stuck here, Sarge,’ explained the van driver, with panic in his voice.
‘Urgent assistance, Neville Street,’ bellowed the sergeant into the radio.
We were at the mercy of the rioters who had circled us. Bricks and bottles continued to smash into the van. There was nothing we could do as they closed in on us from all directions. They used scarves and bandanas to conceal their faces. Some had arms full of bricks, whilst others brandished long sticks and baseball bats. Once in a while, one or two of the rioters would pluck up the courage and come right up to us and strike the van with bats.
‘Lock all the doors,’ ordered the sergeant. This, I can assure you, had been done a long time before he’d said it.
The rioters were still chanting, but such was my fear at this point that I didn’t hear what they were shouting. We were completely helpless; our fate lay in the hands of these youths. I hoped they would have at least a shred of decency about them and spare us from harm. My fear was amplified when I saw some of the crowd lighting papers stuffed in the necks of glass bottles. We were about to be petrol-bombed. They came closer. They started to rock the van. I peered out of the one-way glass and the anger and hatred in the eyes of these people was terrifying. I noticed that even Paul was beginning to look troubled. We had to shout at each other in order to communicate inside the van. It rocked more and more and then I saw a great flash of flames up the side. The youths temporarily dispersed from that side, but were back within seconds. I felt defenceless. Escaping was in the hands of the gods. I kept my head down and tied the chinstrap and pulled the visor down on my helmet. I thought it would only be a matter of time before the driver of our van would plough into the crowd. It was a decision I was glad I didn’t have to make, as there would inevitably be casualties and consequences for the officer.
Three or four men at the rear of the van were trying to force the doors open with a crowbar. The look of determination in their eyes was alarming. Paul banged on the doors with his fist and this startled them. They retreated. The van carried on rocking and I was becoming increasingly concerned that it would tip over. I looked up at Paul. He was a hardy character but he was looking frightened, too.
More and more of the crowd came and banged on the van. They were like vultures at a carcass, every one fighting for his bit of space.
Eventually, a stalemate occurred. The crowd seemed to have reached the limit of how far they would go with the violence. We remained stationary. It was impossible for us to know whether assistance was on its way, or whether we’d have to get ourselves out of this unsavoury situation.
‘Right, drive on and get us out of here,’ said the sergeant to the driver. It was as if he had sensed my quandary.
‘Okay, Sarge. I was gonna do it anyway.’
With this, he revved up the engine until it roared above the din of the crowd. The rioters at the front instinctively ran out of the way. Seeing the potential escape route, the driver accelerated into the gap. We were off and within seconds there was a welcome calm as we got far enough away to evade the bricks. I looked back at the hundred or so rioters. They were quite obviously furious about our escape and had now turned their anger onto a row of shops, smashing the windows with the bricks and looting the stock.
‘That were a bit close, wasn’t it?’ said Paul.
‘A little bit. Is everyone okay?’ enquired the sergeant.
‘We’re alright, Sarge,’ I said. I think I was trying to convince myself, as I knew that in a few minutes time we would be out on foot with the shields. The prospect worried me. I looked at everyone in the van. They all looked very alert, yet there was a stunned hush. Everybody made the final adjustments to themselves to make sure they were fully kitted up and ready to go out onto the streets. I pulled the straps on my shin guards tight, as I’d seen the size of the missiles they’d thrown at us. There would be no blasts on any instructor’s whistle if one of us got injured today.
We arrived at the rendezvous point. For the first time in a while I felt safe again, as at least one hundred officers were lined up in full riot gear. We got out of the van and joined them. On the instructions of the commanding officer, we progressed down Neville Street in our respective lines. This was more like the training we had had at the derelict hospital. We were organised again and we were now dictating the pace.
Dispersing the crowds was very much easier and far less confrontational than I’d expected. Because we were now in large numbers, the crowd had lost their enthusiasm to try to overpower us and we spent the next two hours simply walking at them with our shields down. As we approached them, they would all run away. The occasional brick would come our way, but by this time we were well in control of the situation and by early evening the crowd had dispersed.
As things quietened down, we were called back to the station in turn, in order to have a meal and cool down. When it was our turn to go back, I was quite moved by the sight which greeted me when I arrived in the canteen. There were about fifty officers. Most of them had their overalls stripped to the waist and tied around their middle using the arms. They were all red-faced with their hair wet from sweat. There was a feeling of solidarity such as I’d never experienced before. Everyone seemed subdued by what had gone on that afternoon. I sat, gulped down a bottle of water and ate my meal.
Even though we spent two days at Bradford, there was little more trouble after that afternoon. The police are rarely caught out twice at the same incident and we maintained a heavy presence to keep the crowds at home. It worked. There were several arrests following the disturbances, but some of the offenders were later released without charge in order to prevent further trouble. I found that part of the job rather irritating.
When I arrived home that evening, the riots were on the news again. I soon switched channels when a community leader appeared, telling the public just how heavy-handed the police tactics had been in Bradford. He said how disgusting he found it that peaceful protesters were hounded from the streets by our police in what he described as a police state. I went to bed.
The widespread rioting in Bradford was not the end of large-scale disorder in West Yorkshire that year. Towards the end of the summer, there was similar violence in the Woodhouse area of Leeds. Two police officers had been called to a report of a female in distress by a parade of shops at the top of a cul-de-sac in a really notorious part of Woodhouse. As the officers drove their car up the street, it became apparent that the call was a hoax, as about thirty youths ran out throwing petrol bombs and bricks at them, blocking their exit in the process. The police response that night had been immediate and forceful, but the youths got the upper hand in the early stages as the group of thirty escalated to around four hundred. By now, I was used to the procedures. I looked at the list of officers to be sent to the area and there I was. It was all to start again, making the summer of 1995 one of the most memorable in my service.
I used to find that after a very busy period, like that in the summer of 1995, things would go ominously quiet for a while. That’s exactly what happened after the Bradford and Leeds riots that year.
As the leaves fell that autumn, I began to get restless, as I had been dealing with very mundane everyday matters since the riots. I requested a transfer to Millgarth Division, which was the city centre station of Leeds. I thought it would be a contrast to the smaller station I had worked at in Dewsbury Division since joining up. I had been there for well over two years and even though the people I worked with were fantastic, I felt I needed a change to maintain my high level of enthusiasm and to broaden my experience. I keenly anticipated the pull of city centre policing and all the variety that goes with it. My request was accepted, but I had to wait a few months before it would take place—around Christmas time of that year.
My acceptance to Millgarth Division seemed to spark off a busy period for my final few months at Dewsbury. One of the most common jobs for patrol officers to attend is the activation of intruder alarms in commercial premises. I would say that 80 per cent of activations are false alarms and