The Curse of Drink......

Slightly (?) Intoxicated…..

After the Tower Bell incident (see previous post), sure I might as well continue on a similar vein – after all even if there is no ‘Statutes of Limitation’ in the UK, I doubt if anyone would bother to report me for being ‘unfit for duty through drink’ after 50 odd years.   Even so, try to keep this little episode of my police career a secret among yourselves.

It was 1966 and I had been at Hackney Police Station for about six months, still single and living in what was called a ‘Section House’ – single officers’ quarters - some miles away.   It was my home from home whilst in the service before I married.

I was being paid weekly and having a good time.   I ate well, slept well and drank well.   (I really must boast that having been a heavy beer drinker for many years, I have been dry (on the wagon) for the past thirty-nine years),

I was very fond of my beer in those days and when I talk of fondness, that ran to as many as a dozen pints at a session.   That was nothing extraordinary or exceptional for those days as there were many men who would drink ten, fifteen or even twenty pints in a day.

In any event, this little episode came about because of the rota system that we were working under in those early days.    Because of the constant changes, Early 6am to 2pm, Lates 2pm to 10pm and Nights 10pm to 6am, it was almost impossible to keep track   One week blended into the next and with a leave system that was enforced on whatever shift you were working I and many other young officers became totally confused.

And so it was that I thought I was ‘weekly leave’ on the Wednesday of Night Duty and decided to take advantage of the wonderful opportunity.   I wore civilian clothes and went on the beer.    After many pints I wandered (staggered?) back to the Section House where I was greeted by the Warden.   He told me to phone my Station urgently.

Luckily enough I spoke to a constable whom I knew was acting Sergeant.  “Why are you not at work?” he asked.   In a classic slurred voice I replied “Weekly Leave”.   “Not tonight you idiot” he replied “tomorrow night you are supposed to be off.   Get changed into uniform and get here as quickly as possible and don’t let the Inspector see you”.   I looked at the clock over the Warden’s desk and it said 10.50pm – I was already almost an hour late.

I got changed in record time and caught the bus from opposite where I lived.   About half an hour later I walked up the back entrance to the station with the beginnings of a first rate hangover starting to hammer in my head.    I saw the acting Sergeant and when he saw the state I was in he told me to get out on the streets and keep out of the way until I was sober.   In fact I was in a far worse condition than many of the drunks I have taken into custody during my service for their own safety.   I certainly was not in a fit state to do anything...........

Luckily enough, in those days – the 60’s – Swinging London had not extended to the East End so things had begun to quieten down considerably as it was now 11.30pm.

I decided to try and walk myself sober but after a mile or so through the back streets I realised that the attempt was completely futile.   I was knackered............

I found a dark doorway which was not lit, sat down and began to smoke a cigarette.   The hangover was now as good, or should I say as bad, as anything I have ever had before or since.   I threw the cigarette away, closed my eyes and not realising it, I fell into a deep sleep.

 At some stage, it must have been around 2am someone kicked my boots and said “Are you OK guvnor”.   I awoke with a start and realised that I had in fact been lying flat out on the tiled entrance to the shop.   Whoever it was who woke me up did not stay around to see what was going on for he was now running up the road as fast as his feet could carry him.

I tidied myself up, dusted myself down and realised that I was no longer staggering.  I decided to make my way back to the station.    As I entered, who should be coming out at the same time but the Inspector. 

“Where have you been all night?” he asked.   I decided to bold him out and quickly and confidently replied “Down the shopping area sir where we have been having those smash and grabs last week”.   “Well done officer” he replied “a damn good idea.  Glad to see that someone is using his initiative”.  

I had gotten away with it and he was happy with my story.   The only problem was when for the remaining nights of night duty he posted one or other of the remaining officers on a static observation on the shops.

And would you credit it – for I did in fact get some of the credit – on the Saturday night the man who had been smashing the windows and stealing from the displays was caught in the act and admitted several other previous offences.

I actually got a thank you memo from the Chief Superintendent – not for being drunk of course – but for using my initiative to solve a troublesome series of crimes......

I have mentioned before that many of our guvnors, from Inspector rank up to Chief Superintendent were nicknamed ‘Mushroom’.    As long as you kept them in the dark and fed them tons of bulls**t, they were happy...........

Another saying we had in those days:  ‘In the police service you are always in the s**t, it is merely the depth that varies’.............................

-------------Mike------------