Special Patrol Group

In 1968 I spent some time on the infamous Special Patrol Group. We were, allegedly, a group of skilled and experienced police officers whose job was to deal with major incidents, and to flood areas for short periods in an effort to reduce crime. There were four such groups of about 60 PCs covering London. My group was based at Whetstone nick in north London.

We had a fleet of Austin J2 vans, awful trucks, into which PCs were stuffed, together with all their equipment. Normally we worked in two teams, half in plain clothes, the rest in uniform. We flooded an area, and stopped everything and everyone who looked at all suspicious. This system produced results, and we had some very good arrests.

With some embarrassment I have to admit being one of five PCs who once stopped a grubby white van. We tipped out the five young men, members of an obscure pop group. In turn, each was searched, and finally a small quantity of cannabis was found. They were all arrested and taken to Camberwell nick, where we had a cup of tea, a long chat, and they were charged. The group were pleased, as the publicity was welcomed. They later became very well known, as T-Rex.

The SPG were a good bunch of lads, and included many good thief-takers. Such police officers seem to have a sixth sense, or an incredible amount of luck. There was no real pattern to their successes. Wally, a real old codger of a cop, was loud and noisy. He’d jump in where angels feared to tread, nosing away, often talking nonsense until his hands would seize upon a trophy. It may be just a scrap of paper, or an out-of-date MOT certificate or driving licence. For him this small piece of evidence was enough to start ferreting. Often he’d win over the villain, who’d then confess all, spilling it out at Wally’s eager nods and winks. Once the confession was made Wally became a friend, a defender of the accused, and would anything to help reduce the punishment about to be mêted out.

Others (like me) stumbled across the odd miscreant, but Tel (Terry) and Pete had even perfected this technique, if that’s what it could be called. They had the knack of tripping over problems, walking round the corner to find a kid breaking into a car, or a burglar’s bum pushing out through a window. For them, that was the easy part. From then on, they had to struggle. Their new friend always decided to run away, and our two heroes were not much good at that. Both were short, and just a trifle overweight, certainly they were not built for speed. So we became quite used to hearing their voices over the radio, puffing and short of breath, calling for assistance. It was all good fun, as we roared off in our J2 vans to start searching. Invariably the thieves would come buzzing straight into our arms. Many of my suspects often decided that I needed a fight, and so I’d have to struggle to detain them. It was good fun, and I never lost one, but I often yearned for someone who’d say ‘It’s a fair cop, guv.’