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| | 'Constable on the Track'. Whilst I was on uniform duty at Newcastle Central Railway Station during 'the mid sixties', a young clergyman wearing full white collar and clerical attire complained that his attache case, initialled and distinctive, containing a Bible and personal papers, had been stolen from the station concourse whilst he had been browsing at a nearby news -stand. I asked the clergyman to accompany me to the waiting room and main toilets situated around the station concourse in an effort to trace the suitcase and hopefully the thief. This we quickly did with negative result. As a last resort I suggested that we check the smaller block of toilets near the electric train platforms at the east end of the station. One of the six cubicles was found closed, marked up 'engaged'. The clergyman and I quietly tiptoed into the toilet block and we both knelt and peered under the 'bottom-gap' of the door, our observations revealing a pair of large boots and dirty turned up trousers, whilst standing dead centre of the boots was the small case. The toilet was heard to 'flush', shortly afterwards a scruffy Henry Cooper look-alike appeared, broken nose and all. On being met by the full force of the law and a member of the cloth, the suspected thief blurted out a confession: "Sorry, guv, I pinched it, it's a fair cop, please forgive me, I was only looking for sandwiches".
David Armstrong Ex BTP April 2010
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| | I think I may have mentioned that in the early `70's I found myself learning how to control a police traffic motor bike. I was sent to Stafford on a training course. I had been riding BSA 650cc motorbikes in Leicestershire but Staffs police were using ex- patrol Triumph Bonnevilles to teach we `rookies` how to ride to their exacting standards.
We used to ride in formation - four `rookies` and the instructor who took second place in the lineup so he could watch the progress of the one trainee in front of him with the other three trailing behind.
Well my time came to lead the `rat pack`, and I was told we were going to head for the town of Stone, where we would stop for a cuppa. I set off, eager to impress the tutor with my prowess as a motorcyclist. The idea was that you had to obey every speed limit, except the National limit of 60 or 70 mph, which we could ignore for training purposes.
We set off from Stafford and into the countryside, where we were all doing 70mph plus. I was really enjoying the ride, so when we reached a totally straight part of the road, apparently for miles, I saw the opportunity to show off my talent. I opened her up and must have been travelling about 90mph when I hit the hump back bridge, that I had failed to see the warning sign for.
As I've mentioned the bikes we were riding were ex patrol bikes so the radio equipment that would have normally sat on the petrol tank in front of me, was missing. All that was left was the raised metal lidless box which would have contained the radio.
As I hit the bridge my bike leapt into the air, and I departed from my seat by about 3 feet. I desperately tried to control my bike, but this was somewhat hampered when a particularly sensitive part of my body landed on the petrol tank with its protuberance. It really made my eyes water - but having established that I had regained control and was relatively OK, my colleagues eyes were watering with uncontrolled laughter as they observed my predicament.
I wasn't quite so amused - but later even I had to admit it did have its funny side.
Les Smith Leicestershire Oct 09
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| | It must have been in the late `70s when I was engaged on `Panda` patrol from the Uppingham Rd station that I was sent to the Towers psychiatric hospital to take a missing from home report re a patient who had left the hospital without permission and hadn't returned;.
I took the report, detailing Tom's description, clothing and likely haunts - of which there were really none, other than the pub. He particularly fancied a pint, or seven.
Having obtained as much detail as I could to enable myself and my colleagues to begin the long task of trying to find Tom, I jumped into my Panda car to head for the police station to start the search. I circulated his description to other officers and set out to search for him in the area
I left the station and jumped back in my Panda car - heading back towards the hospital to check the area for Tom. About 200yards from the hospital - there he was - staggering along the pavement towards The Towers, obviously after a good night at the pub. I checked his appearance against the description I had been given - age, clothing, physical attributes - they matched perfectly.
I pulled the car up alongside him, wound down the passengers window and said `hi! are you Tom?`. He agreed that he was and I said I would give him a lift home. I called up the Control room to tell them of my success, and to ask them to contact the Towers, so staff could open the `night door` - usually locked to return Tom to where he belonged.
When we arrived a member of staff was standing outside the door ready to greet the runaway. As I opened the door and Tom got out he gazed around in some bewilderment. He shouted `What have you brought me here for? - do you think I'm some f***ing nutter?`
The staff member from the hospital took one look at him, said `Thats not Tom` and went back into the hospital shaking his head sadly as he closed, and locked the door behind him - leaving "Tom" and I in the car park. He was still ranting and raving, most concerned that I apparently thought that he was suffering from a psychiatric illness, but I finally managed to calm him down, find out who he was and where he lived and take him home.
When I reached the station I did a check on the false Tom and found that he was frequently very violent when drunk. He had previous convictions for causing grievious bodily harm, assaulting police officers - and had even served a prison sentence for murder.
All in a nights work. I believe that the real Tom wandered back into trhe hospital after the towels went up at the pub he had been visiting, and began a good nights sleep.
I began the paperwork.
Les Smith Leicestershire Sept 09
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| | Back in the mid seventies I seemed to go through a phase of catching people who had escaped from custody.
This story involves me as a rural panda driver responsible for the safety of the inhabitants of 17 villages to the East of Leicester.
On this particular occasion I was driving along Gartree Rd. in the early hours of the morning - being a Roman road it was pretty straight but had a few bends as I approached Great Stretton, heading towards Leicester. As I drove along, a car approached me on the wrong side of the road and narrowly missed colliding with me head on. I immediatly swerved round to follow it and find out why it was being driven so recklessly. As I followed it - driving at quite a reasonable speed, I saw two faces looking out of the rear window at me - and the car immediately accelerated. Now I knew that there was a cross roads ahead. To the left was Kings Norton and to the right was Great Glen. Straight ahead was the Roman road - Gartree. Unfortunately the Romans hadn't thought to tarmac their road, so Gartree Rd became mud road. It would be tarmaced a couple of miles further on - but not here!
Well the pursued car didn't turn left, or right - it ploughed straight on onto the dried mud of Gartree Rd - and I followed.
The `road` became narrower and narrower until it descended into a gulley with a small stream running across the road - a very muddy stream, which I was aware of from previous experiences. I sent out a 10/9 call - `Police officer requires urgent assistance` - which frankly I did.
The car I weas following managed to get just past the stream, but then stopped in the mud and its occupants bailed out and headed out over the fields towards Great Glen.
Shortly afterwards a response car - which I later found had been at Leicester`s Clock Tower - some 10 miles away when I put out my original call- reached me. He headed straight at the vehicle I had been following , and got stuck in the mud.
Fortunately a dog mobile had headed into the direction the miscreants had gone towards and managed to catch both of them - the car was stolen and its occupants had escaped from a local prison.
One of my best contacts on my Rural beat was the owner of the local garage. When he was called out to recover both the stolen car, and the police car that speeded to me rescue he gave me a wink and a thumbs up. My regular cup of tea at his garage was secured.
Les Smith Leicestershire Aug 09
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| | I hadn't been in the Force for long when I was transferred to the Asfordby St police station in Leicester. It covered an area called Highfields a very `cosmopolitan` area of the City. This was long before officers had personal radios to communicate with the Control room, so we were given `points` for each half an hour of our duty. This meant that we had to be at a particular place at a particular time so the Sergeant could meet and pass on instructions. We had to wait at each point for 5 minutes before the hour and 5 minutes after.
On this particular occasion I made my way to my `point` on Melbourne Rd in Leicester. I stood for my alloted ten minutes, during which I noticed that a group of girls opposite, who were wearing very short skirts and skimpy clothing, were showing some interest in me.
Eventually, one of them wandered across, looked me in the eye and said "Would you mind bug***ing off -= You're ruining business"
Les Smith Leicestershire Constabulary
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| | It must have been in the mid seventies when I was the `rural` beat officer responsible for 17 villages to the east of Leicester that I drove my panda car along the A47 about 0130hrs, towards my home station on eager anticipation of finishing my shift at 2am. I saw a stationary car pulled into the side of the A47 and pulled in behind it, as the unlit section of the road it had stopped in indicated that the driver may have had problems I could help with.
As I pulled in behind the car, suddenly both doors opened and two youths raced off from the car - straight through an infestation of stinging nettles - straight over a barbed wire fence, and away across an open field.
I pondered this conduct for at least two seconds, before deciding that all was not well - so I set off in pursuit. I was in `shirt sleeve order` at the time so the stinging nettles did bite me savagely - as did the barbed wire fence.
However, once I reached the open field, watching the two previous occupants of the car scampering off in front of me, I put on a burst of speed and managed to catch the slower miscreant. I shouted `Come 0n I've got your Pal, you are going nowhere` - and the second lad came back to me.
It turned out that both of them had escaped from a local Borstal and had stolen the car before it ran out of petrol.
I was on `Quick change` that nght, so having finished my shift at 2am, I was back on duty at 10am. I reported for duty and was told that my first job was to escort the two lads from the night before to the local Borstall, pending their return to their own premises of detention.
I sat chatting to them in the back of the GP van, and found them to be quite nice lads - so when we reached the local Borstall, we all got out chatting away like old mates. No restraints - no handcuffs- very informal really.
As we got out of the van one of the prison officers in charge of the Borstall approached. Ex-Forces stature - bulled boots, and slashed peak cap. He took one look at me - one look at my `prisoner` and said " Don't you know officer that you must restrain your prisoner when he is in custody`
My `prisoner` said - `There's no chance I'm going to run from him - he's far too fast for me. His mate in the equally loose custody of a colleague nodded his agreement.
Les Smith Leicester Constabulary
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| | Reading some of your tales reminded me of a "story" that I was assured was correct in what was 'Glasgow Polis'.
It belonged to a much revered chap PC Brown who for some reason was called "Faither Broon" something to do with his party trick of placing his shirt back to front.(no idea why..but he did)
He retired a short time after I joined as a cadet in 1974 and was prone to sleeping on a night shift in one of the Dr Who tardis type locations and this was prior to communications as we now know it.
The only way of calling the constable in these days was to phone the box and a red light, which was located at street junctions would flash and the constable would "phone home".
This particular night a call was put out which caused the light to flash and scared the shit (allegedly) out of Faither Broon by the sound it made and woke him at the same time.
He picked up the phone, upset at being awoken at 4am and when it was answered shouted words of wisdom about being awoken from his slumber and what did the mentally challenged chap on the other end of the phone want from him.
Said chap was the night shift Super who was visiting and in his harshest voice retorted "Do you know who this is" to which the answer was "No and I don't give a f@@@ either. What do you want"
"I am the night shift Superintendant" was the response.
Thinking rapidly Faither Broon responded "And do you know who this is"
"No" responded the Super.
"Thank F@@@ let's keep it that way" hung up and was never charged...sorry located.
Cheers
Ian
Ian Paton Ex Strathclyde
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| | What a relief it is to get one's concience clear. The say that confession is good for the soul! I noticed that one of my old collegues Les Smith made a passing reference to the fact that I was notorious for 'blowing up' motor bike engines! That was only part of it. In the old Leicester City Police force, you know, the one we had before amalgamation and the County came in a kernackered it all up in '67 ran a traffic department known as 'D' Division. I had always fancied riding police bikes and after eight years of pounding the beat and working night shifts I put my application in. I was accepted and a few months later was sent the Preston, up there, where they had a driving school. The course was a long one but give 'em their due they taught me how to ride a bike without killing myself and I passed with flying colours. I'll always remember Mick King, the constable instructor. Mad as a hatter and rumoured to be full of Titanium plates instead of bone from all the spills he had partaken in. Anyway I returned to Leicester as the 'thirteenth' man of the contingent of twelve Norton Commando motor cycles. The spare man it was called. You didn't have a bike of your own but rode someone else's when that chap was day off. The Norton Commando was a lovely bike. 750cc with a livery of shiney blue and crome. It's only fault was the mono carburetter that was fitted to the twin cylinder engine. The bike went like shit up to about 75mph before it ran out of petrol and puthered down until it scavanged enough back to return to accelerate yet again. This resulted in a series of stop start acceleration until the destination was reached. One particular day the bike I chose to ride was allocated to Neil Mann who was one of the more experienced bikers in the department. He didn't like anyone else riding his machine and made the fact quite clear. I had no option. Other bikes were in for service etc. Off I went on patrol. Had a good day patrolling the West side of the city on collared a couple of speeders which were duly reported. I was enjoying myself as I came along the Hinckley Road back toward the City I carefully negotiated the slower moving cars and lorries which had the temerity to travel at a slower speed than myself passing them in the centre of the road. Just as a approached a junction of a road on my offside one of the cars abruptly turned without any signal and the inevitable collision occurred. A horrible sound of metal on metal issued forth and my nearside tin legshield crumpled up as the offside door of the car crumpled in the impact. We both stopped! The car driver looked at me from out of the open driver's door. He was frightened to death....well it wasn't the thing to do to hit a police bike! I immediately thought of my own circumstances which would involve a tedious visit by the traffic sergeant to attend and sort things out with all the paraphanlia that involved. I looked at my damage. He looked at his. I said, "Any damage?" He said "No!" I said, "Me neither!" We both went our seperate ways. Now I knew from careful enquiries that if damage was caused to HM Constabulary machines there were two ways of putting things right. The right way and the wrong way! I had chosen the wrong way. I returned to the station at meal break and put my bike into the garage behind closed doors and using some spanners that were knocking about removed the squashed up leg shield from the bike. I then tried to imitate a panel beater using one of those little hammers with the little nob on the end. I spent a lot of time on that repair and was quite pleased with the results. Again I knew where the paint was. In a tin tucked away in the bike garage for use by those, like me, who preffered doing it the wrong way! I must admit as I applied the finishing touches that the job was well done. I got back on my bike and resumed patrol. At the end of the day I returned the bike to its usual spot in the garage and went home. The next day I started early morning. On my arrival my collegues made it plain to me that Neil Mann was anxious to speak with me. I spent most of the day avoiding him but inevitably our paths eventually crossed. He was boiling mad! Not only had I rode his beloved machine I had also pranged it. I did explain to him was efforts I had gone through to rectify the matter but he wouldn't listen. They say that time is a great healer but Neil Mann never forgave me until the day he died......
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| | Another one off my concience! Going back a quarter of a century, or more!! I was riding my Police motor cycle one day in Walnut Street, Leicester, when I spied one of our Traffic Wardens engaged on traffic control at the junction of Grasmere Street. Now Traffic Wardens were, in those days, considered a necessary evil. They were a bloody nuisance in some respects always getting themselves into some mischief or other with irate motorists that they managed to upset when they slapped fixed penalty tickets indiscriminately on vehicles contravening the many parking regulations scattered about the City. Many is the time I had to 'rescue' them from the clutches of someone who was considering murder as retribution for being ticketed. Anyway I had a good reppor with most of them, especially the young, fit and attractive females! This particular warden I had know for many years and secretely I had always fancied her. I saw my opportunity to have a bit of fun with her. I carefully rode my bike in her direction. She was standing with her back to me nonchantly bring her left arm backward and forward to indicate that the traffic should proceed. I did just that and just as I past I brought my right hand down from my throttle and playfully slapped her posterior. Now I'm quite sure there is a formula such as the Quantum Theory which states that given the speed of the motor cycle coupled with that of the speed of the arm equals a particular force but the end result was that this unfortunate female leapt into the air to a height of about six feet as the palm of my hand struck her ample rear. I must admit that my hand felt rather painful as well! Realising that my tomfoolery had resulted in some pain for this poor lass I quickly returned to the scene of my crime. The girl stood there quite pale with tears in her eyes! I did apoligise profusely and ate humble pie and thankfully she forgave me and we remained friends....Years afterwards when we bumped into one another she always reminded me of the brashness of my fickle youth and said it wasn't so much the impact of my hand on her bottom that upset her but the cheeky offer to rub it better that I made to her after saying I was sorry!
Maurice Tidmarsh Ex Leicestershire Feb 2009
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| | I'm looking at this web site now for the purpose of relieving my guilty concience of all those various things that I did under the excuse of doing my duty which, in this day and age, would have certaintly earned my the sack or deservedly spending a long time in the local 'pokey'!
It was a Sunday and I was on duty on my motor-cycle patrolling the streets of Leicester....Sunday's were special!....a day without the stress of all that traffic and the normal day to day routines of road traffic accidents. A day when, if the weather was pleasant, you could venture into realms which in the normal weekdays you wouldn't dream of and you could test your biking talents to the extreme. In those days the biking fraternity looked on in admiration at us 'bike cops' and would venture out without malice aforethought to pit their wits against us chancing the fact that they drove without licences and insurance on clapped out machines which would have been better off in the scrap yard. Of course there weren't any computers and stuff on our bikes and the radios frequently malfunctioned especially when one got a little bit careless with the hose pipe when cleaning the machines after our tours of duty which practically guaranteed that control nearly gave up on contacting us for those trivial little things which involved spending time using our blunt pencils and pocket books and time off the road writing reports back at the station. Anyway this particular day was fine and sunny and it just felt good to be alive! About mid-morning my radio did break into life (Damn! Couldn't have used enough water!!!!), and I was instructed to attend a football match taking place on Victoria Park where two local sides were playing. One of the teams was called SAPNA which comprised all of our Asian friends and another team which were of the white variety. It seems there had been some disagreement between them and things had got slightly out of hand. I quickly made my way to the Park using my two toned horns and with extreme skill avoiding all those others who lawfully went about their business whilst I myself broke every Road Traffic Regulation in the process. Within minutes I arrived at the scene. Well the picture in front of me took some taking in! There were at least four prone figures laying on the grass sporting various injuries and many spectators and officials were engaged in fisticuffs and the air was blue with bad language. Not that I understood what the Asian lads were saying but their demeaner explained it all! Non deterred I set about sorting things out. I drove my bike across the grass into the centre of the pitch and with a mixture of planning, whilst trying to maintain my dignity, managed to lay the thing down on its side sliding deftly off the saddle similar to Roy Rogers dismouting from Trigger! I then began assurting myself making it quite clear that things had got to stop and that I was now in charge. After a few minutes I did manage to make my presence felt and things calmed down and I began to take note of the various greivances that one team held against the other. They just hated one another's guts and from the start whistle the match had been one long event of various fouls and misdomeaners one against the other until the referee and linesmen lost control completely and couldn't keep them apart. The teams had then resorted to fisticuffs and well studded football boots including using the corner flags as weapons! Unfortunately one of the players had a rather bad cut on his torso and had to have an ambulance summoned to take him to the hospital. The suggestion was that a knife had been used but by whom no-one knew. Now have you ever tried to question two football teams, a referee and two linesmen along with countless spectators in the middle of a park and hoped to come up with a result? Me neither! So I promptly decided there was only one course of action and I got on my radio to summon the General Purpose Vans of which there were two on duty to the park. The promptly arrived with their sirens on and headlights blazing and careered to a halt on the park. My instructions to the crew were clear. I was arresting the whole bloody lot of them along with the referee on suspicion of somebody causing grevious bodily harm to the poor unfortunate who was by now being stiched up at the Royal Infirmary. The lads in the vans, Gawd Bless 'em!, did as I required and within a few minutes twenty two players, about six spectators and the referee were loaded on board and on their way to Charles Street Police Station. I followed behind to draw up in the Station Yard behind the vans. Out they all got and solemnly stomped into the charge office one behind the other. The charge sergeant nearly had appoplexy and quickly beckoned to me. "What the bloody hell have you done this time!" or words to this effect he asked. I gathered my courage and told him that I had arrested them all on suspicion of committing the felony that had occurred on the park. The poor chap was beside himself which is quite understandable when Sundays at the Central nick were normally a day of tea and biscuits with the odd visit from the general public reported a lost dog or some found property! He then had to find somewhere to park all those prisoners! The poor chap was beside himself telling the reserve man to accomodate them wherever a space could be found! Charles Street nick was built in the 1930's and had a very limited cell space. But a comprimise was reached and with about six to a cell and by utilising the women's block as well all 29 miscreants were housed safetly. Then all of them had to be searched of course and bobbies were brought in off the streets to carry out the task. Eventually a knife was in fact discovered in the pocket of one of the Sapna lads. It was a very small knife indeed. Tiny, you know the type, one of those ideal for manicuring one's nails or sharpening a pencil. But it was a knife! By now the incident had reached the ears of the duty inspector who despite all of my best efforts did not seem particularly impressed with my dilligence to duty. The look he gave me spoke volumes! But being a man of integrity and fair play he decided that the whole scenerio was beyond his capabilities and duly contacted the nearest Chief Inspector at the place that Chief Inspectors go to on a quiet Autumnal day. He attended after a while and despite the fact that our swords had crossed on numerous occasions concerning events that make all the difference between constables and Chief Inspectors he duly listened to what I had to say before he sadly shook his head obviously way out of his depth. So like every Chief Inspector lacking an answer to a problem he duly summoned the Superintendent who was no doubt engaged in the normal things that Superintendents do when engaged on duty on Sundays! About half and hour elapsed before he too duly attended and surveyed the situation. There was no doubt about it he wasn't a bit impressed with me and not really knowing what the Hell he should do with twenty nine prisoners dutifully decided to summon the Chief Constable! I'm sure the Chief Constable had better things to do on a Sunday but I'll give him his due he turned up as well!!!! Now the charge sergeant, the duty Inspector, the Chief Inspector, the Superintendent and the Chief Constable all huddled together into a kind of rugby scrum in the Charge Office and sought a solution. I was called for and placed in the centre of the ruck answering their various questions they fired at me. I told them that my ability to question two football teams, many spectators, two linesmen and a referee in the middle of a park was limited so my decision to arrest the lot on suspicion was justified! They then went back to their discussion without me. Most of the afternoon was spent in limbo but with twenty-nine prisoners needing the toilet and the threat of such a large number of meals having to be ordered from the local restuarant a decision had to be quickly arrived at. Again I was summoned into presence of my superiors, (How I hate that word!), The Chief Constable spoke and we all listened! The result was that all the prisoners were spoken to en mass about their behaviour at the football match and allowed to leave. To this day the event is remembered in the annals of Charles Street Police Station when 'Tiddy' arrested two football teams, six spectators and a referee and two linesmen on suspicion!
Maurice Tidmarsh Ex Leicestershire Feb 2009
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