MEMORY-jerking mention recently, about the old Tardis-style police boxes which used to be dotted around the borough, has inspired a couple of amusing tales from that golden era of the local beat bobby.

They revolve around a 'talking mirror' and the Ravenhead vicar's cat, and were forwarded by an Eccleston reader who wishes to remain anonymous but supplies his identity to me as a token of good faith.

The mirror mystery harks back to the time when the local police force was housed in the town hall buildings. The window of the station's enquiries office overlooked one of the two red telephone boxes - complete with their standard, face-height mirrors - standing by the side of the town hall steps.

One legendary sergeant of that time used to cheer himself up, when bored by the humdrum of his desk work, by ringing one of the phone boxes in the expectation that some poor mug might answer.

"And he found plenty of mugs," says our tale spinner. "Harry (that was the name of the sergeant) would watch his victim step inside the box, tentatively lift the receiver and murmur 'Hello!'"

That was Harry's cue for conversation, passing himself off as the talking mirror.

A typical conversation would go, "Oh, hello, I'm so glad you came in to talk to me. It's awfully lonely in here.

"Can you imagine what it's like being a mirror? Locked up in this place all day with no-one giving you a second glance. But you're nice. Like your coat, by the way...is it new?"

The shocked victims of the wheeze soon found themselves literally joining in conversation with the mirror, believing for an instant or two that it was alive.

"In the best traditions of the comedian, Harry never once burst into laughter," says our Eccleston chum, "and he let the gullible ones escape not knowing they'd been taken for a ride."

In those comparatively relaxed, though more law-abiding times, the older bobbies used to pull a variety of stunts on new recruits.

One green young copper received an 'urgent' call, via the wooden police box near Thatto Heath Park, where the beat bobbies were required to make regular check-ins.

He was told that the vicar of Ravenhead St John's was going on holiday. But to avoid drawing attention to his absence, the police were asked not to be an obvious presence by day. The curate would pop round during daylight hours... but the vicar's cat presented a problem.

It was very much a 'night creature' and would only eat after dark. The raw police recruit was instructed to make sure the pet was well fed, by purchasing cat food and a pint of milk to be laid down by the vicarage at night.

Poor PC Plod did as commanded . . . until he put in an expenses claim for cat sustenance and found the rest of his colleagues falling about with laughter. Only then did the coin drop.

But there was a sting in the tail. The vicar had occasion, some time later, to genuinely go on holiday. He phoned in to ask the same local bobby if he'd keep an eye out for his cat.

The request was met with an unexpected volley of abuse, thinking it was some wind-up merchant of a police colleague at the other end of the line.

Says our Eccleston correspondent, who swears blind that the tale is true: "I wonder how this was later explained to the vicar and who had the uneviable job of doing so?"

ANYONE else got a giggle from the past to share with us? If so, please write to me at the Star.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.