When I was growing up I had absolutely no thoughts about policing one way or another. I knew no-one in the force, and it was absolutely the last thing I ever considered for myself. Any encounters I had were inconsequential. There was the Morningside bobby who stopped me one night as I went home from what we shall call 'a liaison', no doubt suspecting me of housebreaking at 03.00. After that, he always waved. On another occasion, I got a flash of the rotary blue light of a panda as I was ‘making progress’ on Morningside Road. I recall the Suzuki T-500 being quite a spirited bike.
Then there was time we gave a young officer a cup of tea as he stood outside our flat during the Toxteth riots. That must have been a tough gig. Our flat was strategically positioned to give a grandstand view of the Merseyside cops in their RS2000s chasing stolen cars out towards Speak and the airport. I suppose the chance to drive the RS2000 might have been inducement enough to consider joining. Anyway, I had other fish to fry.
So when in Kenmore, a local officer asked me if I would like to give it a go, I was more bemused than anything, quite happy to stick to my windsurfing, sailing and enjoying what was - and still is - the good life. But what the heck, you’ve got to try stuff, haven’t you? And besides, I thought it might be interesting for a year or two. Thirty-one years later, and after what seems like many reincarnations of 'The Model Oliver,' I’m still at it. I have to say those early days patrolling the Highlands in our little ‘Hamish McBeath’ Land Rover, were brilliant.
Joking apart, it’s one of the few things I’ve done that’s consistently made me feel that I’m actually doing something to be proud of - even though for some reason, I still think I’m rather untypical of a cop.
Anyway, let John, the villain of the piece (not a great choice of words here) tell you how it all started.
John Watson's side of this
People look back fondly on the days of the village bobby and ‘Heartbeat’ policing; when you got a clip round the ear from the local cop for stealing apples and you dare not tell your parents for fear of another. Even today rural policing can be like that (albeit without the ear clipping) but it can also be problematic when things go wrong and the police officer is faced with a serious situation alone, or assistance is 30 or 40 minutes away.
It is the ideal situation for Special Constables, members of the public who give up time each week, don a uniform and patrol with their local officer. To those of us who have depended on them, they are valued and respected individuals, usually considering a police career, or in the past, people who are approached by local officers because they were seen to have the character to carry out the role.
It was with this in mind that in the late 80’s while stationed at rural Perthshire, I approached Oliver about joining the ‘Specials’. He was someone who all the local officers knew in his role as an outdoor instructor and we all liked him; a reasonable guy and could make decent coffee, although I didn’t understand his motivation to jump into freezing lochs or climb mountains in the snow. I’d thought about how I might approach him for a while but in end, just blurted it out and was surprised when he asked for more information.
It was no time before he’d been through the relevant checks, been issued a uniform and was ready for action. So, one Saturday night I toddled out to the village where he lived, in my little white Land Rover and picked him up. The idea was to take a drive around the beat, stop off for tea and biscuits, and break him in gently to the role.
Almost immediately we got a couple of jobs and I remember thinking, ‘This isn’t going to plan’. But worse was to come. As the evening wore on, we were called, and first to arrive, at an accident on the A9. I’d been to several fatal accidents, but this one was particularly distressing, and I was mindful that Oliver must have been totally shocked by the circumstances.
Afterwards, we headed to Pitlochry station for a cup of tea and a chat, - as we often do after such things. I suspected we might never see Oliver again, but next weekend there he was ready to go.
I still recall that second evening. It was after one am, and we were sitting in the Land Rover outside the pub that passed for the local ‘dancing’ as the patrons were leaving, many the worse for wear. Most knew me by name and many knew Oliver but only now becoming aware that he was a Special Constable.
There were a few clever remarks that elicited a smile, but one individual - a regular irritant and no stranger to a night in the cells - was making too much noise and going over the score. He saw Oliver and reckoned he’d found a taxi ride home and came up to his side of the Land Rover asking for a lift, and generally being smart in front of his friends. Having been rebuffed twice he ventured forth for a third attempt. At that point, unprompted by me, Oliver, with a few well-chosen words, put him in his place, offering the opportunity for him to make his way up the street quietly, or face another night in his ‘favourite place’. It was expertly done for someone with 8 hours on the job and I knew, ‘this guy is going to be quite good at this!’
In the months thereafter, Oliver and I spent many hours patrolling Highland Perthshire, keeping our little community safe. Some jobs were routine, some funny, many desperately sad, but I never doubted that whatever we got into, he had my back.
I moved on from Aberfeldy, as did Oliver, but we met up from time to time and invariably his new partner was as grateful for his assistance as I had been.
John Watson MBE
John Watson's side of this
People look back fondly on the days of the village bobby and ‘Heartbeat’ policing; when you got a clip round the ear from the local cop for stealing apples and you dare not tell your parents for fear of another. Even today rural policing can be like that (albeit without the ear clipping) but it can also be problematic when things go wrong and the police officer is faced with a serious situation alone, or assistance is 30 or 40 minutes away.
It is the ideal situation for Special Constables, members of the public who give up time each week, don a uniform and patrol with their local officer. To those of us who have depended on them, they are valued and respected individuals, usually considering a police career, or in the past, people who are approached by local officers because they were seen to have the character to carry out the role.
It was with this in mind that in the late 80’s while stationed at rural Perthshire, I approached Oliver about joining the ‘Specials’. He was someone who all the local officers knew in his role as an outdoor instructor and we all liked him; a reasonable guy and could make decent coffee, although I didn’t understand his motivation to jump into freezing lochs or climb mountains in the snow. I’d thought about how I might approach him for a while but in end, just blurted it out and was surprised when he asked for more information.
It was no time before he’d been through the relevant checks, been issued a uniform and was ready for action. So, one Saturday night I toddled out to the village where he lived, in my little white Land Rover and picked him up. The idea was to take a drive around the beat, stop off for tea and biscuits, and break him in gently to the role.
Almost immediately we got a couple of jobs and I remember thinking, ‘This isn’t going to plan’. But worse was to come. As the evening wore on, we were called, and first to arrive, at an accident on the A9. I’d been to several fatal accidents, but this one was particularly distressing, and I was mindful that Oliver must have been totally shocked by the circumstances.
Afterwards, we headed to Pitlochry station for a cup of tea and a chat, - as we often do after such things. I suspected we might never see Oliver again, but next weekend there he was ready to go.
I still recall that second evening. It was after one am, and we were sitting in the Land Rover outside the pub that passed for the local ‘dancing’ as the patrons were leaving, many the worse for wear. Most knew me by name and many knew Oliver but only now becoming aware that he was a Special Constable.
There were a few clever remarks that elicited a smile, but one individual - a regular irritant and no stranger to a night in the cells - was making too much noise and going over the score. He saw Oliver and reckoned he’d found a taxi ride home and came up to his side of the Land Rover asking for a lift, and generally being smart in front of his friends. Having been rebuffed twice he ventured forth for a third attempt. At that point, unprompted by me, Oliver, with a few well-chosen words, put him in his place, offering the opportunity for him to make his way up the street quietly, or face another night in his ‘favourite place’. It was expertly done for someone with 8 hours on the job and I knew, ‘this guy is going to be quite good at this!’
In the months thereafter, Oliver and I spent many hours patrolling Highland Perthshire, keeping our little community safe. Some jobs were routine, some funny, many desperately sad, but I never doubted that whatever we got into, he had my back.
I moved on from Aberfeldy, as did Oliver, but we met up from time to time and invariably his new partner was as grateful for his assistance as I had been.
John Watson MBE
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