I was reminded today that I really need to dish out some praise. I don’t believe the recipient is a reader of this blog (unless they too hide behind a cunning pseudonym) but I know that some of their colleagues do, and they will probably have heard the story, although I have protected myself (I hope) with a few tactical tweaks…
In the best traditions of story-telling it was a cold and windy night (it actually was…) and I had drawn the short straw of covering for our Sgt as she had caught a dose of flu and called in sick. Being a Thursday night and working in a post coalition university town, by 1am the cheap booze had meant the cells were filling up and all but one of my cars was now in the queue for the central custody facility. I was taking a statement from a DV victim and was, of course, on the wrong side of the patch fulfilling my Golden Hour obligations when a fight came in on one of ‘those’ estates we all love so much…
As I was making my excuses and preparing for a 17 mile dash (unfortunately in a 1.4 Astra as the boss only gets a slow car at my nick) my radio crackled into life, as if surprised by the transmission it carried, and an unfamiliar call-sign announced their intention to attend as assistance unit. Being that the job was near the border I made the assumption that it might have been a stray car from the next county and carried on in the expectation that assistance would evaporate soon after I got there. Arriving at the scene, a front garden on the estate, I saw my colleague holding down the offender with the assistance of another person in a yellow coat.
‘Cheers mate, I will take over if you like’ I said tapping the shoulder of the stranger.
‘No worries mate’ was the reply as I replaced his hands with my own and he was free to stand up from the mud.
Only then did I notice the crown on his shoulder and realize that my colleague was far more senior that I had expected. I instinctively rammed the word ‘Sir’ into the first sentence that came from my mouth, attempting to dilute the informality. It was obvious to him that I was back-peddling but, wiping the mud from his knees, I got a reassuring smile. In fact the Superintendent seemed to be enjoying his sojourn back to the coal face and remained with us until the van arrived and the cage door was slammed shut.
‘Right place right time eh?’ was the parting comment as he wandered off back to a grubbier-than-usual Audi that was parked nearby. I never got to ask whether it was a fortunate turn of fate, call out or corporate function that led to him being out at that time of night with uniform and, more commendably, his radio turned on and on the right channel.
What ever the reason it was refreshing to see someone who has obviously not forgotten what it means to be a Police officer – and the fact that the responsibility of those that hold that office should not change with rank.
Thanks boss
