I Fought the Law (in a no score draw)

 

My second arrest was in 1999. Exactly like my first, it was for possession of a single gramme of hashish, street value about £3. It wasn’t even good hash. It was soap bar, so they had a cheek arresting me really. Everyone knows there is little to no THC in soap- that’s why they stopped selling it. It’s all ‘head cheese’ these days, apparently, and the cheesier the better. (I wouldn’t really know as I left the UK years ago.)
 
My friend, let’s call him Charles (because that was his name), had a problem at the time with hard drugs (I try not to be judgemental, but watch out for junkies, basically). I happened to be with him when he needed to score- after a club when we had both done pills. I was dubious, but as he was clucking at the time (i.e. withdrawing), I kept my mouth shut. I needed a lift home after all and it was cold outside.

We drove in his car up to the Braunstone Estate, past tower blocks whose shuttered windows were like broken teeth and into a cul-de-sac where we pulled up next to a garage.
 
Immediately a guy was at Charles’ window and a deal was made. He slipped away into the shadows.
 
“Thank fuck for that,” Charles was saying, turning the keys in the ignition.
 
At that moment, in front of us brightened up considerably. A flashing blue light threw shadows across the wall.
 
"Uh oh,” I said as my car door was opened from the outside.
 
All the usual bollocks, but they only searched the car due to the fact that Charles had an out of date tax disc. Turns out he was disqualified from driving also, plus had an outstanding conviction for some fine or other he had never paid.
 
So we both got taken to the station by the officers, and I was expecting to have to go through the same kind of fascistic shit that the cops in Birmingham had pulled on me.

“So, you had any previous dealings with the police?” one asked after I had been charged with possession and told I was going to be cautioned.
 
"Yeah, yeah- I have, as a matter of fact,” I said, totally pissed off. “I was arrested and given a three year caution for possession of one gramme of marijuana just over three years ago!”

The irony of this wasn’t lost on the police, who started laughing like it was hilarious.

“Yeah, very funny officers,” I said. “This might be some big joke to you, but you know what you’ve done to me tonight? You’ve turned me into a criminal. You’ve criminalised me by arresting me for something innocuous and everyday. How do you think that makes me feel?”
 
They looked puzzled. Obviously empathy didn’t play a huge part in police training back in the day. I’m sure it still doesn’t.

“Is it any wonder that nobody of my generation,” I continued, warming to my theme,“has anything other than contempt for the police and the Rule of Law, when you marginalise and criminalise perfectly law-abiding citizens like this?”
 
At this, they crumpled.
 
“Oh, shit,” one said.“Look, sorry mate- we really didn’t mean to pull you.”
 
They both were really worried, for some reason.
 
“That’s right mate,” the other said, "We can tell you’re a good chap. We really didn’t expect to pick up someone like you. Not in Braunstone.”

“Well, you did. What now?” I asked.
 
Instead of being fingerprinted and grilled, I was taken down to the cells while they processed my details. This usually takes four hours or more, so I was surprised when they came to let me out after only an hour.
 
“Okay, you’ll be free in a minute,” the officer said. “The duty sergeant just wants a quick word with you before you go.”

“Fine,” I said.
 
The sergeant, when I saw him, smiled in an ingratiating way, obviously embarrassed.

“Look, I just wanted to say that, if you get stopped by the police again, and they ask you if you’ve ever had dealings with the police before,” here his voice dropped, becoming almost conspiratorial: “Tell them- tell them you don’t know. Say you can’t remember. All right?”
 
Afterwards, the officer who had arrested me drove me back to my doorstep, which was nice.
 
In the car he said, “You’re a graduate, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Drama and English.”
 
“I’m a graduate too,” he said. “Chemistry. I suppose you’re now wondering why I’m in the police, aren’t you?”
 
I wasn’t, but to humour him I said “Why?”

“Well, you know how it is. Met a nice girl. Wanted to settle down. Have kids. No jobs in Leicester. It pays well.”

I could understand. “It’s not an easy place to make a life really, is it?” I said.

“No, Leicester’s not a very nice place. Where are you from?”

“Sratford Upon Avon.”
 
“Bit of a culture shock coming here then, I suppose.”
 
“Maybe,” I said. “I lived for two years on Seymour Street, with the prostitutes and the crack dens and the gangsters and all the inner city pond life Leicester can muster. And you know what?”

“No. What?” the policeman asked, glancing at me.

“I had respect. These people- who are from a completely different background- they got to know me. And they respected me. I was looked up to in that neighbourhood. You know?”

We drove in silence after that.

*       *       *

POSTSCRIPT BIT

For those who are interested, in 1986 a TV documentary on Braunstone Estate was broadcast. It was at the time officially one of the poorest and most-neglected areas in England. Here is part one:

And part two: