Thrown in at the deep end of policing
Thrown in at the deep end is about right about the start of my policing.
I have just completed 13 weeks at training school and returned to Denville straight onto night shifts for a whole month. I have to be accompanied by another officer until I learn the ropes. After this, it will be a regular rota on the basis of four weeks on days and two weeks on nights.
So here you find me, six feet tall, boots sparkling, trousers finely creased, tunic pressed. Both the trousers and tunic are second-hand. They won’t get you fitted for a new uniform until they are sure you are going to stick to the job. I have my helmet firmly on my head. I am frightened to death that I might have to deal on my own with an accident involving a lot of blood. Worse, I might have to make an arrest if someone commits a crime. What if someone asks me directions that I can’t give?
In other words, to the outside world, I look like a good old reliable copper but, secretly, I haven’t got a clue!