Bannister’s Beat

Whenever he could, ‘Inspector’ Trevor Bannister would slip out into the streets.  He knew he was old fashioned, and remembered fondly the old ways of bobbies on the beat, and of real communication with people.  Not now; not any more.  Modern policing was done from a car, and with computers.  Foot slogging was a thing of the past., but Bannister was of an older generation, and still enjoyed face to face interaction.
    He was no longer ambitious of course, neither was he deliberately uncooperative, but seemed unaware that just ‘slipping out’ would cause concern.  He just liked to be out with people.
    He thought for a moment of those in the station.  He didn’t know them all of course, but by and large he got on pretty well with them.  Something made him smile.  Long out of the promotion race himself, he could still see them jostling and manoeuvring, as they tried to climb up, or prevent themselves being pushed off, the promotion ladder.
    No; he liked people; out there in the streets;  not indoors, cocooned and shielded from life, and whenever he could he would go out and ‘communicate’.  He never quite came to terms with his life behind a desk, after all those years on the beat.
   It was only a few hundred yards from the front of the station to the High Street;  a busy junction where he liked to stop for a few minutes, just looking around, and enjoy the feeling of being ‘at home’.  And for Trevor it was home, for he had been born here in Oatley - had lived all his young life in the town - and had gone to a local school until he won his place to the university.  From there he went to a military collage, and then on to a short commission in the army.
    It seemed to be a natural move from there to a police academy, which ultimately led him to post in Birmingham, where his good work was rewarded with three stripes.  
    So it was then for Sergeant Bannister. Not only had he just been informed that he had passed his inspectors exam, but out of the blue he got the chance of a new posting in his home town.
    Sadly, his joy at ‘coming home’ was not shared by his wife, who had often complained that Birmingham was as far north as she ever wanted to go, and viewed the prospect of moving to a small northern town with horror.  Despite the arrival of two children, now in their teens, it had not been a very happy marriage, and Bannister knew perfectly well that he had presented her with just the opportunity she wanted.  He also knew that if their marriage was doomed to failure, this was probably as good a time as they would get, to part as friends.  So he put up only a token fight as she made her plans to take the children south, when he headed north.
   All of that stretched back over  twenty years or so, and in that time he had established a new way of life for himself.  He never contemplated marriage again, but neither did he suffer for the lack of female company.  It was not that he could be described in any way as a ladies man, and he himself would laugh at such a thought.  Yet somehow It was more than that, for he had a ‘sense of people’ that was almost uncanny.  Everyone liked him, and everyone responded to him, including of course the ladies, who often made their amorous intentions perfectly clear.
   So there he was strolling along the high Street in his slow steady stride, and as he walked along there was a nod or a wave to those whose eye’s he caught, and a word or two to those who were  near enough.  No-one ever looked the other way, or tried to avoid him.  Chatting away as he progressed, a little joke here, a “Hows your mother” there.  Even though he was in ‘civvies’ everyone knew who he was, and it just seemed as though they all loved him.  
   Quite often he would be treated to comments like, “I wish there were more like you” or “It’s not like this any more” and he would stop and talk, and joke, and flirt, and advise.  Any way you looked at it, he was a happy man, well liked and content in the knowledge that he was serving his community well.
   Perhaps It was just too good to last, and, as the American’s say, ‘Someone had to rain on his parade’
   He was slowly making his way back, and was close to ‘his’ junction, now resplendent with a new set of traffic lights.  He liked that, for it provided him with a chance to see who was in town, as the constant stream of cars were forced to slow down or even stop, instead of the nose to tail chase.
    It was all over so quickly.  A shout, over the heads of those on the pavement,
   “Stop...help...he’s got my bag”
   People, more from surprise and uncertainty rather than cowardice, moved aside letting the young man come charging through, still carrying the stolen bag.
    ‘Inspector’ Bannister had turned to see what the commotion was about, and saw the young man heading straight for him. The thief running quickly, expected that Bannister, like all the others, would move aside.  He did not, and for a brief moment his flight was halted.
   No one had seen the knife, but they all heard the groan, as it sank deep into Bannister’s body.  As he fell to the floor he wrapped his arms around his assailant, stubbornly refusing to let go in spite of the writhing and wriggling of the young man, desperate to escape.  
   It was too late, as hands from every direction held the now frightened aggressor firm, angry men shouted abuse at him, and some were ready to administer ‘immediate’ justice.
   An ambulance was sent for, and a few people had tried to make the ‘Inspector’ comfortable as they waited.  From somewhere a car rug had appeared which covered him from his chin, down to his ankles, somehow drawing attention to his big black boots, as shiny now as they had ever been, though one of them now supported some scuff marks.
   The owner of the bag was by his side. “Oh’ Trevor” she said “Why ever did you go and do a thing like that ”  as, with her handkerchief,  she wiped the sweat from his face, and the tears from hers. “And just look at your shoes” as she reached down, using the same handkerchief she wiped away a fresh red smear.
   A gentleman of similar maturity holding Trevor from the other side agreed. “You silly bugger” he almost shouted, seemingly ungrateful for his friends’ bravery, but actually with great affection. “You never did owt like that when you were in the  force...bloody ‘ell mate, you’ve been retired fa ten years”
   Bannister, still conscious, but clearly in pain, returned a weak smile, but was saved from further explanations, when he heard the sound of the ambulance.

Post script
The story has a happy ending.  Bannister’s wound proved not to be critical.  He made the front page of the local paper, and was publicly praised by the chief constable who said that today’s police force could do with a few more of his calibre.  He spoke of Bannisters great love for the people of his home town, which had continued unabated into his retirement.
    If he was  not already, he was surely now the most popular man in town.
   There was even a gathering when it was learnt that he was to be discharged from the hospital.  The staff nurse from his ward smiled at the well wishers as she walked with him to the waiting ambulance, talking as she did so, explaining the various medications in the plastic bag he was carrying.
   “Oh’, and don’t forget this” she said as she handed him a sealed brown envelope “This will tell your doctor about your wound, and what we have been doing”
   They had reached the ambulance, and the nurse relinquished her charge to others, but just before she did she raised her heals and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  Almost without moving she was seen to whisper in his ear, and he was seen to smile.
   ‘Inspector’ Trevor Bannister is a happy man, and has never revealed what the nurse whispered to him that day.