A constable was a work of Art
Six foot tall a figure in blue
Sent to guard me and you
The sound of his tread along a silent street
You knew our bobby was on his beat
Stopping at shops he would rattle a latch
Always alert, a thief to catch
Up the ginnel, across the croft
Not a job for the week or soft
A sergeants night stick, knocked on a drain
They would meet to report again
Both would part to go on their way
To patrol our streets ‘til break of day
Children would call him, Dan, Joe or Jim
Take his hand to be safe with him
We miss his presence on our streets
Administering justice on his feet.
Les & Flo Kane.