Rescue Gaz

Today was a bit quiet. Like nearly all the days since I broke my wrist. It never helps that I get little sleep each night.

While it was quiet, I took my usual trip into town to shop. While there I picked up a small parcel from the post office – we missed the postie on Saturday. It was a small item I won on ebay. A policeman’s whistle.

A policeman's whistle made by J Hudson & Co

I haven’t been able to find the exact date of manufacture but it was made sometime between the years 1888 & 1904 in Birmingham. Mr Hudson managed to win the contract to supply the Metropolitan police with his whistles after he demonstrated the excellent range of them. Before Hudson’s whistles, the police used rattles to draw attention to themselves.

On top of my curio cabinet I have a miscellany of various curious objects and I thought this whistle would fit in perfectly. So I bid on it and won – unknowingly, I bid on an auction that was finishing in two minutes. I was the only bidder. I have also discovered there are many police whistles on ebay. Still, I really like mine.

This wasn’t my only trip into town today. Late in the day I had to go for printer ink as I ran out two pages into a document for Mirinda. So off I set.

Just passed the kid’s play area, the path goes over a bit of a hill. There’s often crazy kids risking life and limb (generally not theirs) trying to get to the bottom before their closest rivals. Woe betide any pedestrians stupid enough to be walking on the footpath during one of these suicide races.

I should add that the participants are usually no older than 12.

Today a little kid (he was younger than Tom) came barrelling over the crest of the hill, pedalling like a dervish on a bike small enough to fit in someone’s back pocket. Close behind him, frantically scootering away was a slightly older girl who I assumed was his sister.

Suddenly, as if being whacked with a bag of custard, the girl fell into a heap while her scooter took a sharp left and planted itself in a hedge. Her tears appeared almost instantaneously.

I could see a woman pushing a baby laden stroller just appearing on top of the hill as I reached the sobbing girl. I had seen her fall and knew she was all right. She hadn’t hit her head, there was no blood. I reached down (coo-ing soft words) and took her hand, helping her up. Obviously there were no broken bones.

I asked if the now frantically running woman was her mother and she went to great pains, through her tears, to let me know that she was, in fact, the woman who looks after her and not her mother. By the time her minder reached us, the girl was almost smiling. Naturally she once more burst into tears. I told the minder she was fine, had just taken a tumble and kept walking into town.

Clearly the little boy was her brother – he never bothered returning.