On crowds

Chapter 6 – Narrative

Some crowds of people need policing more than others which, in part, explains the current media fashion of claiming ‘two-tier’ policing. There are, in fact, as many tiers of policing crowds as there are types of crowd. This is how expert risk assessment works: a low tier of policing for a low risk crowd, more tiers for more risks. There are as many tiers as you like.

The claims of two-tier policing are political fabrications, of course, aimed at claiming police bias and undermining the rule of law ‘without fear or favour’. This has been exacerbated over recent years by the politicians thrusting extra powers into the hands of police, even, at one point buying the Metropolitan Police illegal water-cannon for use on London’s population.

These excessive powers to arrest people for holding placards setting out jury duties and consequent judicial penalties (fourteen years in prison for a placard) serve to damage the reputation of the ‘British Bobby’ who is then seen helping elderly ‘terrorists’ into police vans. Let’s be clear if the government say the penalty is fourteen years for holding a placard, an officer using discretion to not arrest would surely be holding Parliament in contempt (actually if not legally). The public should not blame the police in these awful circumstances.

The wider public safety issue is that these actions force ordinary protests to become extreme and create needless dangers for police officers and the public.

In the bitter dark of the Thames estuary near Wapping the radio crackled into the night air, “Teapot One, Teapot One, receiving, over?”

What could be more quintessentially British than the radio call-sign of Metropolitan Police mobile canteens? These served the officers tea and infamous sausage rolls during the 1980s. There was talk of the dire consequences of Teapot One falling into the hands of rioters and the sausage rolls being used as missiles. Retreat would be the only safe option. The British have no dedicated ‘riot police’ force. The local neighbourhood bobby would be plucked at random to go and police big events with crowds. Well, nearly at random. Somehow, I was never selected to police my local sporting event in my first five years of service. The complexities of keeping order at the annual Tennis tournament at Wimbledon evidently required more experienced and skilful constables than me. I was selected for the Football, the acrimonious printers’ strike at Wapping, and the noisy jostling of the Notting Hill Carnival, but I was not selected, every single year, for the Tennis at Wimbledon.

As a constable, it was difficult to avoid being picked to go up to central London to police crowds. As a sergeant, I found it easier and as an Inspector I claim a distinguished record. In Douglas Adams’ iconic series ‘The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy’, the author created the marvellous character of the Rain God. In the books, he is a long-distance lorry driver who is constantly driving in the rain, when he stops at roadside cafés the rain keeps pouring down. When he moves on it sets off with him down the road. The character doesn’t know he is a Rain God and there lies the comedy.

In real life, the Rain God was me, a uniformed police inspector at Selhurst Park, South London, the home of Crystal Palace and Wimbledon Football Clubs. I was called to police just two Premier League matches in the 1993/1994 season and both were rained off. Do you know how much it has to rain to call off a Premier League match? I was never asked to do public order again and it remains my most glorious public order achievement (sorry to those who had been looking forward to either match).

Earlier on in my career I had to count a crowd. The two most junior constables were picked and then trained on the spot. It was a beautiful summer’s day in one of central London’s parks, probably Hyde Park. The march was organised by an Indian community, possibly Sikhs, and very colourful, noisy and enjoyable it was too. Before setting off, the park was filled with families picnicking and chatting. The Sergeant asked if we had ever counted a crowd before. “Right”, he said, “Pick a sparse part of the crowd and then pick a point beyond the crowd, a lamp-post or a tree”. “Count ten people that are in a straight line between you and it.” We absorbed these instructions and tried them out.

“That gives you the space occupied by ten people, starting from where you are standing”. “Now”, he said, “That is your first ten, make another line slightly to the right and count the next ten. Now, you have twenty, just keep going around, like the hand of a clock, until you have counted everybody.” It was that simple. Try it yourself, next time you are in a restaurant or a theatre or any place where people are mostly still. It really works!

When the march was about to start the Sergeant positioned us either side of the path, like the posts of a starting line and said, “Count them off ten by ten”. He promptly disappeared and then the marchers set off, walking between us. We had no pen or clipboard and couldn’t talk or even see each other. There were thousands of them and it took for ever. I invented a numbering system with my fingers and concentrated. This is mission impossible, I thought. Eventually the last marcher had gone through and we stepped onto the empty path and looked at each other. We were both looking worried, both thinking ‘what do we say to the Sergeant when the numbers don’t match?’ I suggested, “Let’s get it over with, we should say, together, how many we think there were. OK?” I counted down “Three, two, one…”

Together we said: “Four thousand” (Phew, that was a good start, I thought, so far so good)! Next, we went for the hundreds. Together we said, “Three hundred” (Bloody hell, I thought, right again). There was a pause, and then I said “Last one, together”, - “And sixty” we chorused. Then we burst out laughing, mostly with relief but also genuine mirth. “How in hell, did we do that?” Twenty seconds of training, no tools, no collaboration nor communication of any kind. It was completely amazing.

We then found the sergeant to report our total. “That’s no good,” he said. “You can’t have anything ending with a zero or a five; it sounds like an estimate”. “We’ll call it 4,363. Well done”. That was the number that went in the press release for that day’s event.

The police have always counted crowds, it is essential to work out how many officers are needed next time. Occasionally a completely unexpected event occurs such as Wimbledon beating Liverpool and winning the Football Association Cup in 1988. My shift was Late Turn when the victorious team bus drove up Wimbledon Broadway to the Town Hall through tumultuous crowds. Luckily for all concerned, I was not scheduled to work that day, so I did not feel the need for it to pour with rain. It was a beautiful afternoon with a cheerful and peaceful crowd. This was just as well, as there were no extra officers that day; the Wimbledon police mangement had been entirely confident that the Cup would not be ‘coming home.’

The police used to include the size of the crowd in the press release to the media for big events. This was just a public service to provide official figures. These regularly created humorous differences between overly optimistic organisers and dull officialdom, but it seems to me that it is both of interest to the public and in the public interest to know how many of the public turn up for a march. The police count the crowd anyway so it would be easy to provide this public service and report the information to the media. I would argue that they have a duty to do so. The public are the police and the police are the public, after all and when the public are marching we all have an interest in knowing how many.

We are now in an era of reduced public trust in public institutions in general and the police in particular. Reporting crowd numbers would be a simple way for police to restore some respect. Modern technology makes it easy to ‘fact-check’, official crowd figures, so it seems a low risk way to restore some confidence in policing, by providing official trusted figures. There is another public service aspect. Some media do not want to report certain protests, they don’t want them to exist, so they pretend they are not happening at all. This is bad for democracy and if the police reported large numbers of people marching then it would become news even for those who don’t want it to in the public domain at all. The police should report the numbers ‘without fear or favour’, as a public service and a reminder that the police are the public, especially in these troubled times.

There we are, another chapter published. It’s time for a cuppa. Calling “Teapot One, are you receiving, over?”

Nothing heard.

I’ll have to make it myself, while you think of a comment to put below.