Tuesday, 31st January 1978 — A Day that began with courtroom jitters in spit-polished boots ended with adrenaline, a chase through Hartcliffe, and two burglars behind bars. It was the first time I understood: in policing, no task is ever routine.
🎩 Courtroom Nerves and Polished Creases
My usual shift should have run from 06:00 to 14:00. But today? Different. I’d been diverted to give evidence at Bristol Magistrates’ Court for the first time.
I was fresh in my two-year probation, feeling every inch the rookie in my Number 1 uniform — creases sharp enough to cut, boots gleaming from hours of bulling.
The case? Fraudulent use of an excise licence and driving uninsured. But Christopher Sweet, the defendant, saved me the sweat. He pleaded guilty before I was called. The courtroom drama vanished in an instant.
I returned to Bishopsworth Station by midday, grateful for tea and the sanctuary of the canteen.
🛑 Lollipop Duty With a Twist
At 12:30 came a call: the Hareclive Junior School crossing warden was absent.
Back then, when the lollipop person was off, it fell to the “sprog” — probationary constable — to don the mantle. And I was the lucky spare.
I walked thirty minutes up to Bishport Avenue, stationed at the junction with Moxham Drive. First lunch shift, then the afternoon crossing. No Hi-Viz back then. Just uniform, hand signals, and trust. A few nods from parents, a few cold shoulders from others — the estate wasn’t exactly warm towards the police.
Yet for those brief moments, helping children across that busy road, you felt the silent contract of responsibility. Even here, even now, the uniform mattered.
👀 A Van, A Voice, A Gut Feeling
Just after 15:30, a message came through on my Burndept UHF personal radio, slung in a harness around my neck:
“Be on the lookout for a Bedford van, reg 833 LHT — believed involved in a burglary.”
Still on foot patrol — and with no intention of clocking off early — I headed into Gibbsfold Road via Bellamy Avenue, intending to have a walk along Symes Avenue, the shopping street for Hartcliffe.
And there it was.
A Bedford van, parked quietly outside a 3-story block of flats, numbers 32–40. I called it in using my Blaupunkt radio. Control confirmed that Bravo 3 were en route.
In the meantime, I did some old-fashioned door-knocking. At Flat 34, a woman in her 60s said she’d seen two young men park the van, enter the block of flats and go upstairs. She thought they were in one of the upper flats.
👮♂️ Bravo 3 Arrives
Reinforcements: WPC Heidi Bown and Sergeant “Bimbo” Thomas. His real name? No clue. I was probation — he was always “Sarge.”
We kept watch on both the van and the flats. Quiet. Tense.
🏃♂️ Run for It
At 16:35, two men appeared — mid-20s, long brown hair and beards. One carried a large green holdall.
They spotted our car, hesitated… then bolted back into the flats.
We gave chase, following them to Flat 38. A young woman, late 20s, answered the door. She insisted the men weren’t inside and that she had small children — and didn’t want police entering.
Sergeant Thomas calmly explained that we’d obtain a search warrant if needed, and that an officer would remain at the door.
That changed her mind.
Inside the lounge, the two suspects were seated — on either side of the green holdall.
💼 The Zip Heard Round the Room
Names:
- Dennis Royston Friend — Blagrove Close
- Alan McIntyre — Aldwick Avenue
When asked about the bag, silence.
I crouched, unzipped it — and there it was. Rings, watches, silverware: the spoils of someone else’s suffering.
Sgt Thomas didn’t miss a beat:
“You are both under arrest on suspicion of burglary.”
They were cautioned. No response.
🚓 End of Watch, End of Illusions
They were taken to Broadbury Road Station. No Police and Criminal Evidence Act yet — they sat in silence, stewing.
I scribbled my notes, and by 18:30, I was relieved from duty. Tired. Proud.
Had it not been for that detour to the school crossing, the van might’ve vanished, the evidence slipped away, and those men walked free.
This was my first proper arrest. Proof that in policing, no duty is ever too small. Sometimes, the smallest diversion leads to the biggest results.
