Running from the Law

The first time I ran from the cops was about 1969 in the wee hours of a Harrismith Vrystaat morning. We were lurking, having climbed out of our bedroom windows to rendezvous on the dark streets of the silent metropolis as unaccompanied minors.

Near Greg’s cafe we spotted one of The SAP’s Finest, drunk behind the wheel of his light grey cop van. Remember them? Ford F150’s with that metal mesh over the windows.

Being upstanding citizens we phoned the pulley stasie from a tickey box to report him.

Next minute we heard a squeal of tyres and we were being chased in the dead of night by that same drunk himself – his buddies had obviously radioed him. Maybe that night’s desk duty-poppie was his stukkie?

No ways he could catch us fleet-footed schoolboys in his weaving van. We ducked and eventually dived under the foundations of Alet de Witt’s new block of flats and watched him careen past us. We emerged boldly and walked home, knowing we would hear him in the silence of a law-abiding village night LONG before he could spot us. Anyway, we didn’t want to be late for school.

No doubt he took another sluk of brandy and went looking for someone dark to beat up.

That was also the last time I ran from the law, come to think of it.

~~oo0oo~~

pulley stasie – the fuzz house; the police station

tickey box – public phone booth – see picture

stukkie – significant other; connection

sluk – swallow; slug; gulp