Life Behind Bars (7 page)

I never knew why the
disguise.  I always felt the one arm was a dead giveaway.  Imagine
how long it would take to form an Identity Parade?  I mean, how many forty
year olds are there in any town with just one arm?  So he got caught time
and time again.  Fortunately for him, the judges all seemed to take pity
on him and he had so many hours of community service backed up, it would take
him till the other arm dropped off to complete them.

He decided he was going for one
last big one.  One that would set him up in the Costa del Crime, living
the life of Riley.  He had a number of prosthesis (artificial limbs) which
he hated, but they might just do the trick.

Solution number one was to fix
the gun onto the artificial hand and bend it into position, which he did. 
Off he went to secure his future.  Right in the middle of the raid, the
weight of the gun toppled the limb.  It fell off, the cashier fainted and
again he had to ask for help to get out.  Not a success.

Solution number two was much the
same as solution number one but involved more gaffer tape, super glue and blue
tack!

Back into town and to a bank he
had not tried to raid before, which was becoming rarer and rarer.  Barging
through the swing doors, screaming at the customers to get down on the floor
and generally sounding like a real robber.

This time it wasn’t the arm that
was the main problem.  He was wearing thicker tights than normal and was
having a bit of trouble negotiating his way round the floor without stepping on
the stricken customers.  Unfortunately, he bumped into a heavy metal waste
bin which set off the gun.  He shot himself in the foot and hopped
screaming, out into the arms of the local constabulary. 

Unfortunately, on this occasion
there was a woman judge on the bench, who had little or no time for the Seans
of this world, and off he went for an extended holiday, just not in the sun.

Back from the dead . . .

I have never believed in coincidence. 
I believe things happen for a reason, maybe not the reason you hoped for, but a
reason all the same.

For years I had Thursday
afternoon and evening as my time off, usually just to set me up for the start
of the weekend, so this occasion was very unusual; in fact, I think this was
the only time I ever worked the tea-time shift.

The story began in the early 60’s
when a local lad went missing.  The two theories concerning his
disappearance were that, he had fallen in the River Esk and had been carried
out to sea, or he had been taken by gypsies who were camping in the area. 
Whatever the reason; poor Craig was never seen again.  I can still
remember seeing his distraught mother walking by the river, wailing and grief
stricken.  Living in such close proximity was too much for her so the
family convinced her to move to another part of the town.

Craig was never forgotten and
there had been countless sightings of him over the years, but all proved
fruitless.  They were a loving and caring family and they pulled together
through this time.

As I said, the chances of me
being in the bar on that particular day, was a real long shot.  Had it
been any other member of staff, what happened next, would mean nothing to them.

There were only a few stalwarts
round the bar watching ‘Deal or No Deal’ or some other intellectual
programme.  A lad came in who I had not seen before, and ordered a
drink.  As I’m pouring him his drink he babbles on about having been to
the Job Centre and how inefficient they are and quite honestly, I probably
switched off and just nodded in the right places.  However, something he
said switched my attention back on.  He was asking about members of his
family.  He was trying to contact them but they had moved and he mentioned
the name, Moran. 

Now as I said, had anyone else
been serving, it’s unlikely the name would have meant anything.  I started
probing the guy about who he was looking for.  He began to get quite
agitated and suddenly came out with accusations about the family and how they
had been awful to him.  That’s why it had taken thirty years for him to
come back.  He insinuated he had been the victim of child abuse and hadn’t
I guessed now who he was?

All this information and
conversation took about ten minutes and was pretty off-the-wall.  If
someone had been missing for all these years and carefully kept their real
identity secret, it didn’t ring true that ten minutes in a bar would make them
spill out all this information to a total stranger.  He boldly stated he
knew things that no one outside the family would know and that was the proof of
who he was.  I was absolutely appalled and I couldn’t believe anyone would
put their family through the trauma that he had.  I didn’t for a minute
believe his allegations and told him so.  At which point he left the
bar. 

Of course, this was a fantastic
diversion to those sitting round the bar and who the hell cares how much is in
a fucking red box, this was much better.

Now I was in a quandary as to
what to do.  I couldn’t ignore it, if on the very slightest chance this
person was who he claimed to be.  I decided to phone the daughter-in-law,
who I knew fairly well.  I certainly didn’t want the old couple to be
upset.  However, one clever bugger thought it would be in everyone’s
interest to call the local papers.  Well, you can imagine what happened
next.  It was blown into a huge story and of course the Morans had their
hopes raised yet again.

While all this was going on I
maintained he was a fraud, as did the police.  Hearing about his problems
at the Job Centre they organised a stake-out, reasoning that he must attend
there at a specific time and maybe they would catch him the following week.

Meanwhile, CCTV shots were
examined and two possible suspects were identified.  Remember, I don’t believe
in coincidence.  My husband and a customer were in the rec room in the
police station, going through the CCTV when a visiting PC came in for a
coffee.  Spying the shot of our man on the television, he asked.

“What’s he done now?”

“You know this guy?”

“Of course I do, he’s an idiot
from town called Moran, can’t remember his first name.”

It was the lad’s cousin and yes,
he probably did know things that the general public would not have been aware
of, but to do this to your own family?

What happened to him? 
Frankly, bugger all, but the damage he did was immeasurable.

I have not seen or heard of this
person for approximately ten years.  Yet within two hours of writing this
he was standing before me in a queue buying a bottle of milk and a bottle of vodka. 
How’s that for a coincidence?

Wedding favour!!!

Staff weddings always cost us a
fortune if the wedding is on the premises.  The member of staff wants
everything for nothing.  After all, “I work here.”  One incident made
me so bitter I almost banned weddings all together, (staff ones that is.) 
Mind you after thirty nine years of wedded bliss maybe I should enforce that
rule!

One of  my staff whom I
thought to be a really lovely girl, Tracy, had worked  for me for over
four years and we had done her engagement party, her son’s christening and now
came the big day.  I have to say I did expect it to be in another venue,
but no, she wanted it to be with us.  Being the mug that I was, I allowed
her free rein.  She spent months planning the day and spared no cost (or
rather,
I
didn’t.)

We had recently hired a new
manageress (Fiona) who was a real livewire.  She wasn’t as popular with
the staff as perhaps she expected to be, but hey ho!  She was there to do
a job and make sure everything ran like clockwork.  Tracy and Fiona could
be seen closeted at every opportunity, ironing out the fine details. 
Eventually the Big Day arrived.  It was a wonderful occasion for the happy
couple, their respective families and all our staff.  Nothing was left to
chance and it was as near perfect as possible. 

The cost of her wedding for a
hundred guests, including food, the toast, flowers and of course, service,
should have been £7,000.  My gift to them was that she paid only the cost
price, £4,000 and her friends and colleagues worked for nothing; that was their
gift.

Off they went on their honeymoon,
which we had managed to get a fabulous deal on, through one of our
customers.  Short of marrying the bloke myself there was bugger all else I
could have done for them. 

Then came the bombshell.  I
received a text from the Seychelles to say she had hated working for me, and
since Fiona had arrived it was even worse.  She couldn’t face coming
back.  She was so very disappointed that no one thought enough of them to
merit a wedding gift and because of these two issues she would not be
back.  Shame she hadn’t worked that out the week before her wedding. 
I would have charged her the full amount and bought her a toaster from Comet.

Most of the staff were as gobsmacked
as I was but it emerged from the ones who were close to her that she had
planned this all along.  She had decided to leave months earlier, but
wanted to have her wedding at cost price, well she was due it, wasn’t she?

I am happy to say that three
years down the line they have separated.  I wonder where she’ll hold her
divorce party?

And another . . .

I seem to be the kiss of death to
weddings.  You’d think I would learn.  Another of our girls had the
wedding from hell but this time it was someone else’s responsibility.

Janie was man-mad.  She had
new boyfriends, week in, week out and everything was always so intense. 
Despite warnings from everyone she embarked on another great ‘Love Story.’

Every two years the Welsh invade Scotland
for the rugby and every town around Edinburgh is alive with the bhoyos. 
Every pub resounds to male voice choirs and, win or lose, it is a great
time.  Now, Janie was out with some girls and on the prowl.  Like in
the song ‘Across a Crowded Room’— can you hear the music?  She spotted
Shane.  He must have been standing on the table at the time as he is the
smallest Welshman I’ve ever seen.  But, he was a charmer.  This boy
from the valleys could charm the knickers off a nun.  Well, it was love,
and they spent every remaining moment together; he even missed the match and,
on the Sunday evening before he left, he proposed.

Everyone expected this great love
affair to fizzle out, but no, they hadn’t reckoned on Janie’s tenacity. 
She had exhausted the supply of local lads and was now having to work further afield.

They met and were engaged in
February; by the end of April, she was pregnant and the wedding was on and
scheduled for July.  I declined the offer to ‘do it, ’ pleading another
booking.  I have to say I wasn’t too involved with the planning but she
and her mother certainly pulled everything out the hat and another ‘Big Day’
duly arrived. 

I didn’t get to the reception
till mid evening, but to all intents and purposes, the wedding had gone well,
until Shane, who’d had more than a few beers, got in tow with a group of
Janie’s ex’s.  It must have come as quite a shock to find out she wasn’t
the blushing virgin he had thought, and that the paternity of her last child
was so in question there had been a book run on it.  They welcomed Shane
with open arms; after all he was taking the pressure off them!

As the party drew to a close, the
bridegroom was more than a few sheets to the wind and the final straw was
seeing his new bride in the clutches of one of her ex’s, mooning around the
dance floor.  Enough was enough, Shane grabbed the mike and called the
company to attention.  He announced to all and sundry that he had made a
terrible mistake, probably the biggest mistake of his life.  At that point
the bride’s mother jumped to her daughter’s defence.  The mother-in-law
from hell dropkicked the groom and threw him over the bannister.  No real
damage done, they were only one flight up.  Then it was Wales versus Scotland
in earnest; I have to say the Scots won the scrum easily.

Shane wandered off into the night
with the bridesmaid, Stacy, in tow.  It seemed they spent the night in the
bridal suite which had been
my
wedding present to the happy
couple.  In future, the only wedding gifts were definitely going to be
toasters from Comet, with the receipt attached.

Shane eventually returned to Wales
with his new wife but it turned out to be another marriage that didn’t last the
pace.  Within one year they had met, conceived, married, given birth, and
split up. 

Eventful, to say the least.  
A record, even for us!

Boo!!!

Every pub, so they say, has at
least one ghost and we were no exception.  But ours was one of the more
peculiar ones.  I just don’t think it knew it was a ghost!  Firstly
its abode was odd.  It hung about in the pool room, or in the corridor
next door.

I first became aware of her a few
weeks after we moved in.  She was always very evident just as we were
about to lock up.  I have already explained how we had to check the gents
toilets.  Well, the pool room was next to them.  This room had no
windows; it was adjacent to the hall next door, running the length of the
building.  It had a very heavy door which we always kept wedged
open.  This was for security purposes, mainly to stop any drug trafficking
or any other naughty goings on.

However, no matter what time of
night we finished and went to lock up, the door was closed.  This happened
every night and just as the door was wedged open again, you would catch a
glimpse of someone just out the corner of your eye.  This was never
spooky, just curious and always took me by surprise.  I didn’t mention
this to anyone for some time, mainly because they thought I was a bit mad, and
this would reinforce that belief.