The Last Meeting

The telephone rang exactly at ten o’clock in the morning. Section Sergeant Hall picked it up on the first ring.

‘Sir. Yes sir’ he said in high tone of voice.

I was sitting near his desk, waiting to be called for my last appraisal.

‘He is ready for you’ he said without looking at me.

He went back to read his newspaper. I got up slowly from my chair, I glanced at the front page of The Sun’ newspaper. ‘Got Ya !’ Belgrado Argentinian’s war ship sunk. As I walked out, I looked across Mary, the civilian telephonist. She looked furtively at Sergeant Hall, then at me. ‘Good luck’ she mouthed the words. I smiled and nodded at her as if to say ‘Don’t worry about me’.

After twenty three months as a Probationer Police Constable, I was going for my Last appraisal before becoming a full fledge Police man. The final appraisal was also Known as the last meeting, the darkest hour in the life of a police officer. If my appraiser, Police Inspector Robins refused to recommend me, I would be given four weeks notice to leave the force and worst of all to move out from the free accommodation.

Inspector Robins’s office was at the end of a long narrow corridor. It was rumoured that that the carpet was paved with tears stained from previous incumbent probationers. I looked down the carpet, I could not see anything. Instead I strolled softly as if I was walking on Mauritius’s golden beaches. As a graduate, Inspector Robins supposed to become an Inspector within eighteen months of joining the police force, instead it took him three years and three attempts to pass the final Inspector examination. Since he became an Inspector, his reputation had grown as a hard man and a marine.

I knocked on the door and waited. ‘Enter’ he shouted. I opened the door briskly and shut it loudly. He was sitting behind a large desk, his two hands were place on a brown file. He opened the file ,he flipped the first few pages, the noise of the pages broke the quietness in the office. He was in his late forties, short and obese. He was sitting on an ordinary chair, he placed two fat telephone books underneath the cushion .

On his left side, there was a large frame of his Polytechnic degree.BA. in sociology. Like all short men, he had confused assertiveness with rudeness. ‘

Sit’ he said without looking at me.

I was standing in full uniform, waiting for him to look at me, so I could salute him as a courtesy to his rank. I sat down on a small armchair. Where is the biscuit, I thought of asking but I did not. I knew that his rudeness was very much part of his intimidation. I took off my cap, I put it on my knees. The armchair was at least six feet from his desk. There was a half cigar in the ashtray, all the windows were shut, the smell of the cigar and the heat made the office quite uncomfortable. When he reached the middle of the file, he lifted his two fat hands and dropped them on the page. He began to shake his head like an Indian waiter, his eyes brow arched one inch.

‘This must be the worst report that I have ever read in all my experience as a Police Inspector’ He said with a pause between the syllable.

At last he looked at me and waited for me to say something, but I did not. Instead I was going to sit calmly and took all his insults like a boxer who let his opponent to use his body like a punch bag.

‘Your main problem is that your propensity to caution them, instead of reporting them. I have told you on many occasion that you should not be friendly with them, yet you refuse to take heed of my advice. It seems to me that you are on a mission to change the police’s image. You must understand the police and them are like fire and petrol, they could never mixed together. You just can’t act tendentiously when in uniform. Are you that obtuse?.’

He paused, he looked at me. I made no reply. The heat was getting to me .I began to sweat profusely. I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face. He sneered when he saw me in discomfort. He turned the next page from my file.

‘There it is in black and white’ he said to himself.

He shook his head disapprovingly.

‘What was all this about? You gave a bed bath to a woman! I mean what were you thinking? For God sake! You are a policeman not a bloody Nurse, and let me be blunt. I don’t care if you smelt like rose afterwards. Quite frankly, it is…………………’

Still I made no reply, I sat there like a teenager who pretended to listen to his parents’ advice. Before long, I found myself deep in reverie.

“How on earth did this pompous, arrogant man ever manage to become an Inspector, let alone a policeman?” I thought. He has lost the plot completely. I mean surely he can’t be that stupid to realise that the public is not the enemy. He keeps referring the public as them, them, them. Surely he must know that without the public, no crime could ever be detected. It is the good citizen of the community who invariably inform the police the where about of a suspect. A police officer who forgets his oaths, ceases to become one, instead he or she becomes a uniform carrier. Oh ,let him yak, yak, yak.

I still believe in my oath. ’To serve. To protect life and property. I am not going to be intimidated by his big words well, it is true, I often use my discretion when dealing with minor offenders. I would prefer to coax a drunk to take a taxi home, instead of arresting him of being drunk in public places. Then there was that foreign driver who drove by mistake in one way street I did not report him. Oh, the inspector did not like that a bit.

‘Why do you trust those people, don’t you know they are born liars’. I saw him flipped the front pages quickly.

He won’t comment about those pages. He knew that where all my success are. I had arrested twenty nine burglars and shoplifters and they were convicted and sent to prison. There are more. Seventy five drivers for traffic offences. It’s true that I did give a bed bath to a woman. Oh, how he got that one terribly wrong. Talk about egg on face. Well for one thing, she was a frail elderly lady. It’s true that I was a Nurse before joining ‘them lot’.

One cold afternoon, I received a distress call. This elderly lady was in bed with a broken leg, she had a very severe bout of stomach upset, she was unable to move. Her bed linen was soiled. One whiff at her bed room, George, my colleague took out his handkerchief and whispered to me, ‘This is not police work, I am going to wait in the car’.

There I was. A Nurse by training and a Policeman by accident I proceeded to change her bed linen, gave her a bed bath, put a clean night dress on her and a thick pink dressing gown. Then I called an ambulance. By the time I finished securing her bungalow, George had already complained to Inspector Robins and he was waiting for me to admonish me for error of judgement.

Two weeks later, the elderly lady was discharged from hospital. She wrote a long thank you letter to the chief constable, she told the chief constable that I was a credit to the force. Of course Inspector Robins did not pass the commendation to me, it was Mary, the civilian staff who told me about the thank you letter. I found out that I was the very first probationer who had ever received a thank you letter from the public in the history of county police force. Well, with monster like Robins at the helm, I am not surprised one bit why the public does not thank ‘them’ more often. F. Nietzsche, the German philosopher was right when he said ‘Whoever fought the monsters should see to it that in the process, he did not himself become a monster. When one looked in the abyss, the abyss would look right back’.

‘Are you listening to me’ shouted Inspector Robins. I looked at him hazily , I immediately sat upright, my head high and shoulders firmly square.

‘I asked you a question. Are you tough enough to become a policeman? I stared at him, when we made eye contact, he looked at his half cigar. Suddenly I jumped up. I put my cap on the chair. I walked towards him. His eyes opened widely .He leaned against the back of his chair. He frowned as if he was expecting me to punch him. Instead I put my hand inside my coat’s pocket. I pulled out a white envelope and threw it on his desk.

‘My resignation letter. I refused to become a monster’.

His mouth opened as if he wanted to shout but it was silent. I walked back to the chair, I picked up my cap, I put it on slowly. As I reached the door, I stopped and turned round to see him. I put both hands in my deep pocket. His nostrils flared like a gorilla. I opened the door and shut it calmly. I was neither reckless nor impulsive.

Two days before my appraisal with Robins, I went to an interview at my previous hospital. I was offered my old job back. I accepted it and agreed to start in four weeks’ time. I never went back to the police station or to say goodbye.

I took my annually leave instead working my notice.

Commentary.

I chose life writing genre to write ‘The Last Meeting’ because it was an integral part of my autobiography. As Sara Haslam wrote ‘Life writing is an umbrella term for biography and autobiography’ in Part 4 of creative writing ‘A work book with reading’ (Edited L.Anderson P 270). I did not do any research because it was of first hand knowledge or primary source.Besides I still remembered vividly that episode of my life.

I used the first method of narrative in order to connect the prose more coherently to the plots and the second method of narrative known as fragmentary or snapshot, as suggested in part 4’A workbook with reading.(Ed. L.Anderson p295). Whilst writing the dialogue between the Inspector Robins and myself, I was fully aware that I was not following the convention of dialogue between between the two characters. For example I Remained taciturn instead of replying to Inspector Robins.

Not to reply was to reply, my words were in the eyes. However, I realised that to remain silent would cause an obstacle. I therefore used the technique of ‘Stream of Consciousness’ to overcome the tactical obstacle, as quoted by Psychologist W. James ‘The ceaseless, random flow of thought of ideas, memories and fantasies in people’s mind’ in chapter 7 ‘A workbook with reading.(Ed. L. Anderson. p 122. In the process, I felt that I was able to create the contrasts conflicts and ultimately the tensions between myself and Inspector Robins.

As suggested in chapter 2‘A creative writing handbook.(Ed.D.Neale). ‘Tensions, contrasts and conflicts are the stuffs which dramatic writing emerge). After writing the first draft, I proceeded to revise and to edit by cutting down the narratives, especially the ‘snapshot’ during the stream of consciousness in order to move the story toward the dramatic tension at the end. For example, instead of continuing of ’Telling’ I used the technique of’ showing’ when I submitted my resignation letter.

References:

1.Hallam,Sara(2006).’Finding a form,writing a narrative’ in Linda Anderson(ed.).Creative writing.a workbook with readings, Published by Routledge in association with Open University.

2.Hallam,Sara(2006)’Life writing’ in Linda Anderson (ed.) Creative writing ,a workbook with readings, published by Routledge in association with open university.

3.Anderson,linda.(2006)’stream of Consciousness’. Creative writing, a workbook With readings. published by Routledge in association with Open university.

4.Greenwell,Bill(2009)’conflict and contrast’ in Derek Neale(ed.)A creative writing Handbook, Milton Keynes\ London. A&C black in association with Open University.