Bus drivers have a reputation for impatience and surliness; they are not born that way, experience makes them so. Similarly, policemen such as myself see so much of the seamy side of life that we tend to become hard edged, outwardly insensitive and cynical. It was for this reason that when en route to a shout at Berry Head, a local clifftop beauty spot. I decided that my younger, less jaundiced colleague would be better able to deal with the situation than myself. We were on our way to a man, Joss Hudson, threatening to jump off the cliff top. Mr. Hudson was known to me as a bit of a social dropout, an alcoholic misfit, prone to minor violence on occasion. My ‘oppo’ was by name and nature, sweeter than myself, newly graduated from training school and still an idealist. P.C. Sugar was still wet behind the ears, fresh faced and eager, with a great future ahead of him. This would be a perfect opportunity to widen his experience. We decided that he should remove his helmet, to appear more human, but to keep on his knife-proof jacket in view of the potential violence of the would be suicide. I suggested that he should keep the transmitter of his radio on, in order that I could monitor events from a none-threatening distance, intervening only if and when necessary.
On our arrival, a small group of people were standing uncertainly in a bunch a little distance from Mr. Hudson, who was sitting right on the edge of the cliff, with his back to the edge. It seemed obvious to me that had he really wanted to jump, he would have done so by now. Most likely, it was a case of attention seeking, or a cry for help, depending on your point of view. I busied myself with moving the onlookers on. At first, they were reluctant to disperse, and I had to ask them if they were thrill-seeking, waiting to see him jump, and suggested that they were not making things any easier by treating him like an exhibit in a showcase. Eventually, they retired to a more discrete viewpoint.
Andy Sugar had a sweat on before we even arrived. He was not looking forward to this baptism of fire. He approached Joss very slowly and carefully, his arms down, but wide apart, his palms towards the man, indicating openness and innocence. When told not to come any closer, he too squatted down on the grass in a friendly and unthreatening manner.
“What’s the matter mate? It can’t be that bad.” He said.
He was, as you might expect, answered with an oath, and told where to go.
“Oh, come on, are you trying to get me in trouble with my sergeant? He sent me here, and here I have to be. What’s brought this on? Tell me about it.”
“What would you know about it? You’re just a boy doing a man’s job. Jesus, you should still be at school. Got a fag?”
This gave young Andy the chance to get closer, if only to light two cigarettes. My theory that Andy’s open, friendly face would be hard to resist seemed to be working, and Andy knew from his training that he was probably talking to a very lonely man, totally wrapped up in his own misery.
“So you think I am too young to understand pain, huh? Too green to know what real heartache is all about? God, if only you knew. You think you have some sort of monopoly on bad luck, that you are something special? No way, pal, no way.”
If Andy was playing some sort of psychological game, he was doing it brilliantly, but from the tone of his voice, he sounded as if he meant every word. In a few seconds, he had managed to arouse Joss’s curiosity, and thus taken him out of his solitary place.
“Nah, your too young son. Wait till you’ve been around the block a few times. You’ll learn, son, you’ll learn. Life ain’t no bag of cherries, son, more like a bag o shit, and that’s a fact. What would you know about it?
This was the opening Andy was waiting for, and he launched into his own story, and I learned more about that lad in the next few minutes than I had learned in a month of working with him. He told, with growing emotion, of his hero worship of his dad, of always wanting to follow him into the Marines, of his shame when he failed to obtain his green beret, and his father’s bitter disappointment. Movingly, he described his anguish as he watched his dad then die a slow agonised death from lung cancer, and his continuing sense that he had let his dad down badly. He spoke of his happiness at falling deeply in love with the most fantastic girl in the world, and the joy of their marriage, and how, 6 months ago, they had been blessed with a beautiful young daughter, and their agony when they were told that she suffered from encephalitis, and that if she grew up at all, she would be extremely retarded, and of their deepening love for her.
“Oh, I might be only 22 mate, but I know plenty about despair. Been there, worn the tee shirt, so don’t you tell me.”
I don’t know if Andy had a lump in his throat at this point, but I certainly did, and so must Joss, for he reached out and held Andy’s arm in a gesture of understanding. They were now buddies sharing their pain, and for this moment at least, they were soul mates.
Gradually, hesitantly, Joss began to relate his own story, a story that maybe had been told before, but a story that nobody had listened to. It was a familiar enough tale, told eloquently and with passion. He told of a much loved mother who died of a stroke in his arms, of a business going pear shaped, followed by bankruptcy and the end of a long term relationship, of becoming homeless, living in a succession of grotty bed sits; of loneliness and the death of hope, the almost inevitable slide into alcoholism, of descent into hell. Hard bitten I may be, but at this point, I had a new respect for both these very different men. I felt their pain and admired their endurance. There but for the grace of God........
At this moment, for some unexplained reason, Andy’s radio went dead, and I was no longer able to hear what was being said. They were sat on the edge of the cliff top, facing each other, close now, their heads within whispering distance. They talked for maybe ten minutes or more. Andy turned his head towards me and waved.
“It’s OK. We will be coming to the car in a minute. Nothing to worry about. Take it easy.”
Andy and Joss patted each other on the shoulder, and the crisis appeared to be over. I began to think where we could take Joss. Putting him in either a police cell for the night or a hospital seemed the wrong thing to do. This man was not ill, neither was he bad. Bit of a poser really.
They both made moves to stand up. Andy, being younger and fitter, got to his feet first, but Joss had stiffened up, and rose more slowly. As he straightened up, Joss slipped, and nearly disappeared over the edge. In panic, he reached out to Andy for support. His hand grabbed hold of Andy’s knife jacket, which steadied him.
But Andy, caught unawares, became unbalanced, and fell forward, to his death.
Andy died that Joss may live.
