WE knock them, but we can't do without them. Who? The police of course, they are our first and last line of our defence.

A child lost, a fight, house broken into, car accident, bike pinched, nasty neighbours, the list is endless.

But I see them at the coal face, so to speak, see them dealing with stroppy teenagers, belligerent drunks, being kicked, spat at, and then I see them taking a great deal of care with some young girl suffering too much of something or other.

Risking injury to intervene in a street brawl. Putting up with all this, knowing if they make a wrong remark, deal with someone a bit too harshly, the wrath of the Gods will fall on their heads.

We can all tell stories of how they got it wrong, but most of the time we are very glad they are there.

And when there is trouble we can't wait for the police to arrive.

During the time I was at the Jubilee I remember 'Big Chinny' standing outside the door dispensing 'justice,' and if a constable came in the pub everyone would suddenly be busy behaving themselves.

Over the years we seemed to have done our very best to emasculate the police force, and in fact the law in general.

Would we have dared to swear at a bobby?

I remember our Alfred nicking apples and the local bobby paying a visit, good heavens! It was as though the end of the world was nigh.

The rot set in when teachers started wearing jeans and saying 'Hey! Call me Jed. I'm your friend.' Up until that time there was a dividing line so to speak, school teachers, policemen, doctors, nurses were people of status, we held them in high esteem as my age group still do. Maybe we should try to bring that back.

When I was a kid, we thought the corner shop at the end of the street was big business. Everyone had a place, a job to do, we even had living a few doors up the street Mrs Riding, a lovely lady who came 'in' when anyone died, she washed them and laid them out.

I remember that if I did some small errand she would reward me with a nice, well laundered pocket handkerchief smelling of lavender. She cleaned the school and church and I think that's where she found her stock.

It really was a very innocent time, my mum used to put out the rent, insurance, doctor's books with the money inside and then on a Friday night the front door would open and a voice call out, 'Prudential'.

He would take the money and shut the door behind him. Later it would be the doctor's man and so on until all dues and demands had been collected.

This was all done without my mum getting up from the fireside.

Sixpence a week kept you up-to-date with the doctor, sometimes if you had been ill you were behind but it still stayed the same, sixpence a week.

As far as I know it worked pretty well. My father, like most workers had money stopped out of his wage to pay for Blackburn Royal Infirmary and that seemed OK as well. Was it?

My gran lived with us at that time and she was scared of lightning. Whenever there was a thunderstorm she would open all the doors and turn the mirror to the wall (notice I say mirror, we only had one).

Heaven knows what for, and then she would sit me under the sink for safety. It might have saved me then, but it's put the fear of God into me ever since.

I remember her holding me on her knee during one storm and tell me 'that nasty man Hitler was bopping droms' -- funny thing memory isn't it?

PS: Next time you see a bobby, smile, you never know when you might need him.