There’s many a man of the Cameron clan That has followed his chief to the field
He has sworn to support him or die by his side For a Cameron never can yield.
Clan Cameron is said to be one of the most ancient of Scottish clans and is described as ‘fiercer than fierceness itself’. Tradition has it that the first Cameron was much renowned for his prodigious strength; “he could hoist from the ground a 5oolb. weight with a straight arm, and toss it with as much ease as a man does a cricket-bat, a plough-share he could bend round his leg like a garter, and the strongest ropes were no more in his hands than twine-thread”.
Nominative determinism no doubt plays its part in ensuring that those who carry the Cameron name (yes, I do!) continue the tradition of ‘taking no prisoners’ and never, ever, giving quarter in battle. We have a lot to live up to.
Cameron males and those who aspire to live up to that image, are to be found all over the world; thanks to the family genes, they tend to be taller than average, stronger than average, and yes, probably, fierier than average. You will find them on oil rigs in Venezuela, down diamond mines in Angola, fishing in Alaska – anywhere there is a need for tough men that baulk at no task, can take care of themselves, play hard and work hard.
There is the odd genetic mutation of course; every family will throw up a runt of the litter occasionally – you probably have one in mind as you read this – but the Cameron MacArthur of whom I am about to speak is no such mutation. He lives up to the family reputation in every respect.
He arrived in London from Canada via a series of physically demanding jobs in difficult countries. He has held down yet another tough job here for 20 years, and earned the respect of the men who work under him. Such is the way of the world these days, he holds a sheaf of certificates from men in shiny suits with spiky hair to say that he can be trusted to do work they would be terrified of.
Having said that, when – and only when – he’s not working, he could cheerfully drink the average alcoholic under the table. A bottle of whiskey is a reasonable pre-cursor to breakfast. Heavy rock music is the only music worth listening to. Should you wish to engage him in debate come the evening from an opposing position – duck first.
If you are getting the picture by now, you have probably figured that this is a man not best suited to contented domestic bliss, engaging companion though he can be. He’s a loner, perfectly happy with a child-free, woman- free – and yes, I did take my life in my hands to enquire – same-sex partner-free life. (I live to tell the tale…Phew!) I was left in no doubt as to Cameron’s opinions on gay marriage, paedophilia, feminism, transgenderism, and a host of other related subjects…he doesn’t hold back.
Now, in July 2014, a six year old boy went into a public toilet in King’s Cross, near to where Cameron lives, and when he emerged, he told his mother that a man had tried to ‘interfere’ with him. She very correctly reported this to the Police. A year later the police had made no progress in finding out who this man might be. They appealed to Crimewatch, and earlier this year, they showed cctv of a man seen leaving the toilet shortly after the boy .
Somebody, with a broad and misplaced sense of humour, phoned in and gave the police Cameron’s name and address. Four police officers arrived at his home, they searched it, looking for clothes similar to those in the cctv film. They found nothing. It was all very friendly and unthreatening – for they all know Cameron, he is a ‘local character’. Notwithstanding that, he was put on police bail and ordered to return to the station in six weeks.
A few days before he was due to surrender to bail, he was walking home across a local park, when he ran into one of the police who had come to his home. ‘Don’t worry Cameron’ she said, ‘they know perfectly well it isn’t you in the cctv’. As well they might, had it been a transgendered dwarf in that film it couldn’t have looked less like Cameron!
Cameron had been worried. Worried about his work force if they heard he’d been arrested for alleged paedophilia. Worried about the publicity. Worried about his job. Worried that it might get to a jury who might find him guilty of that most despicable of crimes. Sick to the stomach in fact.
He is a responsible man however, he knows how to behave when it matters. He couldn’t face going into work, didn’t socialise, but continued to wrack his brains as to how he, a loner, might find an alibi for the date in question.
Eventually, July 14th 2015, the day of his bail hearing, dawned. The day this proud man had to answer bail for a possible charge of paedophilia. He drank a bottle of whiskey and walked down to the police station, stepped into the foyer, and presented himself to the desk sergeant.
‘No case to answer’. So, the detective he had met in the park was right. They knew it wasn’t Cameron in the cctv fim. It didn’t look like him, it wasn’t him; all done and dusted. Time to celebrate right?
Not quite. It was such a nonchalant dismissal. No recognition of what Cameron had been through in those six weeks. Not a ‘Sorry’ or even a ‘We could see it wasn’t you but we have to follow up every allegation’.
So Cameron gave them a piece of his mind. He didn’t demolish the Police Station; no police officers were bitten, bruised, or battered. The station furniture remained intact. He spoke. Eloquently. Forcefully. At length.
On the subject of their competence; the legitimacy of their birth certificates; their resemblance to female genitalia; their ability to organise a celebration in a brewery; their desire to have an arrest, any arrest, after being tv stars for the day on Crimewatch, even though a Baboon with bifocals could see that it wasn’t Cameron in that cctv; he repeated himself in case they hadn’t quite grasped the depth of his feelings the first time.
He thinks he was remarkably restrained, under the circumstances.
They don’t – they’ve charged him with ‘violent behaviour’. He will appear in court on 13th November 2015.
He’s pleaded not guilty, on the grounds that ‘he wasn’t violent’. He could have pleaded guilty and accepted a £50 fine and £150 court charges for giving them a piece of his mind for the way he’s been treated – but he didn’t. He’s pig headed. He’s a Cameron, not a neutered politically correct cyborg.
That means that if he doesn’t win his case, he will have to pay up to £1,000 in court charges for the privilege of having told a group of policemen what he thinks of spending six weeks being labelled an ‘alleged paedophile’.
This Sunday will be the first shift he has undertaken at work since June 4th 2015 – he may be a big tough guy, but this affair has destroyed him. He is not the first to be so destroyed.
Child abuse allegations must be investigated – but the Police have to recognise that alleged perpetrators need to be handled with dignity and sensitivity too. Just as ‘alleged victims’ come in all shapes and sizes, and all their funny little ways need to be understood and accommodated – so too do ‘alleged perpetrators’.
They won’t even charge false allegators with perverting the course of justice – much less charge them for swearing at a policeman.
Anyone legally qualified up for supporting him?
Edited by Anna to add: The 13th of November arrived; one of our kind readers attended court with Cameron – and his case was thrown out.
He is now bringing a civil suit for wrongful arrest. Good for him.