Who'd Be a Copper?

by Jonathan Nicholas

  All that summer I had battles with the PSD. I was interviewed for two hours under caution and on tape like a criminal. My interviewer was a retired cop himself who’d been working as a civvie in the PSD for ten years. Why someone would want to do this I have no idea. Cops have no real need to work again after retirement, particularly if a partner continues to work, but I suppose greed can be a powerful motivator.

  Eventually, seven months later, I attended a ‘Misconduct Meeting’ at Fraggle Rock. I had a brilliant Police Federation representative with me, and the meeting was chaired by a gaffer I’d never met before. Even though it was supposed to be a meeting to discuss the issues I had a feeling the outcome was predestined. The expression ‘kangaroo court’ springs to mind. I was found guilty of bringing the police service into disrepute, and publishing a book without permission. I was shocked. I was also bemused that my employers apparently considered themselves reputational guardians of the entire police service, and not just themselves. I wondered if the other forty-two forces in England and Wales were appreciative of their efforts to quash the publication of such a damaging book.

  I had been in direct email contact with the chief constable about the book and she didn’t seem to have an issue with it. She even asked me if it was available in Kindle format. Clearly it seemed to me that some discipline issues were being dictated purely on a personal basis by a single employee with an apparent dislike of certain books.

  I was told I’d brought discredit on the police service by publishing an outrageous book without permission. I’d been left hanging for seven months, and exchanged dozens of emails with the PSD and the Federation. My defence case was a folder an inch thick, as was the prosecution case compiled by the PSD. Many hours of work and a huge amount of police time had been spent on both sides, and it must have cost a small fortune. The matter had been foremost in my mind and I was very worried about it, as was my wife. Kibbutz Virgin was ready to publish, but my writing was on hold because I was told I couldn’t publish anything while the case was pending. I awaited my punishment.

  There were thirteen parts of the book that were deemed unacceptable, and these are as follows:

  1. The chapter ‘EAU’ where I described in my own thoughts that a nurse’s legs were rather nice. I was told: ‘We don’t want the public to think serving police officers have such thoughts’.

  2. The chapter ‘Bobby’ where I described in my own thoughts my opinion of a particular career criminal as ‘a scruffy, thieving, pernicious little bastard’.

  3. The same chapter when I described the same man in the book as ‘a cockroach’.

  4. The same chapter where I described levels of acceptable dishonesty amongst the public.

  5. The chapter ‘Coffee’ where I disposed of a suspect package without calling the bomb squad, risking my life but breaching protocol.

  6. The chapter ‘Logistics’ where the words ‘cunt’ and ‘twat’ are used privately between me and a colleague. ‘We don’t want the public to think police officers use that kind of language’.

  7. The chapter ‘Jimmy’ where in my own thoughts I described a violent criminal as ‘a thin and scruffy bastard’.

  8. The same chapter where I shouted at a violent criminal in the police van who had been threatening doctors and nurses, calling him ‘an arrogant fucking shit’.

  9. The chapter ‘Race’. They didn’t like this. You will have to read it.

  10. The chapter ‘Maternity’, where I described a member of the great British underclass having a baby and stealing from everyone else on the ward.

  11. The same chapter where I described a female criminal’s persistent use of the word ‘fuck’.

  12. The same chapter where I charged the woman while she was actually giving birth.

  13. The chapter ‘Lies’ where I described a previous colleague ogling the hospital’s nurses.

  It seemed to me that the list had been drawn up by Oliver Cromwell or some other Puritan. I was astonished, more so when I knew of other police books written by serving officers from other forces that were similar, but their employers had no problem with them. Clearly they didn’t allow personal opinions by minor members of staff to dictate discipline policy. Other serving cops had their photographs on Amazon claiming their books were true. I had done neither. It seemed it was all down to a personal dislike of the book, and probably me. I wondered for a while if it was thought that I was Jewish and these actions were prompted by anti-Semitism, but I couldn’t prove it.

  I was astonished when the decision on the matter finally came. I was to receive ‘No action’. Not even advice or a telling off. The gaffer who chaired the discipline meeting later told me what he thought of the case, the PSD and me. He was very sympathetic but is still a serving officer so I cannot write about it. Gaffers are dragged from across the force to chair these disciplinary meetings and generally do not work in the PSD themselves. After it was concluded I wondered just how much the whole thing had cost the taxpayer, and for no result.

  I applied for permission to publish Kibbutz Virgin, but this was refused by PSD. It seemed they really didn’t like me by this time. I’d escaped them once and it seemed they wouldn’t let go. I appealed directly to the assistant chief constable and it was upheld when he bypassed the PSD. I could publish the story about my exploits in Israel in 1978 provided it didn’t include anything of Nottinghamshire Police. Not a chance. The book was finally released to the world six months late. I was then forced to withdraw Hospital Beat from worldwide sale, due to its scurrilous content. Amazon told me they had never known an author remove a book from sale in this manner, and it took a month. It was re-released eighteen months later when I retired, but by then it had lost some momentum, which it took time to regain. Meanwhile I was told my face could not be displayed on social media, Amazon or any other public arena, and so I was unable to hold book launches or publicity of any sort, all the usual things that authors undertake.

  During the process of being banned from publishing I felt strangely impotent, censored like a Cold War Eastern European poet. It was an odd feeling, and very unnerving, like being the subject of a police fatwa. I hated it.

  In December 2012 the PSD came for me again. I was served discipline notices for putting a poor review of a book on Amazon under an anonymous female pseudonym. I wondered at first if the same person at Fraggle Rock was behind it. I wasn’t abusive or insulting in any way, I just said the book was dreadful. It seemed the writer of the book found out from his own research that I was a serving police officer and had complained to Nottinghamshire Police that the review wasn’t good enough. As a private individual surely I was allowed to write book reviews on Amazon? I’d written dozens and I suddenly thought about my favourite authors such as Anthony Beevor, Dirk Bogarde, Emily Bronte, Boris Pasternak and Christopher Hitchens. I knew most of them were dead but would someone make complaints about these reviews too? I wasn’t disclosing my occupation; the man had to conduct some extensive enquiries to trace me. I’d used a female pseudonym on the review specifically in order to disguise myself. Ironically, even though they had stated they wanted to protect the reputation of Nottinghamshire Police I was told it was they who informed the man that Jonathan Nicholas was one of their officers. I thought this was bizarre and I have no idea why they did it.

  Nottinghamshire Police took the complaint, Case Reference CO/00418/12. I was astonished. If I thought there wasn’t a personal vendetta against me before, then surely there was now? Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they are not out to get you of course. I was served a Regulation 15 Police (Complaints & Misconduct) Regulations 2012(Subject) Notice. The offence was ‘Multiple or Unspecified breaches of PACE’. I was dumbfounded and awaited my fate with interest. How on earth had I breached the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, and on multiple occasions?

  Weeks later I was informed the matter of the poor Amazon review would not be taken any further. No explanation was given, and no apology forthcoming. As a result of this my
paranoia increased. It seemed to me that I was being unfairly scrutinised. I’ve read about life in occupied Europe during World War Two, and the secret to survival was avoiding coming to the notice of the Gestapo, because once they knew of you then it seemed they would never let go.

  I was then moved to a police station four miles away from my beat area, for no logical reason. It was certainly not, in my opinion, for any operational purpose; it made my job much harder. I protested because it didn’t make any sense but was told bluntly to get on with my work, the matter was not up for discussion. I could catch a bus to my beat area during office hours but there was no direct route after 6pm and at weekends. Instead of being literally right at the edge of my beat it would now take me an hour to get there.

  In May 2013 the PSD struck again. They’d discovered something form 2010 and served me discipline notices. I was accused of not properly investigating and recording the disclosure of sexual abuse. This seems laughable now, when so many British police forces covered up such things on a wholesale basis. The complaint hadn’t even come from a member of the public but from a colleague, a person in the sexual offences unit, probably using the new ‘Grass on a colleague hotline’.

  In 2010 I dealt with a particularly obnoxious man for criminal damage to his father’s car. In interview I allowed him to tell me on tape for ten minutes that it was nothing to do with him, he was nowhere near the car that night, and that I was just picking on him because I didn’t like him. I then played him the very clear CCTV showing him committing the offence, including all his threats and abusive language, on some very good audio. His face dropped and he went very quiet. He then started blubbering, mumbling about his father. He made references to sexual abuse and being ‘shagged by him’ when he was young, which I admit I didn’t believe. The man was an inveterate liar and couldn’t lie straight in bed. Villains will often invent mitigation, excuses for their behaviour, and I was sure this was one of those occasions.

  I played along with him, as you do, in order to get the cough on tape. I then asked him about the allegations of abuse and several times told him we should go upstairs after the interview to the sexual abuse unit to sort it out. The ‘shag your own kids department’ as we called it was in the same building, so his problem could be resolved very quickly. Each time I made this suggestion he didn’t give a direct reply. I knew then that it was nonsense. I’d recently assisted social services in removing some of his children into foster care because of his negligent parenting, so I’m pretty sure he didn’t like me very much. I didn’t like him, but I didn’t hate him. After the interview he was charged and bailed to court. He couldn’t get out the police station fast enough. He didn’t ask about going upstairs or reporting anything else. This was further indication to me that it was complete crap.

  In the light of the Jimmy Saville revelations, unknown to me the man had attended the police station to report the matter early in 2013. You can only guess his motivation. The sex squad emailed me asking about it because he’d mentioned my name. Astonishingly the man had told them he’d reported it to me in 2010 adding in a very accusatory manner “but he did nothing about it.” I assured them that the abuse allegation against his father was nonsense, but they informed the PSD, hence the discipline notices. They must have been delighted when it arrived in their office with my name on it.

  If you are a long-retired cop you might remember the ‘complaints and discipline’ department being fairly sympathetic to police officers who were facing mischievous allegations from dishonest criminals with long records. Common sense often played a role in such matters and whether you agree or not, cops were often given the benefit of the doubt. It was acknowledged that being a cop was a difficult and stressful job, and it was common for criminals to make malicious complaints. But it seems if a complaint is made today there is an immediate presumption of guilt. Cops are no longer trusted to be as truthful as they once were. It’s now almost impossible to get a criminal convicted merely on the word of one police officer. I suppose the police service has brought this upon itself to a certain extent, with the Guildford Four, Hillsborough and so on. But don’t forget these highly public miscarriages of justice and apparent cover-ups were managed by gaffers, and the cops on the ground were acting on their instructions. Standing up and questioning orders can be extremely difficult in any organisation, but particularly so in the police.

  After six weeks the matter was mysteriously upgraded to gross misconduct and I was threatened with dismissal. I was only a few months away from retirement. The point of issue was that I had not taken the man’s complaint seriously, and had not acted on it. I reminded the PSD that I had offered the man help no less than four times during the interview, and it was recorded on the tape transcript, but this was seemingly not good enough. Suddenly I remembered I had an independent witness who heard me offer the man assistance, and the man’s subsequent refusal of my help. I contacted the lady in a partner agency and she remembered it clearly. With a huge sense of relief I immediately emailed her details to the PSD.

  Weeks passed but my independent witness told me she had not yet been contacted. She was a crucial witness, so how could this be? In desperation I emailed the investigating officer in the PSD and informed him of my intention to submit a formal grievance that he wasn’t investigating the case properly. You can imagine the impact of this. I felt vindicated when less than an hour later my independent witness informed me the PSD wanted to see her. It seemed I was driving my own investigation into myself.

  The discipline issue hung over me constantly like a dark cloud. I made enquiries with the Police Federation and the PSD again informed me that I could be dismissed. I’d lose my pension and all the plans I had for my wife and family I’d nurtured for years were suddenly in jeopardy. We looked at our finances and if I lost everything it seemed we’d have to sell the family home immediately and downsize. My family and I were devastated.

  While all this was happening I still had to work. My mind wandered and with the real prospect of losing everything I began to descend into dark despair. On two occasions for an instant I thought about the consequences of stepping into traffic, in uniform, on the busy Nottingham ring road. The main reason I didn’t was thoughts of my family and also how unfair it would be on the drivers. I had problems from another source while at work. A sergeant would frequently call me up when at the hospital telling me to return to the station to see him ‘for ten minutes’. When I told him where I was he was still insistent. This same sergeant kept telling me I couldn’t cope and I was at risk of losing my job through incompetence. Stress causes poor decision making and absentmindedness, which in turn causes more stress, and so it goes on. How could I have descended from being the best cop in the force only a few years before to getting the sack for being crap? I didn’t understand what was going on.

  For years when on early shifts I’d sit at a computer eating my cereal while checking what had happened overnight on my beat area. No-one ever minded, and it only took five minutes. There were just a few of us who did it anyway, and only on the early shifts, which were not particularly frequent. Suddenly there was a blanket ban on eating in work time, other than for the statutory forty-five minutes at lunchtime. The female gaffer said: “I don’t want to see anyone eating at their desks in the morning.” In my state of paranoia I believed this was directed at me. I knew I’d be safe in the gents’ locker room so for the rest of my service I ate my Weetabix standing up in the gent’s toilet. After several months I became accustomed to eating breakfast with the heady whiff of urinals, Lynx deodorant and semi-naked men with their knobs hanging out.

  I’ve noticed one of the new ways discipline has been attempted in the police service latterly is the catch-all bollocking. If a member of staff is repeatedly late or dares to eat Weetabix at their desk then a widespread ban on such practices is issued. It means that everyone is told not to do something that most were not doing in the first place. In my opinion this is the worst kind of David Brent style of leade
rship and causes huge resentment amongst those who are not involved.

  I’ve suffered migraines all my life but when happy and healthy I would only get one or two a year. I began to get two or three a week, and I dreaded a bad one at work, but it was becoming inevitable. I was in full uniform on one occasion in Sherwood high street talking to a member of the public when I suddenly realised I’d lost sight of his face. This is called prosopagnosia and I only usually get this during the onset of a severe attack. It effectively means having to wait for someone to speak so you can tell who it is. It’s a prelude to pain. With all these negative circumstances coming together I began to lose my self-confidence, which can cause major problems for a front-line cop.

  Finally in August I received the ‘disclosure documents’ from the PSD. The documents stated the matter was merely misconduct and not gross misconduct. I queried this and was told it was still gross misconduct. They sent me the correct form a few days later. The disclosure documents were intended for the accused to see the nature and strength of the evidence. Of the eight items listed I was given sight of only three. Criminals are treated more fairly.

  The summary made by the investigator in my opinion was poor and evidentially inaccurate in many places. I complained and submitted a mitigation statement detailing the inaccuracies. This was ignored. I was visited by the line manager of the PSD investigator who was the subject of my grievance complaint. I wasn’t surprised to hear my grievance against him was going nowhere. It seemed the PSD investigated themselves and came to the conclusion they had no case to answer.