What Made you Want to Become a Policemanofficer?

I have got nothing but praise for my local police service. We did not get off to a good start however.

I was experiencing a severe depressive episode and was on the wrong side of a motorway bridge. Some officers were passing on the motorway and approached me before local officers arrived. That’s when the trouble started. After being talked off the bridge they told me how they relieved they were to find me, I had been missing all night. I had know idea what they were talking about; I’d been in bed all night albeit not actually sleeping. They asked me my name and immediately did not believe me: “I don’t like people lying to me”. I was becoming hysterical by this stage, I had given them the correct details. This went on back and forth all the way to the police station, interestingly not to a police station with a custody suite. Eventually I snapped: “You’re going to have to apologise to me when you realise I am telling the truth”. In the end they phoned my Mum, my GP and Social Worker to verify who I was. Only after speaking to my social worker did they accept I was telling the truth. Then they told me the whole story.

A young woman had gone missing the following evening from her secure (?) foster placement. She had the same first name as me, same hairstyle, same height and same build. Seeing me on the bridge they thought she was me. Everyone was a bit bemused, shocked even, including my social worker, because I have extensive facial scarring from burns. Turns out so does she. It was an amazing coincidence and remains so. A girl with all the same characteristics as me, including facial scarring, lives less than a mile away. Once the penny had dropped, from all sides, we had a bit of a laugh about it and the police officers relaxed. They took me up to the local acute psychiatric ward and handed me over to the staff.

That was several years ago now and we’ve had several encounters since. It’s become a bit of a talking point and we continue to joke about it.

The local officers are great. They are very kind and supportive. I am on a first name basis with several of them. If they see me out and about they often stop and say ‘Hi’ and ask me if I want a lift anywhere. They go out of their way to help me. It’s something I have often wondered about. I have had significant difficulty in controlling my behaviour in the past and assumed I was driving them mad. Their reply: “We like you; we don’t mind coming out to deal with you. You’re not scum like most of the other people we deal with”. That rendered me speechless. It’s one of the nicest compliments I have ever received.

I have calmed down a lot in the last two years and so haven’t been involved in an incident where the police have been called for at least eighteen months. I had a Mental Health Act Assessment back in January and my Social Worker called them to back her up. She didn’t think I would cooperate. I went outside, had a chat with him (it was the guy who looks like Jasper Carrott), agreed to go into hospital and Jasper left with the odd wave and ‘Hi’ having resumed. We’ve built up a relationship and I know I could confidently approach any of them if I needed help.

There’s a slight twist of irony though in that I live next door to one of our local response officers. We haven’t encountered each other at an ‘incident’ and I wonder whether that’s deliberate, e.g. been agreed, between them. He often pops home for a cup of tea during his shift and I see the police car on the drive. I do find it slightly embarrassing but at the same time he’s cool. He smiles and says ‘Hi’ if we bump into each other in the cul-de-sac. He often smokes while he puts out his rubbish and I constantly worry he’s going to blow himself up.

The point of this post? I’m not sure now! It was prompted by a post over on Inspector Gadget about public appreciation of police officers. I guess as a ‘shout out’ to all the local response officers who do a great job, under often very trying circumstances, and are very much appreciated.