The Swinging Man

Several years back a typical shift was coming to an end. I was in a patrol car with my good friend, and colleague, David. We were both weary as the calls had not stopped coming in that day, in fact we were slowly heading back to 'The Ranch' (the police station) to type up the day's reports. We were moments away from turning into 'The Yard' when the radio came to life.

"I graded call to Anonymous Park, a member of the public says he can see a man hanging from the climbing frame".

We were around the corner.

Now, these types of calls are strange. It was daylight. It was in London, where there were a lot of people about and in 99% of cases like this that member of the public would be mistaken in some way or another. An I graded call, by the way, is the highest rating a call can receive, giving a response unit a maximum of 14 minutes to get to the scene.

We needed no more than 3 minutes. This was not one of those occasions in the 99%. This was the 1%. The silhouette of a man hanging from the climbing frame swung gently in the breeze in the dimming light of an Autumnal day in London. David and I drove straight into the park. Nobody else was around, except a lone dog walker stood glumly by the swinging man. This was our informant.

David had fetched our first aid kit from the boot of the car and unzipped it, turned it upside down and dumped its entire contents onto the floor rather than search around inside it. Meanwhile, I took hold of the swinging man's waist and tried to support his weight as best as I could. He was still warm-ish. It is worth noting that an adult male's body, completely limp, is an incredibly heavy item and this male weighed in excess of 85KG. David produced a pair of tough-cut scissors from the mess of first aid items on the floor, climbed onto the climbing frame and began attempting to cut away at the ligature. After a few seconds I felt the males full weight fall onto me and we fell to the floor together, I did my best to stop either of our heads hitting the ground too roughly.

David and I were both experienced officers and so while we were transmitting the relevant information to our colleagues, and requesting an ambulance, we lay the man out and I immediately got on his chest and started compressions whilst David placed a face mask over the man's face and routinely blew two breaths into his lungs between my 30 compressions.

There was no sign of life from the male as a paramedic arrived. We continued with the CPR as he did his checks. He told us there was no pulse. Nonetheless we continued as more and more paramedics flooded that little park. David and I would occasionally swap over as chest compressions become tiring very quickly. For about 10 minutes we continued like this whilst various healthcare professionals drilled into the male, injected him, and did various other things to him that I did not understand.

Suddenly, the paramedic who seemed to be running his team's side of the show said "I've got a pulse". I felt a strange sense of careful optimism for him. Quickly he was scooped onto a bed and we hurried him to the nearest hospital.

We stayed with him (as is policy) and it wasn't long before a doctor approached David and I and told us that we had saved the man's life. He remained on life support for a number of months before dying. So I guess we didn't save his life after all.

I remember needing a whiskey or two when I got in that night. It takes time to turn your brain off when you have experienced something like that. You feel it, touch it, make decisions during it, smell it, taste it and live it. It becomes a part of your own story and remains in your psyche. This story is one of hundreds that I wish to share with you on this blog. I don't recount these things to boast, or tell you all what a hero I am. I'm nothing of the sort as you will learn as these pages pass. I want you to understand that policing is a complex and difficult matter which takes its toll on those who are consistently out there in situations such as the one I have outlined above. It is not a remarkable story. It is a tragedy and one that is played out all over London, everyday, over and over again. This blog is for the regular participants in that tragedy, the police officers.

Anonymous Bobby