extra, just for you…’

I am impressed; a Philip Larkin fan! What did I tell you – he is fast track: a policeman who reads poetry. But the bugger’s started creeping up again. I make to put my leg over the rail. He stops. Sharpish.
‘Okay, Okay’.
I got him worried then. Fast track turns to slow lane if he loses a jumper.
I’m getting cramp now, in my right leg, the one on the side nearest the road. I flex my knee, taking care to hold tight to the red warning light. That’s better. Ignoring the policeman, I look up at the sky. I feel that if I reached up I could touch it. And all those stars; I know I keep going on about them but I’ve never seen them so close. And the nearest one is trillions of miles away – or so the astronomers tell us; they might be making it up for all I know. Still, it makes you think. Is there some divine plan? Some grand design? And if so, what’s my part in it? What’s this policeman’s part?
I glance down again. He’s sidled a few more inches up the arch. What does he think he’s doing? Trying to rescue me? From myself? He might at least have the courtesy to ask if I want to be rescued. But, you see, isn’t life like that? Always someone trying to rescue you from yourself: priests, teachers, therapists and, of course, policemen.
I look at my watch: two a.m. The tide will be starting to ebb. My hands are cold. I wish I hadn’t thrown my gloves away.

‘Isn’t there someone at home who will be getting worried about you?’
I’d almost forgotten about the copper.
‘I may be up here because I have nobody worrying about me. Didn’t they teach you better than that on the negotiator’s course?’ Silence. I bet he thinks I am a real smart arse.
‘I’m sorry’.
He sounds it too. His career might be hanging on this. Now I’m sorry, doubly sorry: sorry for the sarcastic comment, sorry for the uncharitable thought.
‘It’s ok. Actually I do have someone. But they won’t be worrying –they don’t know I’m here; not yet.
‘Is there someone you’d like us to get in touch with?’
‘The Dalai Lama – if you can reach him’.
‘Are you a Buddhist?’
‘I was being facetious’
‘I know’

Despite myself, I am beginning to like old Sam. This will not do. I must not be deflected from my purpose. But what is my purpose? For the first time tonight I am starting to have doubts.