turn over and over. And my social life blossomed as I became accepted as a possible son-in-law to the Russells. Mavis was most happy with my appointment and I now became her âsteady boyfriendâ. We entered upon a more customary courtship of regular Saturday nights at the pictures on our own, shared Sunday activities with her family, and occasional weeknight meetings.
But âthe jobâ as it is called worldwide by all manner of coppers, did not turn out the way I expected. About two years earlier, Commissioner Leane had decided to develop a more educated force by recruiting lads with intermediate and matriculation certificates at a younger age than the customary twenty-one years. They would fill in the years with clerical work until they turned twenty-one and could be sworn in as officers. By rotating the cadets within the various branches of the force, it was hoped that they would acquire a working knowledge of each. I believe that Commissioner Leane did not succeed in selling this concept and that he failed to achieve the active cooperation of his officers. Most officers were content with the status quo and saw no personal advantage in the scheme. Perhaps they believed that it would affect their chances of promotion, and perhaps they lacked sufficient commitment to the ideals of British policing. The idea that an individual constable should receive his authority from the community and exercise it on his own initiative ran counter to the easy assumption that all a young policeman needed to do was follow orders from on high. As well, most of the twenty cadets and messengers were mediocre material by secondary school standards; they were certainly inexperienced in leadership roles. A number of lads were from the country and lacking in urban sophistication. However, we were welcomed into the various branches at headquarters in Angus Street â though this welcome, I think, was mainly because we took the position of âthe lowest man on the totem poleâ.
Instead of receiving systematic instruction on procedures, we became the gophers, the typists and tea-getters. This was especially true when we were supervised by civil servants. The young trainee became an assistant to the civilian office boy, relieving him of his more mundane tasks. A few of our number were already touch typists. They possessed a skill so valuable in a force where one-finger typing was the rule that they were kept at this task for their entire traineeships. I arrived full of enthusiasm for community servicing and was immediately made dockets clerk in the commissionerâs office registry. All day long, five days a week, I picked up big bundles of dockets in the main office and took them to a small, airless room to file away, or I began the reverse process of finding dockets to match a list I was given. There were five copies of every document, the result of copious use of carbon paper. I managed a reasonable morningâs filing, but by early afternoon I was bored stiff. I took to reading the more interesting dockets and so, I suppose, I did learn a little â especially about rape, and murder.
After six months I was moved to the fingerprint/photographic section. I was delighted: at last I would be involved in some real police work. I should have known better. This section was run by civilian photographers who had taught themselves fingerprinting from a classic textbook by Henry Dalton. There were only three photographers and they were jealous guardians of their status as experts. I was assigned to a disabled ex-serviceman, a former policeman who needed a crutch to move. He maintained the criminal records, which were the responsibility of the section. These were all on 10 x 8 inch ruled cards; details of crimes and convictions were recorded by pen. My job was to obtain the daily list of court appearances and verdicts, find the corresponding cards in the drawers and hand these to the clerk, who would record the details. He would
But âthe jobâ as it is called worldwide by all manner of coppers, did not turn out the way I expected. About two years earlier, Commissioner Leane had decided to develop a more educated force by recruiting lads with intermediate and matriculation certificates at a younger age than the customary twenty-one years. They would fill in the years with clerical work until they turned twenty-one and could be sworn in as officers. By rotating the cadets within the various branches of the force, it was hoped that they would acquire a working knowledge of each. I believe that Commissioner Leane did not succeed in selling this concept and that he failed to achieve the active cooperation of his officers. Most officers were content with the status quo and saw no personal advantage in the scheme. Perhaps they believed that it would affect their chances of promotion, and perhaps they lacked sufficient commitment to the ideals of British policing. The idea that an individual constable should receive his authority from the community and exercise it on his own initiative ran counter to the easy assumption that all a young policeman needed to do was follow orders from on high. As well, most of the twenty cadets and messengers were mediocre material by secondary school standards; they were certainly inexperienced in leadership roles. A number of lads were from the country and lacking in urban sophistication. However, we were welcomed into the various branches at headquarters in Angus Street â though this welcome, I think, was mainly because we took the position of âthe lowest man on the totem poleâ.
Instead of receiving systematic instruction on procedures, we became the gophers, the typists and tea-getters. This was especially true when we were supervised by civil servants. The young trainee became an assistant to the civilian office boy, relieving him of his more mundane tasks. A few of our number were already touch typists. They possessed a skill so valuable in a force where one-finger typing was the rule that they were kept at this task for their entire traineeships. I arrived full of enthusiasm for community servicing and was immediately made dockets clerk in the commissionerâs office registry. All day long, five days a week, I picked up big bundles of dockets in the main office and took them to a small, airless room to file away, or I began the reverse process of finding dockets to match a list I was given. There were five copies of every document, the result of copious use of carbon paper. I managed a reasonable morningâs filing, but by early afternoon I was bored stiff. I took to reading the more interesting dockets and so, I suppose, I did learn a little â especially about rape, and murder.
After six months I was moved to the fingerprint/photographic section. I was delighted: at last I would be involved in some real police work. I should have known better. This section was run by civilian photographers who had taught themselves fingerprinting from a classic textbook by Henry Dalton. There were only three photographers and they were jealous guardians of their status as experts. I was assigned to a disabled ex-serviceman, a former policeman who needed a crutch to move. He maintained the criminal records, which were the responsibility of the section. These were all on 10 x 8 inch ruled cards; details of crimes and convictions were recorded by pen. My job was to obtain the daily list of court appearances and verdicts, find the corresponding cards in the drawers and hand these to the clerk, who would record the details. He would
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