“I’ll get’em scamps one day.”
Police Constable Buckroo bellowed, as usual, after the village pranksters.
A bachelor, he was a portly man with a ruddy complexion. His scowling rotund face was dominated by bushy eyebrows and a rather bulbous nose, perpetually red owning to his innumerable allergies. His crowning glory however was a rather luxuriantly thick moustache. He could often be spotted proudly stroking it.
As the only policeman in the sleepy English fishing village of Glorywenn, it was his duty to keep the non-existent crime rate down. The village folk were a genial, cordial lot, quick with a smile and a nose always up someone else’s business.
PC Buckroo took his duties very seriously. On most days he could be spotted waddling through the hilly streets wheezing like a freight train coming through a tunnel. Yes, his allergies were that bad. It was an idyllic life except for the village rascals. The scamps were the bane of his existence. They followed him around, marching a few discreet steps behind, huffing and chuffing and pompously imitating his gait. The scene caused the villagers much amusement.
“Hooligans, the lot of ‘em,” PC Buckroo would often grumble.
He hated them, absolutely and unequivocally. The young ruffians found his constant sneezing, sniffling, nose blowing and teary eyes a great source of merriment. They would materialize at the most inopportune moments mimicking, “Acchoo! Acchoo!”
At times they even trailed behind singing a rather uncomplimentary rhyme…
“Acchoo! Acchoo! Goes PC Buckroo;
Sniffling, sneezing and crying too.”
Complaining to the parents had not helped. ‘They be just havin’ a bit o fun’ was what he had been told. ‘Oh toodle-doodle Leav’em be. They mean no ‘harm to ya.’
Now, unbeknownst to most, PC Buckroo always snuck a nap in the afternoon. Under guise of inspection at the harbour, he would sit himself under the shade of a fishing trawler, pull his police cap low over his face and catch forty winks. It was his secret till the day the lads discovered him.
“Eh! He be sleepin ‘ere mates,” quipped one.
“The bugger, always complainin’ to me Mum,” said another.
“Let’s teach ‘im a lesson, eh?” Suggested a third.
And so, while poor PC Buckroo slept soundly, the young scamps lathered his face with shaving cream and shaved off one side of his pride and joy – his moustache.
Refreshed post his nap, when PC Buckroo resumed his rounds, to his chagrin the villagers kept laughing uproariously at the sight of him. A few clutched their tummies, trying to hold the laughter inside their ample girth.
“The ‘hole village’s gone ravin’ mad!” he frowned irritably.
The scamps materialized, per usual. Nudging each other, they laughed and pointed at him asking,
“Eh, PC Buckroo, where be your moustache?”
Alerted, with a sinking feeling, PC Buckroo waddled rapidly towards the nearest window pane.
“Aaargggh!” he cried dismayed.
Clean shaven on one side, a limp mane hung on the other. He understood the reason for the merriment now.
Incensed, he bellowed, “I’ll get’em scamps one day.”