in. I sat down. Everybody was doing exactly the same thing. Each had a cloth covering the index finger in one hand, working in a circular motion on the toecap of the boot held in the other. Occasionally, someone would raise the boot to their face, then open their mouth and breathe heavily onto it. It felt like the army to me.
‘It’s gonna take bloody hours, is this.’ Diane was a slender young lady who was clearly frustrated as her boots were still dull. She kept going. I sighed. My boots were dull, too, despite almost an hour of continual ‘bulling’.
We all began to talk, and spent the next couple of hours getting acquainted. This was interrupted only by the occasional gripe about the task in hand. I soon felt more comfortable as I learned that I was in the company of a wide range of people, from a former professional footballer to a check-out operative at a supermarket. One of the guys had been an undertaker before he joined the police and his stories about the situations he’d found himself in helped to pass the time. He’d been involved with the Valley Parade Football Ground disaster in Bradford in 1985, which I found disturbing, as some of my friends had been killed in the fire.
By about 9 p.m. there were ten pairs of pristine boots on the floor. My finger was stained black, and it appeared pruned from the damp cloth. Everybody looked tired but the atmosphere was more relaxed and the talking continued. The boots remained untouched for the next few hours. We had been driven only by the fear and anticipation of Sergeant Wright. Who would bear the brunt of his annoyance tomorrow? Not me again, I hoped.
The next few days consisted of much of the same. I soon realised that none of us would ever satisfy Sergeant Wright. One of the recruits had been told off for tying his laces using the wrong type of knot. It was his job to find fault, but I was determined to make his job as hard as possible. He was going to get the best from me. We all had to look flawless by Thursday. This would be the swearing-in ceremony to be held in front of our families and friends. Perfect appearance would be essential.
It was an early finish on Thursday and so there was no excuse not to get it right. I returned to my room at about 4 p.m. I had got used to its size and its inanimate aura. There was just three hours to go. I tried to visualise Mum and Dad watching me being formally accepted into the police service. My stomach knotted with nerves. I laid on my bed, put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably, and I felt cold. I could smell the dirty burning odour: the same smell I had noticed every evening as the heating system started. I could hear some men playing a game of football outside. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world, not like me. Somehow, I dozed off.
The distant sound of a radio and the sound of hurried footsteps on the corridor were audible as I began to wake up. My mouth was dry and my eyes felt heavy. I was irked that I’d fallen asleep. I reached onto the floor for my watch. It was ten past six. I’d been asleep for two hours! Panic-stricken, I leaped from my bed and opened the door. I looked down the corridor and saw my colleagues nervously pacing up and down in full uniform as if they were rehearsing for later. I slammed the door. ‘Shit.’ I must have said this quite loudly as I heard a few chuckles from the others. The sound of the footsteps got louder.
‘Get a move on, Mick, we’re going in twenty minutes,’ someone said.
‘No probs, I’ll be right along.’ I tried to sound convincing, but as I said this I was hopping around the room, hurriedly taking off my trousers. Loud bangs rained onto my door. The others seemed to be enjoying my predicament. I ran out completely naked, clutching only a small towel and a bar of soap. The laughter was inevitable, as were the mocking wolf whistles. Fortunately, there was no time to think of the embarrassment. I didn’t have long but I would make it. I had no choice, and by 6.30 p.m. I was standing in front of my mirror again. The work was already done on my uniform and it hung exquisitely. My boots gleamed. I placed my helmet on my head slowly and precisely. I looked at myself for one last time, took a long, deep breath and walked out onto the corridor. I felt contented but still very nervous.
The television lounge swarmed with anxious-looking new police officers. Everyone was on his or her feet and moving around, seemingly without purpose. Periodically, someone would pat themselves down with their hand bound with inverted sticky tape, in a frenzied attempt to remove the last remaining bits of fluff from their tunics. Richard looked at me and shook his head. He didn’t need to say anything. I knew how he was feeling. These silent exchanges continued for a few minutes. The awkward silences were interrupted only by the reverberation of an object being repeatedly blown by the wind onto the metal flagpole just outside.
Phil, the ex-footballer, pushed the button for the lift. Being recruits, we were on the top floor and descending by the stairs would have been both time-consuming and tiring. The bell rang and the lift doors parted. One by one, we squeezed into the tiny space. I entered last. The doors closed and everyone looked downward. It was a game of skill not to stand on anyone’s perfectly polished boots. The silence remained unbroken. I desperately wanted to speak. I didn’t know what I wanted to say but I felt oppressed by the silence. I glanced across at Phil. He was a tall, solid figure of a man and was known for his sharp wit as the class joker. He spoke with a gentle Irish accent and could have the class in hysterics with just a couple of carefully chosen words. He had done this all week. Phil’s humour was certainly needed now and he responded to my glance.
‘Tommy, what the hell is that?’ Phil thrust his finger into Tommy’s hairy nostril and pointed to something quite horrible. Everybody laughed. Tommy produced a handkerchief in an instant and wiped away the source of our amusement. This jovial moment had temporarily diverted my mind from the forthcoming reality. The bell rang and the doors opened.
The lecture theatre, which was being used for the ceremony, was a short walk away. We had to go outside. There was driving rain and a howling gale, conditions which threatened the appearance of our uniforms. I pushed against the door. It was, for a time at least, a test of strength: me versus the wind. Eventually, I won the battle. I buried my head into my tunic, closed my eyes as much as possible and began the journey. I was now faced with a dilemma: did I walk and risk a complete soaking, or did I run and risk splashing the back of my trousers? The scene to any onlooker must have been amusing as we all waddled like ducks in a vain attempt to prevent the splashing. Nevertheless, we all arrived at the lecture theatre seemingly none the worse for our ordeal.
Once there, I was bewildered by the sight that greeted us. The theatre was a phenomenal size, yet every detail was intricate and minute. Each seat exhibited an elegant nametag in enduring expectancy of each guest. Ten written declarations of the oath were on the front row. I figured that we would be sitting there. Flamboyant silk curtains decoratively circled the entire room, leading to the focus, a large white screen at the front. Alluring velvet strips draped yet another portrait of the Queen. She was looking to the side this time, but her presence was compelling. I thought she could sense my nerves.
‘This is bloody posh, innit?’ said Tommy. No one replied. I saw Richard read a copy of the declaration. I did the same. This wasn’t a time for mistakes or tripped words. Several others quickly joined us. Two colleagues felt the need to read mine over my shoulder, yet their own copies were only inches away from them. The nerves had removed all rational thinking. A number of voices speedily whispered the words on the card.
‘Does anyone know what we have to do?’ someone asked. Again, there was no reply.
Then the inevitable came. I heard voices coming from outside, and the sound of high heels on the floor confirmed that the first guests were arriving. Whose family would it be? Tommy grimaced. There was a knock at the door. Whoever it was felt subordinate enough to seek permission to enter and this instantly gave me a feeling of confidence and control. Didn’t they know it was only us in the room? They didn’t need to knock. I realised again that I was a policeman and this was my first encounter with the public as such. I hadn’t changed, but people’s reaction to me had.
By the time the theatre had filled with our loved ones, we had all taken our seats. My hands were sticky and from time to time I would frantically rub my palms together in order to rid them of the sweat. I puffed out my cheeks and released a long breath through barely parted lips. The others remained still. The magistrates and college commander would arrive any minute. Sure enough, they did: