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One evening in the summer of '75/76, I was birding along
the Lake BG shore near the old Canberra hospital when a police car sped
across the grass and they asked if I'd seen a person wearing pink shorty
pyjamas.
"A bloke or a sheila?" I asked.
"It's a male person, sir, and, please, this is serious as he's missing from
the psychiatric ward. No, sir, he's not considered dangerous, but we need to
locate him and return him to care."
Later, while approaching my vehicle, I saw a man sitting on the retaining
wall dangling his feet in the water. He was wearing his birthday suit, his jamas
tied turban-style around his head. I put a call through on the emergency channel
of the CB Radio, this was long before mobile phones. Then I continued watching
him, thinking if he entered the water I'd have to fish him out.
The police appeared 10 minutes later and chatted to him as he replaced his
jamas and got into the car. The coppers gave me a nod and a wave, and away they
went. At home, later that evening, I received a phone call from the Civic Police
Station thanking me for my response.
"How did you know my name?" I asked.
"We ran a check on your number plate."
"Why?"
"Well, Mr Layton, you were carrying binoculars in the hospital precincts,
and we often receive peeping-tom type complaints about persons in the vicinity
of the nurses' quarters."
"I'm a birdwatcher, I study wild birds, I hope you can understand
that."
"Relax, Mr Layton, you are no longer a person of interest," Sergeant Charge
chuckled. So help me, that was the jovial copper's name.
John K. Layton
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