19K?

“postings… Fred and ginger…area…”, said our sarge…we write them down whilst drinking our tea. The tea has been dishes out in a strict order: gaffer, Sgt…area drivers, pandas, Walkers and sprogs…
I got my posting: the high street. “don’t forget PC Shijuro plenty of tourists today equals plenty of shoplifters…”
He passes out some Intel and we get the ‘dismissed’ from the gaffer.
I get my waterproof as it looks like rain. At about 1100hrs I am thinking about refs…when the clouds open. I am now seriously thinking about refs! Suddenly a man runs up to me “officer…outside Smiths now…a man fell off his bike…he’s in agony…”
I call it in and run down with the chap…to the crowd…a lady has her giant umbrella over him as the rain falls…the man looks ok…”sir, where does it hurt?” Worryingly, he doesn’t speak…he is unable. His eyes lock into mine…they are the eyes of a man in the grip of terror. He is gasping, his eyes start to roll and he goes unconscious. I tell the controller to hurry the ambo but I can hear the distant siren even over the rain. Time seems to stand still for a moment before the man opens his eyes again..I look into them telling him it will be ok…but he can’t see me…he has stopped breathing… I am on the verge of panic…”Christ he’s not breathing”, I say to none in particular…CPR…yes, CPR….I lie him down flat and start breathing into him…the panic fades…i am doing something…to my surprise a man steps forward…”I’m a doctor, can I help?”…I nod vigorously and start chest compressions.The rain is pouring down…but we ignore it-the doctor and I are now in the zone…breath two…press 5…over and over…I don’t even hear the ambo arrive…”take a breather mate”, says the paramedic…and his mate takes over…I sit back on the wet pavement breathing hard…I had been compressing for only 5 mins.
They pick him up and put him in the back of the ambo… They do everything they can…but nothing. “let’s run with him”, says para medic…someone shouts something to me from the crowd, I ignore it and climb a board…the paramedic, doctor and I take turns compressing on the journey…he does not respond…but we don’t stop, not for a moment…we don’t talk…just compress, breath, change.
An hour later the doc at the A/E tells me he died of a massive heart attack in all probability and gives me a bag with his belongings in. As I look through them for I’d, I see some one I recognise…its my old sarge…”come on young man let’s have a cuppa…my treat”
I tell him the incident and he listens carefully. “ok…now the bad news…we are the only ones available fir the death message to his wife. Are you ok?”-he is watching me intently.
I nod, “yes sarge…”
“good lad…let’s get it done”
It was an emotional job made easier by the daughter being there, the old dear said she was very grateful to me for being with him when he went…
We drove back to the station in silence…and I realised it was only 10 mins before the end of shift…the gaffer told me to get changed so I gathered my soaking gear and headed towards the drying room…”oi skiver!”, said my mate “get your arse up the bar..you owe me a pint you tight arse git!!!”…
I stood in the corridor laughing…I had never been so happy to be insulted…

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