Any visitor to the West of Ireland must be impressed by the photographs that are displayed in the white-washed cottages; photographs of the stalwart sons and brothers who went to America long ago, and of whom so many have won their way to high positions in the police force over there. Recently a South American holiday-maker told his fellow-guests that he considered that Irishmen make the best policemen in the world, their only failing being a slight bias in favour of a fellow-countryman if he gets into trouble far from home.
He told of an Irish policeman in Los Angeles who saw a dilapidated and almost paintless Ford run into the back of a "super" limousine with considerable force, and damage the gleaming paintwork more than a little. The policeman stepped forward, and, speaking in no uncertain tones, he asked the driver of the Ford what he meant by bringing a machine like that into a high-class thoroughfare and causing damage to a car that was a car, and not a collection of tin cans loosely tied together. "Are you from Tipperary or Limerick?" the driver asked, interestedly. " 'Tis aither one or the other, I know; I'm from Tipperary myself, but I know Limerick well." The policeman put away his notebook and stalked up to the scratched limousine, where the irate owner, who knew himself to be blameless, waited for him impatiently. "Look'd here," said the guardian of the Law, truculently, " what do you mean by backin' your car into that man's Ford?"
The Irish Times, August 27th, 1929.