Lane 1 Closure
Tony Spencer
Lane 1 Closure
Tony Spencer
Copyright © 2012 Tony Spencer
LANE 1 CLOSURE
"Hey, Sarge," rasped the loudspeaker, "We need a lane 1 closure on the motorway, just north of junction 17, due to an offside blowout."
Sergeant Noel Evans smiled. That was young Alex Benson and his message was hardly up to usual airwaves protocol. Fortunately, there was only Traffic Control and Benson's single Patrol Unit on the air at the moment to worry about. However, Noel thought, it's hard to break the habit when you're only a couple of Christmases off retirement. Noel had let his traffic control office partner, PC Jenkins, go off shift early half an hour ago, his daughter was only 3 and this was probably the first Christmas she was going to be really excited about. Noel smiled, thinking she might already be awake and pestering her mum and dad to get up so she can start opening her presents.
"Golf Echo Four Two from Mike Whisky Charlie, what's the problem? And what direction was the vehicle heading? Over."
PC Benson was the least experienced patrolman in the motorway squad, which was why he was working the Christmas Eve shift. Most of the coppers with young families were excused working, but they were probably about to experience the joys of being woken up by their excited offspring, it was after all, almost half past four on Christmas Day morning.
Benson did have the sparkling companionship of WPC Diane Williams as a one-off partner tonight to keep him wide awake and she had almost six-months’ more radio experience under her waist-squeezing belt than the young tyro. However, knowing Diane as he did, she would plumb to get behind the wheel every opportunity she got so Benson was left operating the radio in the sleepy seat. Not that any red-blooded male would doze much with the delectable Diane sitting next to him; it wasn't her driving though, even in the half-light Diane's looks alone would keep a male corpse perky.
"Broken down vehicle, Sarge, on the hard shoulder, heading north, over."
That's all we need, thought Noel. The gritters had been out salting the road twice on the motorway during the night, at 21.00 and 01.00, so it was probably still bloody freezing out there.
"What's the weather like, Four Two? Over."
"Snowing hard, visibility down to 50 metres, over."
Damn, it would be snowing, wouldn't it? He should've known this would happen, and he only thought about the "Q" word just before Jenkins left, without actually vocalising it! Before the call came in from Alex, Noel had been considering having another brew up, and there was one last succulent mince pie left that definitely had Noel's name on it. Jools will never know he had an extra one, would she? Mind you, Jools had a sixth sense about these things and she was well aware he was taking a couple of boxes of pies into work, it being a tradition of the station to take in cakes on your birthday. Anyway, here he was four-and-a-half hours into Christmas Day as well as his own birthday, and apparently Benson was informing him that the S was about to hit the F.
"Alex, is the snow settling? Over."
"No, Sarge, if anything it's warmed up a couple of degrees since the last gritters went through here about two o'clock, over."
"Do you need the gantry signals set for lane closure? Over."
"Not sure that would help, Sarge, traffic is slowing down almost to a stop in each direction anyway, not that there's much traffic around at this time, over."
Damned window-kissers, thought Noel, any breakdown or accident and every motorist going past feels compelled to slow down and gawk at the poor unfortunates stuck in the middle of it.
"Any injuries involved, or debris? Over."
"No injuries or debris Sarge, just a bit of absorb needed for a small amount of throw-up, Diane's fetching a bag of granules from the boot now, over."
Throw-up? Guess the driver has overdone the Christmas tipple this evening. Better remind Benson of normal police procedure at Christmas time, basically breathalyse anyone and everyone stopped on the road.
"Tested the driver yet, Alex? Over."
"Yes, Sarge. First thing I did."
Pause. Noel assumed that Benson would proceed to give him the result, but something was holding him back. Good lad for at least taking the reading at the outset, even if he now needed some prompting.
"And the result, Alex? Over."
"Off the chart, Sarge, driver admits to sampling a lot of brandy, plus more than a few whiskies in Scotland earlier, not to mention more than a few fortified mince pies, over."
Bloody hell, thought Noel, not only is he steaming but that driver's put in some miles, if he was in Scotland earlier today and on his way back north again now. I'll remind Benson to check the tachometer before recovery or the fitter attends.
"Have you taken the motorist into custody, Alex? Over."
"Er ... the driver is not actually a motorist, and the vehicle is not actually wheeled, so not sure what offence has been committed, Sarge ..."
What is Benson trying to do to me, he mused, give me a nervous breakdown before Christmas is even properly under way?
The loudspeaker squawked again "... Might need RSPCA or a vet, as well, over."
It just keeps getting worse rather than better. This chap's probably been collecting a Christmas pony for some little rich girl which just had to be delivered Christmas bloody morning, thought Noel, the best his Charlotte ever got was a “My Little Pony”, once. He hated Christmas, he fumed, I always had a raw deal myself, having Christmas and birthday all at once. I missed out on the parties, Noel recalled, no clowns, no bouncy castles, no Big Mac meals, no extra birthday cakes, no special outings. No, Noel Evans missed all those extra treats that the other kids had on their birthdays.
"Have you got the index number of the horse box to check, Alex, and an ETA for the fitter? Over."
"No registration, Sarge, er, it's not a horse box, er, there are seven reindeer aboard and apparently one of 'em's blown out, one too many mince pies, apparently. It just won't go with 6, it needs 7 and they don't carry a spare. ETA fitter within 30 minutes, coming from the North with a ... er a spare reindeer, over."
Is Benson taking the piss? He bet Diane had put him up to this lark. She’s cute all right, in more ways than one. Can't blame him, though, the only reason Noel wouldn't try anything that Diane asked him to do without question, is that Jools would bloody kill him if she found out. And she would, it's a dead cert, both find out, kill him and get away with it! She's gonna kill him anyway, mind you - that bloody best-selling book Noel ordered for her, a little bit too late from Amazon, hadn't arrived with the last post yesterday and when he checked the town bookshop on the way into work, they'd completely sold out of the bloody thing. She'll have his guts for garters, he almost groaned.
"Alex, if it's now less than 30 minutes, you should be able to cope with your own temporary closure, it'll take longer than that to get proper traffic management in place, anyway, over"
"Thanks Sarge, yes, we can manage. And Diane has just said forget the RSPCA and the vet, it's nothing too serious, it's just a bit winded, over."
This is certainly a joke, thought Noel. Pity we don't have any traffic cameras in the area to check what they are playing at. Boy, he really needed that cup of tea now, not to mention the 50-second-in-the-microwave hot mince pie he had his eyes and belly on since Jenkins went home.
"Sarge," the loudspeaker squawked again, "Latest ETA for fitter is now five minutes, over."
Phew, the end is in sight, thought Noel, they've clearly been pulling my leg with all that stuff about the spare reindeer on its way! Yeah, sure! He bet those two juvenile jokers are sitting in a lay-by somewhere drinking hot coffee from their flasks and laughing their bloody socks off at him. Reindeers, indeed! He'd give the two of them a right bloody going over when they get back at the end of the shift in ninety minutes. Tha
t's the last time he'd put the pesky pair together in the same patrol car!
They really had me going there for a couple of minutes, he chuckled to himself, cheeky young rascals!
Right, Noel thought, five minutes before the fitter arrives, just enough time to put on the kettle for that cuppa and zap that pie.
It was while Noel was halfway through his tea and on the last deliciously naughty mouthful of crumbly buttery pastry mince pie, and brushing a few rogue crumbs from the front of his tunic, when the loudspeaker revealed the next episode of the motorway broken down vehicle charade, this time with the female half of the comic double act chiming in her two-pennyworth.
"Mike Whisky Charlie from Golf Echo Four Two, message, over."
"Go ahead, Four Two," Bugger, Noel thought, as a fine spray of crumbly pastry dusted the keyboard and microphone mouthpiece on the "two" word, he continued, "Over!"
"Fitter on site, re-harnessing of er ... the spare is in progress. They should depart and we'll bring in the closure within five minutes, Sarge, over."
Thank goodness for that, thought Noel. No harm no foul. We didn't have to contact the Highways Agency, didn't need outside traffic management or the fuel clean-up team, didn't have to escalate it to senior level, nothing recorded on camera to embarrass Noel or the unit later on. Just a bit of in-unit fun with Noel as the butt of the joke. He decided he could live with that and, perhaps, work out a bit of revenge for those two rookies in the New Year. Funny monkeys! Had to laugh, though, they actually got him going a couple of times, those young devils!
"All received Four Two, Control out."
Noel cleaned up the light dusting of crumbs as best he could, the cleaners weren't scheduled in until after the holidays and the next shift were due within the hour. He took his cup and plate out to the kitchen and bundled the empty pie wrappers into the waste bin to hide the evidence.
Just as he got back to the control room, Alex came back on the radio.
"Sarge, the vehicle has departed and the lane 1 closure removed, over."
"All received Alex, any tailback of traffic? Over." Of course there would be no build-up of traffic, it was all a figment of Alex and Diane's vivid imagination and wicked sense of humour.
"No, Sarge, the traffic wasn't heavy and is already dispersing. Snow has stopped but settled on the embankment, looks very ‘White Christmasy’ out here, over."
"Noted, Four Two, think you should head back towards control, time for a cuppa before the next shift come in. Sorry, no mince pies left for you, over."
"That's alright, Diane's invited me to her flat for breakfast, and then we're going onto my Mum's for a proper Christmas dinner. By the way, the er ... driver had a special message for you, over."
"OK, Alex, I'll bite one more time, what was the message? Over."
"Just to say he had dropped off your present of a book for Jools last night under your tree, and says that you've got two main presents this year, one of them a special from Santa - just for your birthday. He said 'HoHoHo, Noel deserves it', over."
What could I possibly say to that?, thought Noel, I never said anything to anyone in the station about that bloody book.
"Don't let Diane overcook your breakfast sausage, Alex, over."
"I won't do that, Sarge," crackled a female voice, "There's still New Year we want to look forward to! Merry Christmas, Sarge. Over and out."
"Merry Christmas and New Year to both of you, out."
THE END
Tony Spencer
The author lives in the UK and has been writing all his life, mostly sports reports with provincial newspapers along with some factual articles. He worked as a printer, typesetter and proofreader for over 40 years and still freelancing as a 'corrector of the press'.
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