Value of a cops life.

My friend Hazel Barker, lost her husband in 2009 in the Cumbrian floods, when the bridge he was standing on collapsed. He was stopping others going across it. Hazel posted the following after the deaths in London at the hands of a terrorist. This is an extract.

Such a mixture of emotions tonight … sadness for the Family of the Police Officer who paid the ultimate sacrifice whilst protecting our country, pride in a very dear friend who sadly witnessed this atrocity …. heartbreak for yet another one lost that walks the thin, blue line!

When the Lord was creating police officers, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”
And the Lord said, “Have you read the spec on this order?
” A police officer has to be able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter homes the health inspector wouldn’t touch, and not wrinkle his uniform.
“He has to be able to sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a homicide scene that night, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses, and testify in court the next day.
“He has to be in top physical condition at all times, on running black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to six have pairs of hands.”
The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands… no way.”
“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the Lord, “it’s the three pairs of eyes an officer has to have.”
“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. “One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks, “May I see what’s in there, sir?” (When he already knows and wishes he’d taken that accounting job.) “Another pair here in the side of his head for his partners’ safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, ‘You’ll be all right ma’am, when he knows it isn’t so.”
“Lord,” said the angel, touching his sleeve, “rest and work on this tomorrow.”
“I can’t,” said the Lord, “I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk into a patrol car without incident and feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck.”
The angel circled the model of the police officer very slowly, “Can it think?” she asked.
“You bet,” said the Lord. “It can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes; recite Miranda warnings in its sleep; detain, investigate, search, and arrest a gang member on the street in less time than it takes five learned judges to debate the legality of the stop… and still it keeps its sense of humor.
“This officer also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with crime scenes painted in hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, comfort a murder victim’s family, and then read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn’t sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects.”
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the police officer. “There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model.”
“That’s not a leak,” said the lord, “it’s a tear.”
“What’s the tear for?” asked the angel.
“It’s for bottled-up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the British flag, for justice.”
“You’re a genius,” said the angel.
The Lord looked somber. “I didn’t put it there,” he said.

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