Way back in 1994 when I was a village bobby in a beautiful part of the country where god lives I was on patrol one summers eve, alone, 27.3 miles from my divisional HQ and 12 miles from nearest back up when I received a call of youths drinking in the village square causing a bit of a nuisance.
I duly attended and saw 2 lads, 1 known to me, the other not, with a few bottles of their favorite tipple.
I went over and engaged them in chat about taking it somewhere private when a third youth introduces himself to me by drop kicking the side of my head.
My trusty kwik kuffs exploded from their holster into a nearby garden which was nice.
I wrestled with my new friend and got to my feet.
The unknown of the 2 now decides he wants to play as well, so he picks up a bottle and smashes it, brandishing the broken bottle as he approaches explaining his new found interest in facial surgery.
I decide that my wrestling partner who is now trying to bite me would be better off on the floor with my knee on his back which is where he is placed.
I am then able to draw my trusty wooden peg which I point towards the approaching amateur surgeon and I shout to him that he should back the f... off or I will first render his friend incapable of harming me and then turn my attentions to him.
He is somewhat upset by my manner of restraining his tag team partner and my aggression towards him so he stops his advance but continues explaining his hobby and the need to demonstrate it on me.
I try an assistance shout but the wonderful rolling hills and peaks will not allow my request.
Unknown starts edging closer and I'm seriously considering having to knock my wrestling partner on the head when 2 large chaps from a nearby watering hole come out to investigate the noise.
Fortunately for me they are locals and ask would I like some help.
It’s now a triple tag team against a double even though they are cheating by using weapons.
This becomes a stand off.
A passing youth is ordered by me to dial 999 which he does despite threats from unknown.
20 minutes pass by before a bobby arrives from ANOTHER force area. Along with my 2 assistants he takes on the bottle holder and overpowers him but gets kicked in the nuts and face in doing so.
A short while later a lock up van arrives from my force and the duo are taken away.
It’s at this point that the adrenaline wears off and I am introduced to the pain from the drop kick and subsequent collision with the wall. After doing a statement I'm off home to lick my wounds.
Time passes and I'm awaiting the court appearance which never comes.
The drop kicker mind you has taken to walking by my house everyday, staring in.
Eventually I ring the CPS to find out what’s happening.
The bottle chap jumped bail and is wanted for failing to appear.
Oh, he'd done a GBH on another guy in another village a few days before assaulting me so the CPS did a deal with his defense.
He pleads guilty to the GBH and they drop my charge!
I was furious. What kind of message was this to my assailant? It’s fine. Go ahead and attack the police.
I let the CPS know in a heated conversation that I, the victim, was not even informed.
They duly complained and my Chief Super had a right go at ME!
I was really disillusioned with the job at this point.
At the same time Eric Cantona was in the news for having a pop at a footy fan and he had been referred to the CPS for common assault!
Charles Pollard and Paul Condon had both made comments recently about loss of faith in the criminal justice system so I wrote and signed a letter to Police Review explaining what had happened to me and how I too had lost faith.
That was published as the lead letter.
A few days later I received a phone call from a woman’s magazine (shut up!) expressing their interest in speaking to me about the incident.
I tried to call my Chief Super but he was hobnobbing it at Bramshill so I sought advice from the press liaison office who couldn't see a problem.
So next day a reporter turns up, takes a few pics of where the assault happened and they do a story.
No fee I might add. I was just interested in letting people know what had happened. Stupid boy.
They left and the phone rings.
It’s the Daily Mail this time. I've already spoken to this mag I said. Did you sign anything they asked? No says I.
Next day they turn up. More pics. Another story.
A few weeks pass by and I'm in the station when in bursts my Chief Super. He's well pissed. He's waving a copy of the Mail and ranting about how the Chief Constable has been on the phone not at all happy.
He then explains to me that the first mistake I make he's going to bounce me around the 4 corners of the force area (it’s big) meaning I'd get moved.
So I left of my own accord and transferred to another force.
Now you tell me. Did my attacker fight the law and win?
I think he did.
I know I lost out all round.