The many trendy bars lining the streets of Shoreditch have made the area one of the premier nightlife spots in London. The so-called Shoreditch Triangle – between Old Street, Great Eastern Street and Shoreditch High Street – may be small, but with a third of Hackney’s licensed premises located in just these few hundred square metres, it draws thousands of people every weekend.
For those charged with keeping order, however, it is far from glamorous. Policing the revellers is a job that is testing and tedious in equal measure.
“You’ll have to wear this if you’re coming out with us,” says Sergeant Jeff Fulstone, as a younger policeman zips me into a heavy, black stab jacket that smells of its previous occupants. Sgt Fulstone heads the eight-strong team charged with keeping Shoreditch safe while the partying takes place.
I’m helped into the van that will be our office for the night and we set off, the vehicle crawling along the streets with its passengers keeping their eyes on the people outside. Passing a bag of Haribo around, the team are full of good humour and there are plenty of in-jokes.
Much of the evening is spent driving around in circles, however, and only occasionally does a member of the team get out and patrol on foot for a short while. The incessant banter seems to be their best way of dealing with the monotony of the night’s work.
“If we see a potential problem we’ll deal with it straight away,” says Sgt Fulstone. “It happens almost nightly, minor things that could escalate. It’s a case of keeping your eyes and ears open.”
Much of their work appears to be about recognising individuals.
One beggar receives a stern ticking-off for hassling pedestrians.
“What have you got a wheelchair for?” PC Mandy Eva asks him. “You can walk.” The man denies it, but PC Eva is adamant she saw him walking earlier in the day. “We’ll see him again tonight,” she says. Sure enough, she is right; four or five times the pesky beggar is moved on, protesting his innocence each time.
Sgt Fulstone points out a pair of prostitutes walking arm and arm. “They’re not as much of a nuisance as they used to be,” he says. He appears to be right. We don’t see the young women again for the rest of the night.
When incidents do occur, the team are usually alerted to them by the staff at the venues themselves, with whom they have built up a close relationship.
Tonight, two men refused entry to the Hoxton Pony at 11pm have apparently traded threats with the bouncers. The team defuses the situation, though not without a bit of trouble. One of the men refuses to let it rest. In his drunken state, he continually repeats himself – much to the irritation of the officers – but eventually his friend drags him away.
Later, they step in to restore calm when drunken young couple cause a scene by rowing outside East Village Club. [http://www.eastvillageclub.com/] The man is refusing to give his partner any money to get home, to which the girl has taken exception. “You’re the father of my child, you bastard!” she screams. Tears streaming down her face, she is taken to the police station to wait for a lift home while her boyfriend staggers off into the night, angered by the team’s “interference”.
“I feel like the mother to 12,000 people,” says PC Eva. She does indeed have a motherly presence – kind, but with the potential to be fearsome when she needs to be. “We’re trying to help them, keep them safe, but they moan about it and raise their voices. It’s a thankless task.”
Some people do appreciate the team’s work, however.
Paul Barrett, in charge of security at six venues in the area, says the team do good work. “The reason we call them is because we don’t want any major trouble, any heavy-handed things,” he says. “If people don’t want to leave, we call them and they get moved on. They have the same team all the time, so we know them all. It’s a good relationship.”
The major issues tend to occur later in the evening, once people have had more time to drink. A street fight at 2.20am ends with a man bleeding from a wound to his face and hurling abuse at police and passers-by, but the team’s swift arrival means a situation that could have become more serious is only a minor one.
Later, another man is arrested for punching a bouncer at 333 Old Street and throwing a bottle into a crowd. Working in tandem with the bar, the police are able to access CCTV footage covering most of the area and swiftly apprehend the culprit.
Back at Shoreditch Police Station, he seems barely able to remember what he has done. “He’s pissed as a fart,” mutters Sgt Fulstone, clearly used to intoxicated young men doing stupid things.
Most of the night is less eventful. Taxis parked incorrectly are moved on; people leaving clubs are ushered from the roads to the pavement. The team go about this with a sense of resignation, for they are clearly well-used to it. Drunkenness is certainly a problem, but one these police officers are used to and content to spend their evenings cleaning up. The work is tiresome and repetitive, but they go about their jobs efficiently and with good humour. Luckily, I do not witness any more serious incidents.
One officer admits to me the night had been “dead”. But a dead night, says Sgt Fulstone, is a successful one.
I'm not sure if I'm convinced about this Tom Jackson fellow. Dodgy beard, slightly too small helmet. Do police officers wear orange vests? I thought that was construction workers.
Great down to earth investigative journalism on the scene – where it happens – keep up the good work Tom Jackson look forward to reading you in the national press !
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