A Call of Nature

 

 

A CALL OF NATURE

 

            When the train approached an underground station in central London, I felt an urgent call of nature. As I disembarked and left the station, I looked for a facility. A signpost directed me downwards. For a minute I hesitated. A few days earlier, an armed robbery had been carried out in that type of place. Still,  a pressing need forced me to proceed. In any event, my fears were allayed by the sight of an urbane looking London policeman, wearing a helmet, a navy-blue uniform – known as a bobby in those days - strolling with dignified calm through the busy square adjacent to the station. I was further comforted when a casual passer-by muttered to his companion that, usually, two members of the force kept the peace in this place. Could any criminals dare to show their hand just when the city of London furnished such excellent guardians for the protection of the public?

            A set of barriers, placed in front of the lavatory, required ‘patrons’ to place a 5 pence coin in a designated slot. This appeared a modest charge for entrance into the facility kept neat by a dark-skinned cleaner.  I was about to insert a coin, when  a broad shouldered casually dressed fellow – a typical Caucasian –  held out his hand:

            “Just place your coin here, Sir.”

            “Here?” I asked bewildered.

            “Yes.”

 

Forcing the barrier open, he let me through, pocketed the coin and, smiling benignly thanked me. Feeling that eruption was close, I rushed into a commodious chamber, my shaking hand clinging to toilet paper, offered to me by the cleaner for 10 pence.

            As I emerged, and washed my hands with relief, I was amused to see that some other patrons, who went downstairs after me, received a similar treatment. Still, none of them looked bewildered.  Shrugging, I put my hand in my pocket in search of another coin. Unexpectedly, though, the fellow who had taken my first coin assured me with a grin that ‘exit was free’. Impulsively, I took a pound out of my wallet and pressed it into his hand: “That’s for a drink, my good fellow.” His eyes followed me with unconcealed amazement as I walked up the stairs, back into the peaceful square and such fresh air as you can enjoy in a metropolis.

 

            A glance at my watch revealed that I was bound to miss my first morning appointment. Having nothing better to do, I sat down at a table placed in front of a coffee house and ordered a sandwich and a cup of tea.  Munching slowly, I reflected on my recent experience. Actually, I had not been robbed. I had paid the charge levied for the use of the amenity; but the token sum found its way into the pocket of the broad- shouldered fellow instead of the local council or the relevant government body. But then, was I the keeper of either of them?

            I was about to rise from my seat, when a new bobby joined the one who was patrolling the square. As I saw his face, I was amazed to recognize the broad-shouldered fellow from the amenity downstairs.

 

            “Your turn, John,” he advised the officer in charge.

            “How did it go, Bill?” asked the servant of the public.

            “Excellent session and, you know, one nut gave me a pound for a drink.”

            “You must be joking!”

            “Cross my heart!”

            “Oh well, it takes all kinds,” replied the neatly uniformed John and proceeded – with pride and dignity – to the stairs leading to the public toilet.

            “Don’t forget to change your clothes and leave your uniform with the cleaner, John. He gets 20p,” reminded the new, broad-shouldered and neatly uniformed bobby, called Bill.

 

 

                                                                                                     

 

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