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‘This is bloody posh, innit?’ said Tommy. No one replied. I saw Richard read a copy of the declaration. I did the same. This wasn’t a time for mistakes or tripped words. Several others quickly joined us. Two colleagues felt the need to read mine over my shoulder, yet their own copies were only inches away from them. The nerves had removed all rational thinking. A number of voices speedily whispered the words on the card.
‘Does anyone know what we have to do?’ someone asked. Again, there was no reply.
Then the inevitable came. I heard voices coming from outside, and the sound of high heels on the floor confirmed that the first guests were arriving. Whose family would it be? Tommy grimaced. There was a knock at the door. Whoever it was felt subordinate enough to seek permission to enter and this instantly gave me a feeling of confidence and control. Didn’t they know it was only us in the room? They didn’t need to knock. I realised again that I was a policeman and this was my first encounter with the public as such. I hadn’t changed, but people’s reaction to me had.
By the time the theatre had filled with our loved ones, we had all taken our seats. My hands were sticky and from time to time I would frantically rub my palms together in order to rid them of the sweat. I puffed out my cheeks and released a long breath through barely parted lips. The others remained still. The magistrates and college commander would arrive any minute. Sure enough, they did: with a ceremonious entry, a mass of grand-looking senior officers and court officials entered the room. The formal opening began.
I knew this was going to take a while, which exacerbated my nerves. I placed my hands on my lap and tried to listen. I continued to look around the room, but did so with the minimum of movement because each move that I made was the focus of everybody’s attention, or at least that’s how it felt. I began to think of my friends from school. I couldn’t believe where I was. I wondered what they were doing at this very moment. They would never believe this if I told them—Michael Bunting, a police officer? Then my turn to be sworn in arrived.
‘PC Bunting, please,’ came a voice, out of the blue. I looked at the front and the officiating magistrate nodded his head and smiled at me. It was as if he sensed my anguish. I stood up and tentatively approached him. I looked over to my mum and dad before taking the oath. My formal acceptance to the service was complete. I had even been given my dad’s old West Riding Constabulary collar number, 451. As a chief inspector of the same force, he looked on with the pride I had expected. I’d done it.
I spent the next fifteen weeks at the Police Training School in Warrington. On the final day, after having studied law in the classroom, done riot training on the drill square and performed role play scenarios in mock streets, I completed the passing-out parade with hundreds of other recruits from five different police forces. Once again, Mum and Dad came along with my grandma and grandad (Dad’s parents) to join the crowds of proud onlookers as these new police careers began.
My life’s ambition to become a police officer was complete. I wondered what the next thirty years had in store for me.
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