I’m an ex-copper who worked during the first lockdown – it reminded me of the desperate need for more police

For police officers on my team, the most noticeable consequence of the UK’s first lockdown was – at first – a reduction in crime. Criminals seemed surprisingly respectful of Boris Johnson’s stay-at-home order, while those who lingered on the streets found themselves deterred by our new Covid-19 fixed penalty notices. The near-constant chatter of our radios gave way to silence for such long stretches of time, we began checking whether they’d run out of battery.  

Of course, it didn’t last. Criminals regained their boldness. Dispatchers’ voices once again graced our patrol cars. The strain of living in close proximity to one another produced not only an uptick in searches for divorce proceedings, but also a tragic spike in domestic violence for my policing area. Yet the brief, blissful period spent in the station, catching up on paperwork and progressing stagnant investigations, reminded us of the truth: that the police were, and still are, desperately understaffed.  

It’s an issue repeated to the point of triteness for many. Indeed, it’s one of the first topics raised by members of the public attempting small-talk on our patrols, with sympathetic smiles and vague mentions of the 20,000 new officers promised by Johnson – an endeavour which has attracted much scrutiny from police officials.  

Yet the practical realities of what such a shortage leads to are stark. Officers in Thames Valley Police – the force in which I served – not only respond to incidents, but also conduct investigations into volume crime, such as theft and low-level assault. As the OIC – or Officer in Case – a uniformed constable handles every step of the investigation assigned to them.  

Less than six months out of training, I was OIC of more than 20 investigations simultaneously. That’s 20 sets of suspects and 20 victims who need care. And, between shift work, operational demands and crushing workloads are too frequently left in the dark.  

Since officers are now expected to progress their enquiries while also responding to incidents, it’s no wonder the majority of cases end up filed with no resolution. And while sergeants strive to allocate “paperwork days” in which to catch up from the safety of the office, they face the same challenges as the officers they manage. Many of my own paperwork days saw me sent out to support other units, and ending the shift with more work than I started the day with.

The steep learning curve caused by fewer officers leads to staggering personal responsibility. Within a few months of service, I was tasked with delivering a death message to an elderly couple whose grandson had committed suicide. On the way I struggled to remember procedure, which was taught to us over an hour or two of our 13-week training course. You’re supposed to impress upon the next of kin that the person in question is dead, to leave no room for false hope. But a smattering of hours in a classroom environment is insufficient to prepare you for entering an individual’s life and changing it forever, in such a terrible way.

Such subtleties of the job used to be taught over a year-long period. Now, the paltry 13 weeks given to new officers – reduced over time as numbers dwindled – relies heavily on later clarification by experienced tutors once recruits arrive at their stations. Yet the whole process is undermined when police teams are stretched to breaking point. Officers are regularly sent to cover understaffed neighbouring stations – often with less than 24 hours’ notice – leaving their own teams at bare minimum.  

Some shifts saw as little as 10 of us on duty. Newer officers, who haven’t completed their response driving courses, are crewed with qualified partners. At times this resulted in a mere six or seven police cars responsible for all incidents in an area of many miles, through towns and countryside, over a 10-hour period. It's no wonder the strain of such responsibility has contributed to a PTSD crisis among serving police officers. 

In spite of mounting pressures, less than one-third (27 per cent) of exits from police forces in England and Wales between 2004 and 2015 were voluntary resignations. Although I’ve since left, the camaraderie between officers all struggling in the same difficult situation is an element of the role I sorely miss. For those who remain, those 20,000 officers can’t come soon enough.  

Joshua Hoft is a writer and former police officer living in the United Kingdom