Back in the late 1970s, policing had a very different rhythm. We worked closely with other agencies, including the Department of Health and Social Security (DHSS). Their offices often became a hotspot for minor public order incidents — tempers flaring over delayed payments or reduced entitlements. If a situation looked likely to boil over, they’d call us in to calm things down.
But our relationship with the DHSS offered more than just peacekeeping opportunities. For officers trying to trace offenders of no fixed abode, the weekly ritual of “signing on” was often the one predictable moment we could use to intercept them. While we couldn’t make arrests on DHSS property, we could — and did — wait outside for our moment.
Wednesday, 8th February 1978 was one of those days.
We had a warrant, issued by the Magistrates Court, for the arrest of one Paul Michael Pride. He was wanted for driving whilst disqualified. We’d been informed that Pride would be signing on that morning at The Cabin — the DHSS office on Kent Street, Bedminster.
At 10:30 a.m., I attended with PC Filer. We took up position near the entrance, waiting for our man.
By 11:05 a.m., Pride arrived. He walked inside and, after a few minutes, emerged again. As I moved up the steps toward him, something must have triggered his sixth sense. He looked straight at me, froze for a split second, and then bolted — launching himself over the barrier onto the pavement.
I gave chase on foot. PC Filer, who had been waiting in the nearby panda car, spotted the commotion and moved quickly, following in the car. Pride darted across a busy West Street — narrowly missing traffic — and kept running. PC Filer, taking a bold (and technically incorrect) move, drove up British Road the wrong way, cutting Pride off outside number 11.
I caught up just as PC Filer brought the car to a stop. I grabbed Pride and told him calmly, “There’s a warrant for your arrest for the offence of driving whilst disqualified.” I cautioned him.
He looked at me and asked, “When was that?”
I reminded him of the accident he’d been involved in — the one where he’d given false details to the woman whose car he’d hit.
He sighed. “Yes,” he said.
We conveyed him to Broadbury Road Police Station. At 11:45 a.m., I interviewed him in the cells.
“You know why you’ve been arrested?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Why did you give a false name and address to the woman?”
“I knew I didn’t have insurance,” he said, “and that I was a disqualified driver.”
“You must have known you’d be caught in the end?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “That’s why I stopped running.”
“You remember the accident?”
“Yes,” he said. “And it wasn’t even my fault.”
The interview was concluded and Pride was later taken to Bristol Magistrates’ Court.
Once back at the station, I sent a telex to the Warrants Office confirming that the warrant had been executed and was now cancelled.
Another day, another chase, and another reminder that while you might run from your past, you can’t run forever — especially not up British Road the wrong way., and a renewed sense of wonder. And so, we head home, our hearts filled with stories to tell and a longing for our next adventure.
