Page Forty Six - Wanda Isn't a Fish (Copcast #161)

At ninja skills training, sorry Defensive Skills or Officer Safety Training, they bang on about using tactical communications, officer approach and stance, the conflict resolution model, how your behaviour affects others, the reactionary gap, etc. All very valid and if you want to avoid getting the odd punch on the nose then it's worthwhile paying attention. The biggest problem George often encounters however is being crewed up with a probie who's been watching too many episodes of Street Wars or Police Interceptors and is a little 'punchy'. It's quite often these younger ones who prefer wearing the uniform to actually getting stuck into the paperwork. On a Friday Night Duty you can almost feel the testosterone brewing in the office prior to jumping on a carrier.

Recently they were on the Public Order Carrier on a Friday night and were called to reports of a female making off from a criminal damage at a pub. Clearly she didn't like the cocktails and had demonstrated her frustration by throwing a bar stool at a window. The fact it was a female made George sit up and listen. Fighting girls is not one of his favourite past-times; they kick, scratch, spit, bite and have a natural ability to target the soft, fleshy, sensitive parts that men need to procreate. They also have their own soft fleshy parts that men can get themselves into trouble for touching, even inadvertently.

A further description came in of a white female, chubby build, shoulder length curly hair wearing a short white miniskirt. "Sounds like Wanda" he muttered to the five probies on the bus, who were oblivious to the information and were hypnotised by the two tones with mad grins on their faces. Wanda is a known troublemaker in the town, she has numerous public order offences to her name and will generally fight most coppers if they get hands on with her. George relayed this information to the probies and they all nodded in unison. They soon found Wanda kicking a telephone box, the probies jumped out and approached her while George secured the carrier.

Five probies now surrounded Wanda who was beginning to show signs akin to that of a cornered rat. "This is going to go very wrong" George sighed as he approached. At that point Wanda tried to push herself away and one of the probies grabbed her by the wrists. He was now less than one foot away from her face and shouted "Get ba-" as Wanda head-butted him to the ground. To their credit the probies jumped on Wanda and wrestled her to the floor, various probies spilled out from the mêlée only to jump back in. George jumped in, holding Wanda's head to ground with his left knee whilst his right knee sat on her rib cage, pinning her to the floor, right hand trying to hold onto her flaying right arm.

"Cuffs!" he shouted. One went on but the other wouldn't go near the other hand. Wanda was snarling by now and trying to bite and one of the probies used another set of handcuffs and joined them in front of Wanda. "Brilliant, now she's got a weapon" thought George. He ordered the probationers to cuff her to the rear before Wanda was eventually placed in limb restraints and carried into the back of a caged van, still swearing, still fighting. George looked at the battered probationers who were now all very dishevelled, the one who had been head-butted was nursing his forehead. It wasn't a major injury, and it surprised him more than anything else, still he needed checking out by paramedics.

It turns out that Wanda had sworn at one of the probies, who had then sworn back at her. Wanda in her drunken state didn't like being cornered or being sworn at and had tried to get away. This resulted in said probationer getting head-butted and Wanda being taken to the floor by six police officers in full view of the general public and CCTV. Public perception? Use of force? Approach & stance? Tac comms? All of their very recent defensive skills training was put to the test and no one had passed. A lot of valuable lessons were learned by the probationers at that job, one of them had a painful reminder for a week afterwards.

George too learned a valuable lesson get out of the bloody carrier first. 

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Page forty Five - Not Linford Christie (Copcast #160)

George hates foot chases. Aside from the obvious that it knackers you out if it goes on for more than five minutes, you also have to contend with street furniture, mums with buggies, jeering youths and cars that absolutely and categorically will not stop to let you pass. The bad guys are normally half George's age, light on their feet and wearing Nike air trainers whereas he's wearing a stab vest, belt kit and running in size 10 steel toecap army boots.

He only has a dozen years left in the job, so tripping over a bollard and smashing his pelvis on a kerbstone is not high on his agenda. He's seen it happen and you can take his word it isn't pretty or funny, especially if it's one of your colleagues. For this reason one of the first things he asks any new probationer is "what are you like at running?" Most eager ones tell him they are trained to an Olympian standard. That's that sorted then, they chase on foot and George'll back them up in the car. Well that's the plan at least but it never quite works out that way.

The other day George and a probationer were taking a statement from a shop owner when the CCTV Control Room called up to say they had a wanted person on camera, not far from otheir location. Various units called up, two PCSO's had eyeball on him but were holding off and an unmarked unit were coming in from the top end of town. George looked at his probationer who was in the middle of his statement and told him it was okay, other units were nearby they'd get him. Best finish the statement.

A few minutes later CCTV called up again, the suspect was moving off on his bicycle. The PCSO's were told to hang back for health and safety reasons and the unmarked unit still some minutes away. There was no one else nearer so George told his probationer that they would try to sneak up on the suspect as this lad had warning markers for escaping. As soon as they got to the door of the shop they spotted him - and he spotted them. In fact he was staring right at them. A second's pause and George shouted "Right, get 'im!" The probationer launched himself out of the shop, the bad guy started to make off on his bike, the lad made it to the road and was gaining momentum fast.

The probbie stepped up a gear and chased the suspect on his bike up a busy main road, car drivers stopped in awe and passers-by just stared. Why does that never happen for George? He was like a gazelle and was catching up with the cyclist fast; George on the other hand was way behind calling for back up in between gasping for breath. The lad seemed to be getting away when all of a sudden two plain clothes officers jumped on him, or rather he cycled into their arms. The probationer was on him in seconds, slapping handcuffs onto the protesting teenager before George caught up, clearly worse for wear and puffing like a steam engine. After a few minutes recovery he asked his probationer what he had arrested him for, other than making a police officer run.

"What me? I haven't arrested him for anything yet" was the answer.

"Best nick him for something then" was George's reply and eventually the words were said once they'd remembered what offence the lad was wanted for.

After the foot pursuit up a busy main road, members of the public took their time to take the mickey out of George once the bad guy was driven away by another unit. He thanked everyone for their kind comments, given that he hadn't even warmed up he thought he had done rather well and besides he was extremely proud of his probationer at that point. That was his third arrest in the one day.  His probationer later received an email from the controller stating she was impressed; George on the other hand, got a message of commiserations.

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Page Forty Four - Operator's Duties (Copcast #159)

The Radio Telephone or R/T Car tends to be the flagship on a Borough and the crew of the car are therefore looked upon to provide the lead in pretty much any day to day incidents that don’t need a supervisor. The driver of the R/T Car is also the most highly qualified driver on the Borough having attended and passed the four week Advanced Driving Course including pursuit management. As such, the ‘Driver’ is usually the oldest and most experienced PC on the team.

Obviously this means that it is an honour, no a privilege for a lowly probationary constable to be allowed to act as the Radio Operator on the R/T Car. There is however a price to be paid for such a privilege. The Operator must ensure that the car is cleaned both inside and out, fit to be seen in public.

The Operator must carry out the car’s Daily Inspection, making sure that all the fluids are correctly filled, the wipers work, the warning equipment including blue lights and sirens work, the tyres must be inflated to the correct pressure and have no damage or visible sign of wear. The headlights, sidelights, tail-lights, brake-lights, reversing lights and indicator lights must all be working and bulbs replaced if needs be.

Finally the Operator must ensure that the Driver has a cup of coffee, with milk and one sugar, before he is expected to move the R/T Car from the rear yard of the police station.

One of George’s probationers, John, was posted to the exulted duty of Radio Operator on the R/T Car for a gruelling four weeks and had just about come to grips with all the responsibilities. On his final day however, disaster struck.

He had done all the checks and washed and polished the car to a dazzling shine before trudging wearily upstairs to make his driver’s coffee before sitting obediently and politely listening for about an hour to all the stories about how the job used to be on the old days.

Eventually John and his driver made their way downstairs and climbed into the R/T car, the driver inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing. He took the key out again and reinserted it and turned it, but there was silence, not even a click of a relay. The driver turned to John and looked at him a moment before asking “When you checked the lights, did you turn them off afterward?”

John was horror-struck, his eyes widened in panic as he leapt out of the car and frantically opened the bonnet to check the engine was still there. It was but it was dead. He immediately called the Control Room on his personal radio asking that they call for a Traffic Unit to see if any jump leads were available. Sadly, due to Health and Safety restrictions, banning the untrained use of jump leads, none were available.

Next he turned to his driver and, almost pleading, said “I’ll push you. You can bump start it, can’t you?”

His driver, now slightly amused by John’s desperation to make the most of his last day’s posting to the R/T Car, was tempted to let him try pushing the car. A tiny shred of decency stopped him and forced him to point out to John that the R/T Car is the only car on the Division’s fleet with an automatic gear box, you can’t bump start it.

Utterly frantic now, John was almost running in circles around the car when he suddenly stopped and cried, “I’ve got it,” before disappearing back into the police station then moments later reappearing in the yard and tearing off through the gate towards the nearby petrol station. A few minutes had passed when John returned with a triumphant grin plastered on his face, in his hands he carried his trophy, a set of jump leads. The young officer was so intent on spending every possible moment in the Big Car that he had bought a set of leads out of his own pocket and was now hooking them to his own car to restart the R/T Car.

When George was later told the story he paused a moment before replying “When was the last time you were so keen to get out there and do your job that you did something like that?”

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