Welcome To Officer Safety Training...

“Get back,” I screamed pathetically as the well aimed punch caught me on the side of the shoulder. I moved my feet to try and stabilise myself but it was no good. The punches were coming in at me too quickly and I was unable to prevent myself from being pushed back. I was just about clinging on to any dignity I had left when the punches changed to powerful kicks, the first of which knocked me backwards. It was a humiliating defeat and for a second I wondered what on earth I was doing. I then heard a voice from our trainer and was quickly reminded: “Welcome to Officer Safety Training folks.”

Throughout training school and every scenario or role play we would do, the same message was drilled into us.

“What’s the most important thing on the streets?” a trainer would ask. “You are. Your safety is the most important thing. Then it’s your partners. And then it’s the public. If you’re hurt, you can’t help anyone.”

I instantly warmed to this idea and was comforted by the fact that such an emphasis was put on keeping officers safe, regardless of how much trouble someone else could potentially in. My fellow recruits would spend hours talking about how they would put themselves in between an armed robber and innocent children. I on the other hand had spent weeks biting my lower lip, anxious that somebody might realise that I instead would probably take the uniform off and hide. Surely I would be rumbled eventually? But until I am, I was expected to fulfil my duties to the best of my ability and that involved regular officer safety training.

I had heard various reports about the training day which ranged from the wild claims that it was “the most punishing day I have ever had,” to “it really isn’t that bad” so was unsure what to expect. But half way through, I was struggling to keep up the façade that I was relaxed and that my composed expression was genuine. I was starting to tire and pain was beginning to set in. I looked around the room and was disappointed to see that nobody else seemed to be struggling. I was completing circuit after circuit, press ups, squats, sit ups and both I and my body knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue for much longer. I began taking short cuts on the circuit, took twice as long to complete a press up and wondered if I just laid on the mat without actually doing a sit up whether I would be noticed. The session came to an end and I was a quivering wreck, my body screaming at me that it couldn’t continue any further.

The trainer’s voice boomed throughout the hall we were in.

“That’s the warm up complete, well done.”

Warm up? Was he serious? I looked around and saw nobody laughing, they just accepted it. Surely that wasn’t the warm up? I was exhausted and didn’t know how much longer my legs would support me.

“Get some handcuffs and protective equipment please,” the voice boomed again. I felt sick and wondered whether I would have to produce actual vomit to be excused from the class.
Twenty minutes later I was being attacked by various members of my team. I was holding a mat in front of me to cushion the punches, kicks and baton strikes but it did little good.
While standing sideways on so a colleague could hit me with his baton, I turned my head to see when he was going to strike. He did so as I turned and the mat was pushed into my mouth.

“Well done,” I said cheerfully as I felt pain rip through my tooth. Was it broken? Had I inadvertently swallowed my own tooth?

“Wasn’t hard enough,” he replied.

You just nearly broke my tooth, I felt like screaming. Instead I smiled and said, “Have another go then.”

I was seeing strange behaviour in the room. Fellow colleagues had turned and they were trying to outdo each other in a weird macho display of strength. Why we were practising painful moves on each other anyway I didn’t know. But surely we shouldn’t be getting too carried away?

“This is what they want,” I tried telling a partner. “We shouldn’t be hurting each other, we’re on the same side.” My pleas did little good.

As I was thrown across the room for the third time I landed at the feet of a passing trainer. I felt sure he might have a word with the brute that had nearly destroyed me. Instead he began offering him advice.

“The power comes from the hips, turn with the hips,” I heard him say as I scrambled to my feet, praying I would survive until the end of the day. “You’ll deliver a much more powerful blow if you turn like this.

As I was turned into a human bunch bag, I noticed some began smiling as they delivered incredible kicks and punches to my torso and I became concerned for their mental health. I gasped for breath and realised it could be much easier to let a suspect escape rather than risk getting this pummelled.

The following day I was aching in places I didn’t even know I had muscles. Getting ready for work my colleagues all seemed blasé about the whole experience.

“How was officer safety training,” I was asked by a friend who had not yet completed it.
“Nothing to it mate,” I shrugged. “You won’t have any problems.”

The words came out before I had a chance to think. Why I said it, I’m not sure but already dread has set in for the next round of officer safety training.

Haunted Nick?

I was sat on a grassy bank in streaming sunlight sipping a cool drink with a friend who worked in the front office of the police station I was attached to.

“It’s haunted you know,” he said seriously.

I used my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, only half listening to what Michael was saying.

“I’m not joking," he added, seeing my sceptical expression. "I’ve seen it. He freaks me out.”

I looked up at him and became concerned at the resolute expression plastered across his face. Maybe he genuinely believed it. Would that mean he was mentally unwell? Surely he hadn’t actually seen a ghost.

“When I’m there on my own throughout the night, I see things happen,” he said.

I laughed out loud at the absurdity of what he was saying.

“I’m serious,” he went on. “Ask anyone. It’s alright for you, but when you’re there on your own all night, it’s creepy.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Our station officer is off sick,” my sergeant declared in our briefing before we started our Night Duty. He paused as he looked around the room, his eyes falling on me. “Bill, can you cover the front office tonight please?”

“Of course Sarge,” I replied, compensating myself with the thought that at least I could watch some telly.

An hour later I was settling down to a night in front of the television, praying that nobody would wander in halfway through the night and thus ruining my night of chilling. I watched the response vehicles pour out of the yard on the bank of CCTV camera screens I had in front of me and suddenly realised how quiet it was.

I turned the TV onto a music channel and started cranking up the volume, listening to my personal radio whenever it crackled into use.

As I sat there, I heard a noise in the corridor. I paused for a second, straining to hear. If it was my skipper still wandering around, I’d prefer for him not to catch me with my feet up. Hearing nothing, I relaxed, remembering I had watched him drive out only minutes earlier. I relaxed back into my chair and thought about getting a bit of sleep until I heard something else that sounded like footsteps.

I picked up the remote control and muted it quickly hoping I would hear the odd noise. I couldn’t and began to worry that I was not alone.

“It’s haunted you know,” Michael’s voice sounded in my head. “Someone died at the station years ago and his ghost haunts the station.”

I realised I was being foolish and tried to relax, my heart still racing furiously. I was a police officer, in a police station and was getting spooked by a few noises. I didn’t for one moment believe it was a ghost, but was concerned that there could be intruders.

Feeling thirsty and knowing that the lights on the top floor were not working, I was unsure about venturing to our canteen.

“This is ridiculous,” I scolded myself, wondering what people would say if they could see me. I was probably in the safest building for miles around and was also probably the most scared.

I reached for my torch from my body armour which was lying on the floor and undid my baton from my belt in case I needed it. I half thought about putting my body armour on, but decided against it on the basis that ghosts could probably penetrate stab vests as easily as walls.

Fumbling around the canteen with torch in one hand and baton within easy reach, it was a complicated tea-making process but I managed it and retreated straight into my office, keeping the television volume low so that I could hear any strange noises.

For the next six hours, I sat alone, with just the noises for company and myself fast becoming a dishevelled nervous wreck. Once the sun began to rise and Early Turn units began turning up, I looked stressed and tired.

“Busy night?” my relieving station officer asked as he dumped his bag under the desk.

“Not too bad, never a dull moment here,” I smiled cheerily.

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “Normally it’s dead.”