A little poetic licence

THE START OF MY CAREER, AS A POLICE CADET

Upon leaving school, with little ambition,

No profession to follow from family tradition.

I started at first with a friend, Dad had made

At a place in Nottingham, dyeing and finishing trade.

Gaining results from exams I had sat.

With 5 O'levels and a head too big for my hat,.

I went straight to the manager and asked for a few bob,

To reward these results, or a better job.

He sat at his desk, thought long and hard,

Then said, " Go downstairs lad and pick up your card".

Not Christmas or my birthday I thought, looking back.

When I picked it up, I'd been given the sack.

No hardship, those days, of finding more work,

There was plenty about and no need to shirk.

The money wasn't good, I was only a kid,

But, by living at home, what was a quid?

This time, I wanted to find a position,

With prospects, good pay, a purpose, a mission.

So I landed a job, testing water, from a well.

A lab technician, at Spray & Burgess, Bulwell.

With dye baths, water checks and Technical School,

This gave me nothing and I felt a fool

To continue, when I could do better.

So, to the Notts. Constabulary I wrote a letter.

Saturday morning was the day for the 'tests',

Good knowledge of English, I knew I'd been blessed

With the tools to pass what they could offer.

Big head, once more, I came a cropper.

English, Maths, dictation, all went well,

Then along came Geography, bloody hell!.

Not taught anything at school to do with that,

I felt a little daft, and quite a pratt.

With paper handed in, no answers, quite bare,

Inspector Buckley said, "Now pull up a chair.

Sit down again, you're intelligent, not thick.

Write anything, but make it stick".

Done with conviction and adequate diction,

The answers I gave, were now perfect fiction.

An interview later, with medical, passed.

Outside the office, with others I massed.

To us all, "Well done lads", the Inspector cried,

"Pick up your uniforms and wear 'em wi' pride".