Lack of respect for authority
If there is one paternal family trait I'm proud of, it's our weary disdain for authority. Respect for one's overseers is always earned and never a right. That philosophy has been handed down my family for generations and no small amount if pleasure has been gained over the years in voicing our distaste for the many instances of pomposity and stupidity displayed by those we entrust with our safety. liberty and moral direction. I'll give you the shining example of my lineage that is my paternal grandfather.

Grandad PJM fought in the trenches during WWI and returned home to marry the daughter of German immigrants. He spent the 1920s and 1930s driving a horse drawn dray around the streets of the East End of London delivering barrels of beer to the numerous pubs and drinking establishments.

As WWII and rationing became part of life in 1940s London, Grandad PJM was struggling with shortages (my grandmother was only 4' 11") and rationing and thus the family made use of their modest suburban garden for growing vegetables, helped in no small way by Grandad PJM's regular source of organic fertilizer.

It was in the midst of one blacked out evening during the winter of 1940/41 that Grandad PJM was making his way home across London bearing a large sack on his back. As he passed London Bridge, a passing policeman with a keen eye for spotting out black market activity during these times stopped Grandad PJM in the street.

"Ello, ello, ello" said Plod. "What have yew got in the sack, sir?"

"Shit" replied Grandad PJM.

"Hai am going to ask yew once again sir before hai ask yew to accompany me to the stayshun, what is in the sack?"

"Shit" replied grandad PJM, dismissively once again.

"Right then sir yew are nicked. Sunshine". With that, Grandad PJM was frogmarched to the local Plodhouse

"Right then sir hai am going to ask yew one more time before hai make yew open it. What have yew got in the sack?" said plod who now sensing an opportunity for promotion in front of his superintendent who was now present.

"I already told you, shit" replied Grandad PJM.

"If yew won't tell me what is in the sack then hai am afraid hai am going to have to ask you to empty the contents onto the floor" brayed the copper, the extra stripe now surely not far away.

"Alright then" replied Grandad PJM who simply shrugged and poured forty pounds of matured horse manure onto the pristine floor of the police station.

Grandad PJM was sent on his way home, but not before the superintendent ordered the policeman to put the manure back in the sack and return it with an apology.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 21 Nov 2008, 11:25, 8 replies)

click
a lovely story I must say
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 11:28, closed)

*clicks madly*
I love this story!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 11:43, closed)

Tenuous
but lovely :)
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 11:43, closed)

Fantastic...again...

Clickety woo!
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 21 Nov 2008, 11:53, closed)

top notch poo story!
*grins & clicks*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 14:19, closed)

so was there a lot of south african policemen in post war britain
?
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 17:18, closed)

Ai shull 'it yew wit' my rubbah 'ose.
Yes, I can see where you're coming from Spimf... Written dialect is a swine to get right.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Sat 22 Nov 2008, 20:59, closed)

Awesome :)
*click*
(Patfish, Mon 24 Nov 2008, 17:56, closed)