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201 202 203 204 205 <div id="emotion-header-title-bg"></div> 206 207 <strong id="emotion-header-title" style="text-align: left">Jonathan Nicholas - Aviator & Author</strong> 208 <div class="notranslate"> 209 <svg xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1" id="emotion-header-title-svg" viewBox="0 0 980 537" preserveAspectRatio="xMinYMin meet"><text style="font-family:Helvetica, 'Helvetica Neue', 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;font-size:48px;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;fill:#000000;line-height:1.2em;"><tspan x="0" style="text-anchor: start" dy="0.95em">Jonathan Nicholas - Aviator & Author</tspan></text></svg> 210 </div> 211 212 213
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341 342 343 </div> 344 345 </div> 346 </div> 347 <div class="diywebLiveArea"> 348 <div class="diyfeCA diyfeCA3 diywebSubNavWrapper"> 349 <div class="diywebNav diywebNavSub1"> 350 <div class="webnavigation"></div> 351 </div> 352 <div class="diywebNav diywebNavSub2"> 353 <div class="webnavigation"></div> 354 </div> 355 </div> 356 <div class="diywebContent"> 357 <div class="diyfeGridGroup diyfeCA diyfeCA1"> 358 <div class="diywebMain diyfeGE"> 359 <div class="diywebGutter"> 360 361 <div id="content_area"> 362 <div id="content_start"></div> 363 364 365 <div id="matrix_293825" class="sortable-matrix" data-matrixId="293825"><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">'Oz - A Hitchhiker's</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">Australian 366Anthology'Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â </span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>Charters Towers is the last major town before Mount Isa, the biggest and <i>only</i> large town in central Queensland, with a base catering for The Royal Flying Doctor Service. This gives a good 367indication of how remote it is. 400 miles from Charters Towers, (about 700 kilometres), thereâs virtually nothing in-between the two apart from a few very smallsettlements dotted along the road. 368Anyone leaving Charters Towers heading west was therefore probably heading for <i>The Isa</i>, as Mount Isa was colloquially known.</p> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'Townsville' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>Moving outside into the rear of the Holden Ute was the best decision I could have made. I lay down on my back with my head against my rucksack and looked up. The hours that followed would become 369one of those very rare, priceless travel memories. As we streaked across remote central Queensland on the Barkly Highway the view suddenly snatched the breath from my lungs as though Iâd fallen into 370an icy lake. In the spectacular midnight wilderness the stars of The Southern Cross amongst the other billions in the clear sky above seemed to touch the ground all around us. The dark desolation 371merged completely with the edge of the sky and everything in sight was bathed in a silvery ethereal glow from the moonlight. Looking on, it seemed beautifully unreal, as though we were driving across 372the surface of Mars. Cutting our way through the vast featureless outback with our headlights reaching far ahead, I felt as though we ourselves were at altitude, tearing through space, the darkness 373forming behind in our wake as we moved.A truly unforgettable experience.</p> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'Three Ways' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>I fled back to the Shady Glen Caravan Park, trudging with leaden feet, heavy heart and a throbbing head all the way. It was then that I did something Iâd never done before or even contemplated 374doing; I picked up my first cigarette butt. I wouldnât have done it, normally, but the first one I found was almost a full cigarette, just lying there on the pavement. It would have been a real shame 375to have left it. It was such a nice looking cigarette, beautiful and ripe for the picking. I flicked off a few crumbs of ash from the flattened end where someone had clearly lit it and then for 376whatever reason had stamped it out almost immediately. I found another a hundred yards later, only half a one this time, and picked it up with great enthusiasm, dropping it carefully and reverently 377into the pocket of my shorts.</p> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>From the chapter 'The Top End'</p> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>My deodorant had long since run out; it was not a priority so I guess I didnât smell too good most of the time.One of the strangest things about such traveling is that you might think your own 378body odour would grow much worse as you continue to sweat day after day in the same clothing, but I donât think this actually happens. Instead it reaches a certain level where it stabilises, and then 379the pong you give off becomes a combination of several pungent smells such as bad breath, general body odour, unclean clothes, tobacco smoke and many accretions of stale sweat, amongst other things. 380Eventually you have a generic kind of unpleasant whiff about you rather than simply stinking of armpit body odour.</p> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'The Alice' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> *** </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'Friendships made on the kibbutz were real and unpretentious. Amid the harsh prosaic reality of daily kibbutz life, personalities and attitudes were more important than the size of your house, the type of car you drive, how many figures you had in the bank or your family background. All these were irrelevant. We were all stripped bare and exposed for who we really were. This was entirely unique in a modern world where money and material possessions seemed paramount.' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From: 'The End', in 'Kibbutz Virgin'. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> ************ </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">Excerpts from:</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">'The Tragic Romance</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">of Africa'</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'We kept our own chickens which lived very much with us in a large home-made and quite malodorous wooden cupboard in the front room, so at least we almost always had fresh eggs. This was assuming no-one let the birds out by mistake, an error which would then lead to front room cha
380os of pantomime proportions. My dad had to chase them around the ground floor of the house in his desperately inauspicious chicken-pursuit mode shouting: âCome âere ye little bastards!â or words to that effect, occasionally taking poorly aimed and obviously futile swipes at the mutinous escapees with a stair rod while clambering randomly all over the furniture. It made a welcome change from him whacking me with it I suppose, and it was quite good entertainment too, as there was no television in those days. I couldnât blame the poor chickens for sometimes wanting to hatch escape plans rather than eggs. They certainly caused major problems when they did escape, as there was insufficient space in the tiny room to dive full length at the errant, scheming birds. A decision had to be made very quickly when pouncing on them whether to hit the wall or aim for the open fire. I remember on one occasion while resolutely pursuing our cock bird around the house, my dad tripped over our bone-headed and snappy little Jack Russell dog and fell headlong into the fireplace. Luckily the fire wasnât lit at the time, as his head and shoulders plunged straight into the grate with such a thump that many years of soot came crashing down the chimney in one great thunderous black cloud. After then managing to extricate himself from the chimney bottom and stand up, he turned around only to reveal to my absolute delight, and that of my brother, that he suddenly looked just like Al Jolson in full make-up, complete with black hands and face.' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From chapter one, 'An Adventurous Youth' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'As the London train gathered speed in the darkness I became terribly introspective, as my own reflection peered back at me mockingly in the darkened window. Was I happy, confused, or just plain mad? What would I find in Africa? Would I even return to Sheffield? I remembered my dadâs farewell comment a few hours before, spoken in his true Yorkshire vernacular:<br/> âWeerâs thaâ goinâ?â<br/> âAfrica,â I replied. <br/> âOhâ¦â he said, bending over to put another lump of coal on the fire. A few minutes later he was buttoning up his coat in silence, and was gone, the front door banging loudly behind him as he went to work as usual at the furnaces in the huge Firth Brown steelworks in Sheffieldâs east end.' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'London'. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âWell, we need someone with a clear head, you know. Done any bar work, have you, do you think you can do it?â as he fixed a stare at me, pursing his lips then rubbing his chin with his right hand. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âYes, I think so, I mean I <i>havenât</i> done any bar work before but I think I can do it, of course, why not?â I replied, realising as he looked across his desk at me that he was either drunk or in the first stages of having a stroke. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âThen the jobâs yoursâ¦â he said, just as he slowly closed his eyes and started sliding very smoothly sideways off his chair. He parted company with it and collapsed in an undignified heap on the floor next to his desk with an enormous thump, like a large sack of King Edwards potatoes. He was followed immediately by an avalanche of cushions which sprang off his chair and then partially buried him and obscured his face. He didnât move or say anything. I didnât know what to do and thought heâd died, so I jumped up and pulled the cushions away. At first it seemed as though heâd seriously and fatally cracked his head wide open until I realised his hair had flipped off his head in one great matted comb-over which then lay neatly alongside him on the floor. He suddenly started snoring like a walrus stranded on a beach, so to my relief I realised he was still alive.' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'The New Job'. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'It was a particularly hot day and one of the first really dry days after the rainy season. Quite unannounced a young, well-built black African man walked in through the front door of the police station carrying a dirty and stained canvas bag. He was shaking and visibly upset, according to Fred, and with tears streaming down his face he walked straight past him and up to the sergeant in charge. He was cursing in his native language, either Shona or IsiNdebele, and dropped the heavy bag on the desk. He continued talking at the sergeant as though asking him questions in a desperately pleading and accusatory manner. The sergeant stood up and indicated for Fred and the other constables present to get hold of the man. Just before he was restrained he tipped the contents of the bag onto the table. It was a womanâs severed head. The man was dragged into the back of the station, along with the contents of his bag, which it later became evident was his wife. Fred was excluded from the next events but he says what he saw and heard he never wanted to witness again. He gained the impression the man was blaming the police for what had happened to his wife. It must have taken a huge amount of personal courage for him to walk into the police station the way he did.' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'Police Reserve'. </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">Excerpts from</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">
380'Hospital Beat'</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'Dr Chu was a slight fellow, not 381very tall, slim, in his early thirties, and wearing black, square-rimmed 382spectacles, a bit like those trademark glasses worn by Sir Michael Caine. They 383looked way too big for him, to be honest, and he appeared a little comical as a 384result. But under these circumstances, the dichotomy was that he also looked 385sad and pathetic. I asked him where the television came from. He didnât answer, 386but turned his head down towards the floor. He held his hands together in front 387of him. I could see the upright stature of his frame slowly but perceptibly 388shrinking away like ice-cream in summer sun, as I asked him again. Then the 389most extraordinary thing happened. He collapsed to his knees in front of me, 390onto his thick white shag-pile rug, right in front of the stolen television, and started moaning and 391groaning, over and over: </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> "Please... please... <i>please...</i>Iâm sorry... Iâm sorry... 392please... <i>pleeeeaaase!!â</i> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> He started crawling towards me on 393all fours, in a cloyingly subservient grovel, his face an inch from the floor, 394not looking up at all. I considered moving back, but there was nowhere for me 395to retreat to. What if he lunged at me, and attacked me? When he finally 396reached my feet he started caressing and 397fondling my size nine police boots with his bony, thieving little hands, putting 398greasy finger marks all over my lovely polished toe-caps. My colleague and I 399looked at each other in utter bewilderment and consternation. I didnât know 400what to say, but of the two of us, Gary spoke first: </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âPerhaps he just wants us to give him a damned 401good shoeing, take the telly, and leave it at that?â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'The many doors of Dr. Chu', at the arrest of a doctor who had stolen a large television from his place of work which was found by police in his living room. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'I donât think Iâd be entirely disingenuous in 402comparing people such as Bobby, to insects like cockroaches. They feed off 403others in a typically parasitic and carelessly ebullient manner, consider nothing 404sacrosanct, and their only interest in their miserably tedious and feckless 405existence, is the pursuit of their own hedonistic ends, at whatever cost, 406regardless of such encumbrances which hinder the rest of us, such as moral 407scruples. I canât begin to imagine the level of free thought which goes on in 408the head of such a rapacious person, so apparently at liberty to do whatever 409they wish, whenever they wish, all at the expense of their fellow law-abiding 410citizens. Like Premiership footballers.' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'Bobby', describing a heroin addict who made a living from stealing from the hospital for twenty years. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'The 411man was standing slightly above them, and in silhouette. Carol didnât even 412notice at first, as she was far too busy updating Sandra about a particularly 413awkward patient sheâd been dealing with earlier. She was facing Sandra too, not 414directly at the entrance, and the man. Sandra nudged Carol with an elbow, once, 415then again. She discreetly leaned her head as though trying to point at the 416man. No opaque fumbling about this time. The man was standing only a few feet 417away from them, staring to his front, at the wall. His erect penis was sticking 418out, plainly, and hugely, from his zipper. He had it grasped in his right hand 419and was masturbating calmly and steadily while the two women watched on. Both 420Sandra and Carol were understandably very shocked, and suddenly became very 421fearful. Their distress was amplified by the fact they were trapped in there, 422with him blocking the entrance. Once Carol saw what was happening, she became
423by far the better witness. She described in clinical detail, perhaps how only a 424nurse could, the manâs precise actions. His hand moved faster and faster while 425his facial expression remained unchanged. There was a very slight sound of his 426arm moving rhythmically against his coat, other than that there was complete 427silence, there in the dugout, between the three of them. After a few brief 428minutes, which they stated seemed far, far, longer, the movement suddenly 429stopped. He was seen to finally ejaculate directly into his hands. ' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> From the chapter: 'The Flashing Blade', where two nurses were subjected to a doctor exposing himself to them at the hospital. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'It was only a five minute drive 430back to the station from there. Ellis continued shouting abuse and insults. 431Really nasty, disgusting, foul, personal abuse. I then understood first hand 432exactly what the staff in the dialysis ward had been through. I didnât even get 433the full picture, however, as Ellis was safely cuffed and locked in the cage at 434the back of the van. I could only imagine what it felt like, an inch from my 435face. I then launched into my own mini-tirade, aimed at Ellis. I felt I needed 436to point something out to this man. He needed to know some burning issues, 437things which were already on my mind, but which he came to crystallize, right 438there in the van. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <i>âRight. Shut up now. â</i> I 439shouted. He initially ignored me. So I tried again: </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <i>âFor fuckâs sake, shut up. Shut up and listen to me!!â</i> I shouted, as loud as I could. This time 440I had his attention. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <i>âWhat do you think you are doing, shouting abuse and threatening 441hospital staff?! Whatâs going through your tiny fucking mind when you are 442threatening the very people who are trying to look after you and your baby?! 443Are you completely and utterly fucking mad?! You donât go around treating 444people like that! You need these people! You should be fucking ashamed of 445yourself!</i> <i>Look at you. Youâre just a 446useless fucking chav! No good to anyone! Itâs people like you who are 447destroying this country! You fucking sit around all day watching fucking Trisha 448expecting everyone else to sort your fucking lives out for you! Well it doesnât 449fucking work like that you arrogant fucking shit! Are you listening, you 450fucking bastard?!!!â</i> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <i>From the chapter: 'Jimmy' and an occasion when the police lose their temper.</i> </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">Excerpts from:</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">'Who'd be a Copper?'</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> Books 451about the police and the wider public sector sell really well, even the crap 452ones that clearly havenât been properly proof-read or copy-edited, and 453particularly those written from the inside. They are quite rare because according 454to Home Office and ACPO (Association of Chief Police Officers) guidelines 455serving police officers should not write books about their job. Those who do 456are clearly taking a risk, and many are therefore written anonymously. Even so, 457they have to keep their scribblings innocent, amusing, and inoffensive. I now have greater freedom because I donât work for them anymore. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> As soon as I joined I was told that Sherwood 458Lodge was where all the Chief Officers and their hand-picked staff hid from 459police work and as such proper police officers below the rank of sergeant were not 460permitted to work there. I quickly learned that it was commonly known by front 461line officers as <i>Fraggle Rock</i> from <i>The Muppets</i>, and also by some as <i>The Dream Factory</i>. This was due to the 462fact that some police officers apparently spent their entire careers there, 463climbing the ranks and then disappearing, fulfilling their own personal dreams, 464avoiding shifts and the thoroughly distasteful nature of proper police work. So 465I was told. At first I didnât understand this level of antipathy towards 466others, mainly due to the natural deference in which I held those of a higher 467status than myself. I was still very naïve </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> The Professional Standards Department, or PSD. If you can imagine a huge and rapidly 468expanding department within any organisation whose main raison dâetre seems to be to 469unnecessarily persecute all hard working conscientious colleagues then that is 470the modern day PSD. Itâs the same in every UK police force nowadays. They are a 471bastard cross between the Soviet Stasi and the German Gestapo, but thankfully nowhere 472near as well-organised, professional or efficient. They seem to be entirely self-perpetuating 473in that they only exist to further their own ends, to create a climate of fear
474in the workplace, and to counter their own extreme paranoia, and for no other useful 475reason. They usually operate in pairs and luckily for most of the time many of 476them conduct themselves more like Bungle and Zippy from the childrenâs 477television series <i>Rainbow</i>, but they 478have the power to destroy people, and they seem to relish it. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âWe deal with the same 479families time and again. It runs in the generations.â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> I hadnât a clue what he was 480talking about. What runs in generations? He fiddled with his radio, adjusting 481the volume slightly, turning a knob at the side of it without looking at it. I 482wondered how he knew which way to turn it. He spoke into it briefly, pressing the 483small yellow transmit button on the top, as though in response to a request, 484which I didnât hear, then turned his attention back to me. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âHow did you know they wanted you, 485just then?â I asked, genuinely curious. I could hardly hear anything legible 486from the walkie-talkie around his neck, let alone a name of any sort. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âThey just shouted my collar number, 487see?â and he touched the series of metallic silver numbers on his right 488shoulder. He smiled at me. âYou get used to it.â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> Offences of assault were 489covered, including sexual offences. A person could never consent to assault, 490even in the bedroom and in private. âUnnaturalâ sexual offences were discussed 491which mainly consisted of buggery with another person or with an animal, both of 492which seemed to be categorised together and were therefore seen as equally bad. 493Sodomy was discussed, and was defined as: âSexual intercourse per anus between 494males or male and femaleâ. It was a serious crime, an arrestable offence, i.e., 495it carried a prison sentence of five years, and was illegal even with a spouse. 496Consent, apparently, was no defence. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> There were some lawful homosexual 497acts, but they must take place in private, with the consent of both parties, 498and a maximum of two persons taking part, both being male and over twenty-one 499years of age. There was an excellent mnemonic to remember this: Private, Over 50021, Only 2, and Full consent: POOF. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âWeâre moving out soon. Two weeks 501actually. Down the road to the new building. Have you seen it? The CID are 502already there.â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âYes, I have, I think so,â I thought 503of the imposing new brick fortress construction Iâd seen near the petrol 504station and asked: âIs it the new building on the corner?â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âYeah, thatâs it. Itâll be great to 505get away from this shithole. The local fuckinâ snaffs never leave us alone 506here. Every time you leave your car it gets damaged. We had bricks and bottles 507chucked over at the back the other day. The locals really fuckinâ hate us. 508Still, youâll probably be based up at Broxtowe, not round here.â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> This wasnât training school where 509drivers would willingly tell you they didnât possess a driving licence or that 510they were too drunk to get out of their cars. I wasnât sure I felt prepared for 511it. And what the bloody hell was a âsnaffâ? </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> A crime report was something 512you simply filled in and forgot about, with absolutely no investigations 513whatsoever. I was told to make sure I wrote âOffender unknownâ on the back and 514that was it, even if the offender was known. I seem to remember one of my tutor's 515survival mottos when dealing with the public was: </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âFor fuckâs sake donât give anyone 516your name, theyâll just keep ringing you up and youâll never get rid of the bastards.â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> The two of us leaned against 517the public bar, Dave chain smoking and quaffing pints of beer like it was the 518worldâs end. He kept telling me very serious aphorisms about policing usually 519punctuated by many varied and colourful four-letter words, and when anyone came 520into the pub he seemed to know them all as though theyâd been his best friend 521for years. Some customers would call him Dave, then others would appear quite deferential 522and nod their heads with: âHello Mr Greasleyâ and speak to him quietly and 523surreptitiously for a few moments before moving away with their drink. I nodded 524appreciatively and tried to remember what he was telling me while also 525desperately trying to keep up with the pace of drinking. I was hugely impressed 526and felt as though I was in the presence of DI Jack Reagan himself, from <i>The Sweeney</i>. I dared to think that I was
527being invited into this world. We had our uniforms on but with a âcivvieâ coat 528over the top, which was soon removed after the first few pints. We were then joined 529by the other members of the shift, and at midnight by the four-twelve shift, 530until there were almost a dozen of us cops in the pub. I tend to lose count of 531how much I drink after about eight pints. So it was that I lost count that 532night. At about two oâclock in the morning we all staggered to our cars and 533drove home. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> He looked at me and said quite 534calmly: </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âFuck off.â He turned and started to 535walk away. I took out my chain link handcuffs from my black leather handcuff 536pouch on the belt of my trousers and took hold of his left arm. At that moment 537his arm was relaxed and I managed to find an exposed piece of wrist for the 538handcuff. I thought I could manage the situation if I could get the handcuffs 539on him, and up until that point it was going really well. But I suddenly 540realised it was pointless trying to put the cuffs on him, however. To my horror 541I could see and feel his wrist was as thick as a manâs leg, and therefore the 542cuff was far too narrow to fit; I just couldnât get the handcuffs on him, it 543was impossible. In a flash I pressed the transmit button on my radio and sent 544one word across the airwaves: </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> âAssistance!â </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> I had become a member of âThatcherâs 545Armyâ, one of âThatcherâs Bully Boysâ as we were variously known. It was only a 546year since Iâd returned from my travels with my long hair, broad mind, and a 547mild antipathy towards the police. I was now paid to be sworn at and pushed 548around outside a coal mine. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> Very often it became impossibly 549busy, to the point where no-one was available to attend calls. When this 550happened some less urgent jobs were disposed of, or ditched, as we called it, 551in order to make the job work. They were taken off the pad and placed in Docket 552Thirteen as it was known, the bin. All incoming messages should have been 553stamped with a hand-held consecutive numbering machine, but at very busy times 554this was overlooked. On these occasions âwhen the wheel came offâ as it was 555known, even some stamped messages were ditched. If you ever called the police 556in the 80s or 90s and no one arrived and you wondered why, thereâs your answer. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> At times of crisis in any 557organisation the management often run around like headless chickens, and so it 558was with our gaffers at Fraggle Rock. Those of us on the ground actually doing 559the work inevitably suffered. Frequent pointless changes were made in the hope 560the problem would mysteriously disappear. They changed the people in charge of individual 561sections, stations, and entire areas, and they also tampered with peopleâs 562shift patterns. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> They 563might change the names of things just for the sake of it in the hope of 564improvement when all the time no real difference occurs. It probably looked 565good and someone at Fraggle Rock no doubt gained their promotion from it. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> In the 1990s crime exploded, and still 566no-one knew why. It was common to have fifty cars broken into in a single night 567in the council estates of Aspley and Broxtowe in the west of Nottingham. House 568burglaries were almost the same. In the Forest Fields area I attended a house 569that had been broken into seven times. Criminal damage offences were no 570exception, but the official figures were kept reasonably under control, mainly due 571to the âMinor Damage Bookâ. Anything deemed to be minor in nature such as a 572broken window that might cost £10 to fix, was given a minor damage number. This 573was permissible up to a maximum of £20. The crucial thing about this of course 574was that it didnât generate a recorded crime number. It therefore didnât exist 575in the official figures. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> In 5761995 crime continued rising at a phenomenal rate and was completely out of 577control. There seemed no end to its upward progression despite the police being 578awarded double digit pay rises every year. As a response driver I wondered how 579much longer this situation could continue, we seemed to be busier every week. I 580drew a pyramid chart of job satisfaction and workload versus roles within the 581police, because it seemed to me that a tiny proportion of police employees, 582mainly the response cops, actually did anything, despite the staff car park 583being full every day. Nothingâs changed; response cops continue to be the 584hard-pressed front line of policing. Itâs another strange dichotomy that they have 585the most daily contact with the public yet within the job their status is lower 586than that of caretaker. If you stay on response for more than a few years you 587are seen by everyone else in the job as a fool and by the gaffers as a complete 588idiot. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> On 1st April 2007 staff at 589Fraggle Rock or their partners at the city council or both working together, decided 590to rename my beat area and the surrounding beats with a fantastical new title: 591It was henceforth to be known as the âNatural Neighbourhood Co-terminus Super 592Output Areaâ. I checked the date, but it was real. Someone was being paid a lot 593of money for this. I imagined the inventors of the title sitting around at home
594one night listening to Pink Floyd, off their tits on weed, suddenly having a 595Eureka moment when it popped into their head. It was like a post-war Stalinist five-year 596plan, more idea than substance. Yet again it was telling us to do something we 597were already doing. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> I submitted a report - which as 598usual was ignored - suggesting we deal with wind damage in the same protracted 599manner, merely for the sake of recording it because nobody else did. A fence 600blown down in a storm could be a non-crime wind-related crime number, 601generating a wind-related non-crime crime report and risk assessment, at least 602a couple of hourâs police time utterly wasted. Why not? The police could even 603sell the statistics to insurance companies, generate some revenue, target 604repeat wind victims, and assist in the long term rectification of the problem, 605i.e., buy a new fence. We need not stop there. A dead bird in the street could 606become a non-crime dead-bird related crime number, and the figures could be 607used by the RSPB or RSPCA to monitor wildlife levels, because nobody else is 608doing it. Letâs get out there and start recording absolutely everything we see, 609because no-one else can be bothered! </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> For years when on early shifts Iâd 610sit at a computer eating my cereal while checking what had happened overnight 611on my beat area. No-one ever minded, and it only took five minutes. There were just 612a few of us did it anyway, and only on the early shifts, which were not 613particularly frequent. Suddenly there was a blanket ban on eating in work time, 614other than for the statutory forty-five minutes at lunchtime. The female gaffer 615said: âI donât want to see anyone eating at their desks in the morning.â In my state of paranoia I believed this was 616directed at me. I knew Iâd be safe in the gentâs locker room so for the rest of 617my service I ate my Weetabix standing up in the gentâs toilet. After several 618months I became accustomed to eating breakfast with the heady whiff of urinals, 619Lynx deodorant, and semi-naked men with their knobs hanging out. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> The contrast between being 620inside a job, and in particular a modern politically correct machine such as 621the police service, and being outside it, is now huge. When on the inside you 622live in a bizarre gentile world like that of the <i>Eloi</i> in HG Wellsâ <i>The Time 623Machine</i>, where no-one upsets anyone and all humanity is wonderful. Nasty 624and uncomfortable things are avoided but if they do occur they are hidden, as 625though they didnât actually happen, because no-one wants to upset anyone. Thatâs 626why itâs easier for public bodies nowadays to ignore awkward problems rather 627than actually deal with them. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> Itâs ironic that the concept of political 628correctness was probably created like all religions in a dream in order to 629protect vulnerable members of society. What has actually happened is that it 630has allowed dreadful things to happen, and I cannot see this situation 631improving. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> Anyone standing up and pointing out 632that such horrible things might really be happening, or indeed anyone who dares 633to speak out against the flow is quickly silenced. When you live inside the 634bubble itâs not obvious, but after escaping it all seems very clear. </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> 'Who'd be a Copper?' </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>Jonathan Nicholas</p> 635<p>Â </p> 636<p>Â </p> 637<p><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jonathan-Nicholas/e/B007VXK9DC?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1662981729&sr=8-1" target="_blank">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jonathan-Nicholas/e/B007VXK9DC?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1662981729&sr=8-1</a></p> </div><div class="n module-type-imageSubtitle diyfeLiveArea "> <div class="clearover imageSubtitle" id="imageSubtitle-2251611"> 638 <div class="align-container align-left" style="max-width: 551px"> 639 <a class="imagewrapper" href="https://www.jonathannicholas.org.uk/s/cc_images/teaserbox_1329507.JPG?t=1470746652" rel="lightbox[2251611]"> 640 <img id="image_1329507" src="https://www.jonathannicholas.org.uk/s/cc_images/cache_1329507.JPG?t=1470746652" alt="" style="max-width: 551px; height:auto"/> 641 </a> 642 643 644 </div> 645 646</div> 647
648<script type="text/javascript"> 649//<![CDATA[ 650jQuery(function($) { 651 var $target = $('#imageSubtitle-2251611'); 652 653 if ($.fn.swipebox && Modernizr.touch) { 654 $target 655 .find('a[rel*="lightbox"]') 656 .addClass('swipebox') 657 .swipebox(); 658 } else { 659 $target.tinyLightbox({ 660 item: 'a[rel*="lightbox"]', 661 cycle: false, 662 hideNavigation: true 663 }); 664 } 665}); 666//]]> 667</script>
667 668 </div></div> 669 670 671 </div> 672 </div> 673 </div> 674 <div class="diywebSecondary diyfeCA diyfeCA0 diyfeGE"> 675 <div class="diywebSidebar"> 676 <div class="diywebGutter"> 677 <div id="matrix_267400" class="sortable-matrix" data-matrixId="267400"><div class="n module-type-hr diyfeLiveArea "> <div style="padding: 10px 0px"> 678 <div class="hr"></div> 679</div> 680 </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">Contact</span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-text diyfeLiveArea "> <p>Contact me by email:</p> 681<p>[email protected]</p> 682<p> </p> 683<p>Amazon:</p> 684<p><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jonathan-Nicholas/e/B007VXK9DC?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1662981729&sr=8-1" target="_blank">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jonathan-Nicholas/e/B007VXK9DC?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1662981729&sr=8-1</a></p> 685<p> </p> </div><div class="n module-type-hr diyfeLiveArea "> <div style="padding: 0px 0px"> 686 <div class="hr"></div> 687</div> 688 </div><div class="n module-type-header diyfeLiveArea "> <h2><span class="diyfeDecoration">On the Eastern Front during WW2 many Luftwaffe pilots crash-landed behind the lines. As in the case of Dennis Copping & his Kittyhawk quite a few of these German aeroplanes have been found in 689equally intriguing circumstances. 'Vermisst - Missing in Russia' is a novel about a young man, Paul Goetz, who joins the air force in 1939 and is sent to the Leningrad Front. A rarity, this 690English novel describes the Russian Front through the eyes of a German fighter pilot. ** 'Vermisst - Missing in Russia' available from Amazon or direct from the publishers, Book Guild Ltd. ** 691                            692                            693                             694                              695     696                                      697                            698                             699                            700                         701                              702                            703                            704                               </span></h2> </div><div class="n module-type-remoteModule-twitter diyfeLiveArea "> <div id="modul_2039797_content"><div id="NGH2039797_main"> 705 706 707 <div class="twitter-container"> 708 <div class="twitter-tweet-button"> 709 <p class="tweet-button-text">Tweet this page</p> 710 <a href="http://www.twitter.com/share" data-url="https://www.jonathannicholas.org.uk/excerpts/" class="twitter-share-button" data-count="none" data-lang="en">Tweet</a> 711 </div> 712 </div> 713</div> 714</div>
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