WE’VECOMEALONG WAYFROMWHENI JOINEDTHEFORCE.. ONEGUYWOULDN’T SPEAKTOWOMEN.. HEDIDN’TTHINKWE SHOULDBETHERE
RONA AND COLLEAGUES DEFIED THE DINOSAURS Retired detective inspector lifts lid on what it was like when she signed up in the 70s as TV documentary tells the fascinating story of our officers over the decades
RONA Grimmer was 17 when she signed up as a police cadet in Aberdeen in 1978.
It was an unusual job for a woman at the time and her experiences make Life On Mars look like Heartbeat.
But she was a natural “police wifey”, as the men of the north-east referred to her back then – and loved every minute.
Rona had to wait 18 months to become a full member of the force.
Her first shift was a Friday night in Aberdeen city centre. Despite being barely old enough to drink in a bar, she had to march in at closing time and make sure everyone drank up and went home.
She recalled: “I was throwing out pubs in the Castlegate. No training, nothing. That’s how it was. I was 18-and-a-half.”
Rona’s tales of policing in the olden days are part of a documentary, The Force, that’s on BBC1 on Monday.
She is one of the stars of a fascinating programme that shows how much policing has changed in her lifetime.
When she began her career, the Sex Discrimination Act had revolutionised the role of women in the police.
Before the 1975 legislation, there had been a separate Policewoman’s Department.
They did not work shifts or go on the beat. Most of their work involved children and missing persons.
Rona, who started off walking the beat wearing a skirt, hat and official-issue black tights, ended up as a detective inspector in the public protection unit.
Moving to the big city and patrolling the mean streets was a new experience for the young WPC.
She said: “I came from a little town 60 miles north. We didn’t have folk roaming about at night.
“I was straight into quite a rough area and realised children slept in drawers and people walked about at 4am. It was shock horror to me but I learned quickly.
“We were not allowed to wear trousers, except on nightshifts. Our radio was in our official-issue handbag.
“If you got into any trouble you had to say, ‘Hold on a minute till I go into my handbag and get my radio to call for help.’
“Initially, your baton was in your handbag as well. Then there was a secret pocket in your skirt to keep it in.”
These were not the hefty pieces of kit issued to the men. Rona and her female colleagues were expected to defend themselves with small, ladylike weapons.
She said: “I don’t know how some of us weren’t killed.”
Rona soon realised that being a tall, articulate woman could work to her advantage.
She said: “I was quite a good talker and that got me out of a lot of problems.
“I’m taller and bigger than a lot of the policewomen I see going about nowadays. I didn’t really fear much. Very rarely did I feel intimidated by anybody.”
Rona can only remember a handful of sticky moments. She said: “There were a couple of times I jumped on somebody’s back and they never moved. But that was few and far between.
“Nobody saw you as a threat. On Hogmanay on Union Street, everyone wanted to kiss the policewoman.
“It was good banter, I was just the police wifey.”
Instead, old-school male colleagues were the ones who struggled to accept women joining the force.
Rona recalled: “One guy wouldn’t even speak to women. In the few months I worked with him he didn’t say a word to me. He never looked my way, because he didn’t think women should be in the job.”
She was not subjected to the muster room initiation ceremony, where a new female officer would be held down and have the date stamped on her bum.
It did still go on at the start of Rona’s career and one of her male colleagues looks very sheepish when he describes it in the documentary.
But as the dinosaurs retired, policing evolved and Rona’s generation were at the forefront of changing attitudes.
She said: “I was involved in the early days of the child protection unit and domestic abuse unit.
“When I first joined, you went along to a domestic with a policeman older than you. He sorted it out, generally by putting the guy in the back of the car and taking him somewhere. By the time he’d walked home, he was sober and peace had been restored.
“It was horrendous and nobody was ever done for it.
“In my time that changed. We got domestic abuse officers; women got far more support.”
As the old guard retired, Rona and her modernising colleagues found themselves pushing at an open door.
The Force also features Carina and Eric Webb, who met at Tulliallan police college.
She had to leave when they got married three years later. He went on to have a 33-year career.
By contrast, Rona was one of the first officers to return to work after having a baby. That baby is now an officer herself.
Rona said: “We’ve moved very far from the days when I joined.
“My daughter laughs when I tell her the old stories. She is completely treated as an equal.” ● The Force, BBC1 Scotland, Monday at 9pm.