In My Humble Opinion

Mike mourns the disappearance of the Motorway Traffic bobby.

 I miss those happy days when something big and white would loom up in your rear view mirror followed by a quick blast of the yelper siren and an index finger beckoning you to pull over to the nearside. Two burly traffic bobbies would amble around your car, hopefully being satisfied that all was above board and roadworthy. In those halcyon PRE-ANPR days, you would be given the yellow ticket we called “the seven-day wonder” or more commonly called – a “producer”. At a police station of your choice you would summon the attention of the oft-feared desk sergeant for him to peruse over your insurance documents and driving licence. Anyone under the age of thirty reading this will obviously be looking puzzled, but back in the days this was how we rolled.

I know it sounds daft to some, but getting a tug from the plod, in hindsight was a treat. I remember my first pull simply for driving round the town at 1.30am for doing absolutely nothing wrong – just four dodgy-looking lads cruising around Northampton in an equally dodgy-looking Cortina Ghia Mk5. After being invited to sit in the back of a fresh-out-of-box traffic unit 3.0 Senator, even to this day I can still savour the smell of the warm interior and the feel of the plush velour upholstery. Being asked who I was, where I was going, where I had been was all part of the drill; in the background all you could hear was the constabulary centrecom crackling over the airwaves interrupted by two second interval pips.

You respected the Traffic Officers – though these days their job has been diluted into something a lot of the old guard feel bitter about. Traffic is now called RPU – Road Policing Unit with many officers now finding themselves seconded at weekends into helping community support officers hauling drunks out of nightclub doorways and sweeping their broken teeth into the gutter. Have a think for a moment and ponder when you last saw a motorway police car unless it was barrelling down the outside lane all blues and twos? Sadly, they are a dying breed thanks to CCTV cameras and Highways England LR Discovery’s and Mitso Shogun’s.

But it troubles me more than just pure nostalgia. A reliable source recently told me that during the dark hours Leicestershire and Northants Police share the same county roads and motorways which includes the M1, M45 and M69 with just a handful of officers and seven RPU vehicles. The lack of road policing is something I really worry about. I once had to dial 101 in the early hours to report a foreign HGV driver who was swilling beer and watching a pornographic film on his laptop as he slowly overtook me. Through two counties we travelled, and nothing was done about it: “we haven’t got a vehicle in the area” came the reply from the lady operator I spoke to. Even though I was angry at this, I understood her problem and felt rather sorry for her.

I personally know a few traffic constables and sergeants, all of them are in that division for a couple of very good reasons – they are, of course, complete petrolheads and genuinely feel they can make a difference to society in general. One of the most surreal conversations I ever had about road policing was in the menswear department in the now-closed Canterbury branch of Debenhams. While browsing the range summer jackets in their “rotund man over forty” collection, I spotted a chap nearby with a pair of slacks over his arm and saw his gaze that seemed to be taking in everything that was going on around him.

Turning to the missus, I quietly said that I knew him from somewhere. She retorted whispering, “He looks like a store detective, you must be mistaken”. No way – I wasn’t having any of that, I definitely knew him from somewhere – faces are one thing I NEVER forget and the strangest thing was the fact that even before he uttered a word, I just knew somehow he had a Brummie/midlands accent. Racking my brains to the point of steam coming from my ears, I bit the bullet and sidled up to him politely asking if we knew each other from somewhere. It was at this point things became so surreal – even the missus enjoyed the conversation that followed.

He was clearly a bit surprised and shy at first and after asking him if he worked for Jaguar Land Rover he started to loosen up. He didn’t, although he did admit he had driven many of them. It transpired that he was none other than Police Constable Richard Elliot. That may not ring any bells, but he featured regularly in the BBC TV show Motorway Cops back in 2003 – told you I never forget a face eh?

For ten minutes or so we chatted about this and that – the reason he was in town was that he was visiting his daughter who was studying at Uni – and what was his favourite police car. He then came completely alive when he waxed lyrical about Opel Senators and Vauxhall Omegas; “You could really flick the back ends out on those – lovely machines”. He even gyrated his hips as if to replicate a drifting car.

Sadly, he’d been unceremoniously shoved out of the door after thirty years’ service in the force – Staffordshire Police’s compulsory retirement period. The pain in his eyes was obvious even though he was clearly flattered to be recognised. After stating that I could sense he missed his role, his reply was quite unique; “you know, I still feel I have something to offer the public” he told me. No selfish cry of boredom or self-pity, just a mourning for not being able to carry out his unswerving duty as a public servant.

Say what you want – they do a grand job our boys in blue.

“Have a think for a moment and ponder when you last saw a motorway police car unless it was barrelling down the outside lane all blues and twos?”