I have worked every night and every day this week. Since last Saturday, when I was on the streets of Tottenham in north London in the early hours as rioting and looting broke out, through to the early hours of yesterday morning. I have clocked up around 125 hours, too many of them being pelted by stones, petrol bombs and, in one case, in the chaos of it all, by a 4ft ornamental palm tree.
All that has sustained me has been a few hours of snatched sleep between shifts, plenty of tea, the occasional packet of Haribo sweets to provide a much-needed energy burst – and an unshakeable belief, shared with my fellow officers, that I have a responsibility for the safety of my colleagues, and for the decent, law-abiding majority of the community here in London where I live.
I am in my mid-30s and have been a police officer for 15 years, most recently in plain clothes, doing surveillance. I am also in the Territorial Army and have seen service in Iraq. So I thought I’d witnessed most things in the course of my career. I was on duty at the G20 demonstrations in London in 2009, for example. But nothing prepared me for what I experienced on the front line this week.
I last saw looting in Iraq, in the aftermath of the toppling of Saddam Hussein – but now, unimaginably, it was happening on the streets of London and other cities in the UK. On Monday night I was sent to Ealing, in the west of the capital, where I used to live. When I saw the wanton destruction of restaurants where I had eaten, or the barber’s shop where I would have my hair cut, the full horrific scale of what was happening hit home.
There have been so many things this week I thought I’d never see in London. Perhaps the most shocking sight was of children as young as 10 and 11 – small boys about 5ft tall – attacking police officers. I grew up in the countryside and was taught to respect the police. When, as a teenager, I was involved in a minor misdemeanour, the local bobby told me to apologise to the person I’d wronged, took me home and told my parents what I’d done. I never stepped out of line again. Sadly, there was no possibility of copying his tactics with the lawless children throwing stones at us this week.
It was a small child who shouted perhaps the strangest bit of abuse at me. As well as all the usual unprintable insults, this 12-year-old taunted us with “Kill the Feds!” Obviously he’d been watching too many American cop shows.
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