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The Man Who Cried

I joined the police when I was 19. I had no life experience and I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t prepared for the things I was about to see. I was a boy.

22 years later, when I look back on that time, it feels very much like viewing someone else’s life. That boy who was about as green as they come is now so hardened, so exposed to horror and trauma and so used to dealing with crisis that he has become a man who is pretty much unshockable.

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At All Costs 

Over the last few days the issue of what cuts to police budgets might mean has finally gained some traction in the media.

First we had Merseyside CC Sir Jon Murphy speaking plainly and honestly about what the re-structure of the force would look like:

“We will not deliver as good as service as we have done before. In some instances it will take us longer to get there. In some cases we won’t turn up. That’s an inevitable consequence of having less people to do more work.”

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The Burning Platforms


Things were different when I joined. Well, they were. This was back in 1994, I was a boy. I didn’t have the first damn clue what I was letting myself in for. I had wanted to be a policeman since I sat staring in awe at the copper stood in full Number 1 uniform lining the route of the Queen’s Jubilee tour in 1977. I was 3.

“What’s that medal for?” asked my father pointing at the Long Service and Good Conduct medal proudly displayed on his chest.

“Not getting found out.” he replied with a wink.

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snowflakes&schnitzel

...and a few more of my favourite things

Gemma Pettman PR

Friendly PR and fundraising

Constable Chaos - UK Police Blog

Still blogging time on the thin blue line

Mental Health Cop

A venn diagram of policing, mental health and criminal justice