'Ello, 'ello, 'ello ...

... what's goin' on 'ere? That's a very traditional constabulary question that you may be asking! Simply this ramble is a little reminiscence for an old friend when we were both special constables in the Met.

It began for me with a series of interviews to assess my suitability as a special followed by a medical and references being taken up. All proved satisfactory so a warm May evening found me at Scotland Yard for a swearing-in to office and attestation ceremony followed by measuring for uniform.

Well, that's it, so far. Next was thirteen weeks part-time classroom training and then my first duty as an SC at YE, known to all as Edmonton Police Station. Naturally there was a longish probationary period part of which was being 'puppy walked', that is on duty with an experienced officer to show me the ropes and the area as well as how things were done. Towards the end of that year I was deemed to be sufficiently safe to be let loose on the streets on my own, although often we patrolled the streets in pairs.

Enough of the background and now to narrate a few tales. One SC decided to launch his own war on road users with defective lighting without seeking official blessing from our skipper (sergeant) who was quite an amiable sort of bloke. This particular evening he targeted London Transport buses because our sharp eyed sleuth had noticed that the vast majority of local buses were showing only one headlight at night and saw this as a potential haul of brownie points. It is only right to point out that these one eyed monsters were in fact totally legal because the headlight system was not double dipping as on cars as each headlight had only a single filament bulb. The nearside light was focused in a dipped beam and when the main beam switch in the bus was operated the nearside lamp went out and the other came on acting as a main beam. This lighting oddity was also enshrined in a specific piece of legislation ...

Our 'hero' having been on a lone patrol returned to the station just before midnight and was totally chuffed with himself having bagged more than a dozen buses for this single offence, proudly proclaiming to all in the special's office his deeds then sat to sort out a mountain of paperwork. Some while after the skipper returned and enquired as to the paper mountain whereupon he was given chapter and verse. A short silence ensued followed by an almighty explosion and a tirade most of which cannot be repeated in polite company. In short the errant SC had issued a HORTI1 to each driver requiring production within seven days of assorted documents including insurance details, telling each hapless victim that an offence would be reported for further consideration. Well, the mayhem that followed was unbelievable, bus garage managers were complaining to senior police officers, Head Office at 55 Broadway were doing likewise to Scotland Yard, our skipper was getting it in the neck from regular senior officers, whilst anyone unconnected with the affair was keeping a very low profile. After some weeks, suitable reprimands and advice given to certain officers the whole thing died down.

One regular duty for Met specials was to police the annual Armistice Day ceremony at Whitehall and the surrounding area. The day began very early at local stations where serials were formed, detailed and bussed to St James's Park. From about seven o'clock everyone was take in separate units for breakfast, usually at Knighstbridge Barracks where the general fare was a standard issue full English breakfast with gallons of tea. One particular we arrived at the mess and noticed a somewhat odd smell for breakfast time, not of bacon and eggs but a distinctive aroma of curry. It turned out that breakfast was indeed curry and rice as that was also the the mid-day menu and saved on cooking and kitchen staff. Now I can eat most things at most times of the day but curry for breakfast was not one of those things. The only possible contingent of specials that may have not objected were a few from the Hanwell and Southall areas of London ...

One evening in late summer my regular mate and I were out on patrol when a radio message asked for our location. This was given and instructions made to remain there. A few minutes after the area van arrived with twos and blues going, we were ordered into the van and away we went picking up other officers on the way. There had been a call from several officers in Tottenham for urgent assistance in Bruce Grove just on the edge of the soon to be notorious Broadwater Farm estate.

Several minutes later the van skidded to a halt in the middle of Bruce Grove, we alighted and a local inspector briefly explained what was happening and what needed to be done. The whole area looked like a battle zone with some forty or so officers including some from Traffic Division were trying to contain a much larger number of mainly black youths who were determined to cause violence. First thing I noticed was that a number of them were lobbing glass bottles of soft drink at the police looted from a nearby chip shop. All manner of scuffles were going on with arrests being made where possible despite the arresting officers being attacked and threatened. The disturbance was eventually contained after about thirty minutes, there were casualties sitting and lying in the road and on the pavements. Ambulances were summoned and injured take to hospital whilst a fleet of police vans were taking arrestees to various local police stations for processing.

We accompanied several other officers with three detainees to north London station and the charge room looked like a casualty clearing station. Eventually we were returned to our won nick and a decent cuppa ensued as well as the inevitable admin resulting from the evening.

The casualty total for that little encounter was thirteen officers injured, some of whom were off work as a result for some weeks, twenty odd arrests and a number of injuries amongst the rioters. What we did not know at the time was that a similar incident of much larger proportions would take place nearby in just a few short years resulting in the murder of PC Keith Blakelock.

Enough for the moment. Yes I largely enjoyed my years as a Special Constable and made some good friends as a result. Often I'm asked would I do the same thing again today, my answer is a very assertive 'No' because things are just so more dangerous and unpredictable now.