hindsight.
When my time at the crossing point was up I called the station on my radio and asked if someone could collect me, but was told to walk back to the station. I explained I had no idea where to walk, I wasn’t sure where I was and any possibility of orientation was rendered utterly impossible by the fog. It was a good half hour before Colin reappeared and I got in the car. He drove about 70 yards down the road and stopped. Right outside the Police Station.
I realised it was time to put a bit more effort into improving my local knowledge.
I soon encountered another drawback of being relatively young in service. If there was anything involving some form of public relations, you were likely to be the one who was ‘volunteered’ for it. A local initiative wanted to highlight the links between Police and schools, and it was decided that a press release and photo would do the trick. The photo was to show a couple of smiling Police Officers with two charming schoolchildren. Needless to say I was picked along with Jill Sanderson, my Sergeant at the time. She was ‘acting’, hoping for a permanent promotion, so she needed to score as many points as possible during this time to help her career. Wearing best full uniform we went to a local school and were introduced to a small girl and a smaller boy, and at the photographer’s direction stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling sheet, to give a white background. Jillheld the girl’s hand for the photo while I had to pick the lad up in the role of guardian or rescuer. It seemed a bit ‘twee’, but after a few minutes I began to feel a warm sense of satisfaction. This was the ‘difference’ I had wanted to make when I applied to the job. Being in the community, being visible, approachable and useful.
Shortly afterwards the warm feeling became a little too realistic, and I realised the boy I was holding had sprung a leak.
‘Have we had an accident?’ simpered the teacher.
‘I don’t know about ‘we’, but he certainly has,’ I said, putting the child back on the floor and removing my immaculate tunic, which had a dark stain on its already dark material.
‘Oh he often does that if he gets excited or nervous.’
‘Thanks for the warning.’
I gave up on the idea of community policing and rekindled my dreams of traffic instead. I was to have contact with many bodily fluids over the years, but few as unwelcome as my only attempt at bringing my compassionate nature into the classroom.
As at my first posting, the availability of alcohol played a part in the social life of the block, but some took it a bit more seriously than others, and it was not just the CID who had a penchant for drink – the shift pattern allowed you to finish a late shift and grab an hour in the pub, as indeed did the early shift. Some drink driving took place off duty, but it was never widespread even though there was no great prospect of prosecution as long as you didn’t hit another car, or weren’t stopped by one of the Traffic lads. If you did, you were rightly on your own. A couple of yearsafter my arrival my station Sergeant was disqualified for drink driving, but instead of the inevitable dismissal that would occur today, he simply made arrangements to be picked up and dropped off by a panda car at the start and finish of each shift. His tour of duty involved sitting in the station checking files and other paperwork submissions, and supervising the radio room and front desk, so lack of a licence didn’t affect the work he actually did. Unfortunately it also meant that he didn’t have to worry about driving, so the drinking continued unabated.
One evening it was my turn to collect him. I went to his house and rang the doorbell, but got no reply. After a couple more rings I went to look through the open curtains and saw the Sergeant in full uniform in his lounge. In the lounge was a wood framed, glass-topped coffee table. In the centre of the coffee table where he had recently
When my time at the crossing point was up I called the station on my radio and asked if someone could collect me, but was told to walk back to the station. I explained I had no idea where to walk, I wasn’t sure where I was and any possibility of orientation was rendered utterly impossible by the fog. It was a good half hour before Colin reappeared and I got in the car. He drove about 70 yards down the road and stopped. Right outside the Police Station.
I realised it was time to put a bit more effort into improving my local knowledge.
I soon encountered another drawback of being relatively young in service. If there was anything involving some form of public relations, you were likely to be the one who was ‘volunteered’ for it. A local initiative wanted to highlight the links between Police and schools, and it was decided that a press release and photo would do the trick. The photo was to show a couple of smiling Police Officers with two charming schoolchildren. Needless to say I was picked along with Jill Sanderson, my Sergeant at the time. She was ‘acting’, hoping for a permanent promotion, so she needed to score as many points as possible during this time to help her career. Wearing best full uniform we went to a local school and were introduced to a small girl and a smaller boy, and at the photographer’s direction stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling sheet, to give a white background. Jillheld the girl’s hand for the photo while I had to pick the lad up in the role of guardian or rescuer. It seemed a bit ‘twee’, but after a few minutes I began to feel a warm sense of satisfaction. This was the ‘difference’ I had wanted to make when I applied to the job. Being in the community, being visible, approachable and useful.
Shortly afterwards the warm feeling became a little too realistic, and I realised the boy I was holding had sprung a leak.
‘Have we had an accident?’ simpered the teacher.
‘I don’t know about ‘we’, but he certainly has,’ I said, putting the child back on the floor and removing my immaculate tunic, which had a dark stain on its already dark material.
‘Oh he often does that if he gets excited or nervous.’
‘Thanks for the warning.’
I gave up on the idea of community policing and rekindled my dreams of traffic instead. I was to have contact with many bodily fluids over the years, but few as unwelcome as my only attempt at bringing my compassionate nature into the classroom.
As at my first posting, the availability of alcohol played a part in the social life of the block, but some took it a bit more seriously than others, and it was not just the CID who had a penchant for drink – the shift pattern allowed you to finish a late shift and grab an hour in the pub, as indeed did the early shift. Some drink driving took place off duty, but it was never widespread even though there was no great prospect of prosecution as long as you didn’t hit another car, or weren’t stopped by one of the Traffic lads. If you did, you were rightly on your own. A couple of yearsafter my arrival my station Sergeant was disqualified for drink driving, but instead of the inevitable dismissal that would occur today, he simply made arrangements to be picked up and dropped off by a panda car at the start and finish of each shift. His tour of duty involved sitting in the station checking files and other paperwork submissions, and supervising the radio room and front desk, so lack of a licence didn’t affect the work he actually did. Unfortunately it also meant that he didn’t have to worry about driving, so the drinking continued unabated.
One evening it was my turn to collect him. I went to his house and rang the doorbell, but got no reply. After a couple more rings I went to look through the open curtains and saw the Sergeant in full uniform in his lounge. In the lounge was a wood framed, glass-topped coffee table. In the centre of the coffee table where he had recently
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