The morning fog clung to the streets of London as I stepped off the chatty bus, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. I wiped my clammy palms on my crisp uniform. It was my first day as a constable with the Metropolitan Police Service, and I was eager to dive into the world of crime-solving I had only read about in textbooks and stories.
The imposing façade of New Scotland Yard loomed large as I entered, the sheer scale of the building a stark reminder of the history and weight of the institution I was about to join. Inside the bustling MET station, the noise was a constant hum in my ears—phones ringing, officers shouting over one another, and the occasional burst of laughter. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
The day began with a gathering in a spacious, utilitarian conference room. The room buzzed with the murmurs of other new recruits, their eyes wide as they took in their surroundings. Due to the tight schedule of the officers, the room was filled with over 100 new constables. I sat at the back of the room with another probationer. My brother once told me it was always easier to observe everything from the back. I subtly tilted my head to get a better look at the probationer's features and form, my gaze lingering on his polished metal badge.
My hands subconsciously went to my own badge. The cool weight of it felt reassuring, a tangible symbol of the commitment I had just made. The badge gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the orientation room. In the center of the badge was the Metropolitan Police Service crest. The St. Edward's Crown. Beneath the crown, the words "MetropolitanPolice" were etched in elegant script, emphasizing my allegiance to one of the world's most storied police forces. The badge was circular, framed by a robust, silver-toned metal that reflected the light with a subtle shimmer. The outer edge of the badge was inscribed with "POLICE CONSTABLE" in bold, capital letters, identifying my rank with unmistakable clarity. A small, discrete number was engraved along the lower rim. This number was my personal link to the vast network of officers and cases. It was a symbol of trust and authority, a reminder of the oath I'd taken to uphold the law and serve the public.
I attached the badge to my uniform with a practiced hand, the cool metal now resting against my chest. It was a small but powerful emblem, and as I looked at it, I felt a swell of pride and a renewed sense of purpose. This was more than just a piece of metal; it was the start of my journey into the heart of London's complex and demanding world of policing.
My body jolted upright when I felt a hand brush against my shoulder. The man quickly pulled his hand away and smiled unnervingly.
"I apologize if I scared you," he said.
I just smiled and nodded, straightening my posture as I faced forward. From the peripheral view of my right eye, I noticed the constable staring at me before turning his attention to the front.
The door opened, and an officer entered the room. All chatter ceased. From his furrowed eyebrows, frowning lips, and balled fists, I couldn't tell of this seasoned officer had a strict, no-nonsensical attitude, a bad day or both. It didn't helped that he was tall and had a muscular built. The sergeant had salt-and-pepper hair and an anchor beard, and he wore a navy blue suit with a black necktie. His presence commanded respect and attention.
"Right, listen up!" The sergeant voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Welcome to the Met. Today's orientation is the start of your journey, so pay attention. My name is Sergeant Phillips. This place is the real deal, and we expect you to keep up."
He began with a quick overview of the MET's hierarchy, pointing out the various ranks and their roles. "We've got Constables, Sergeants, Inspectors, Chief Inspectors, Superintendents, Chief Superintendents, Commanders, Assistant Commissioners, Deputy Commissioners, and finally, the Commissioner. Each one of you lot will start as Constables. You're the backbone of this force, handling everything from street patrols to the nitty-gritty paperwork."
I know much about the police rank. Before he died, my father would teach and trained my brother of becoming an officer of the law. And although I was never taught, my ears would always perked up whenever he began a lesson, and I would listen like he was telling me an adventurous bedtime story. My father was a highly respected Abteilungsinspektor, in other words, a Department Inspector, of the Bundespolizei, the Austrian Federal Police. The role of the Abteilungsinspektor was similar of the Cheif Inspector of the UK. They both are supervisory and managerial positions, overseeing specific units or departments within the police force.
I listened intently, along with the rest of the recruits. Some looked eager, others apprehensive due to Sergeant Phillips's tough exterior. As he glance around, his face softened slightly, and as he spoke, his message was clear.
"This month has been a bit of a whirlwind. We've got a mountain of cases to get through, and not all of you will be paired with a mentor straight away. Some of you will be thrown into the deep end with regular constable duties. It might not be glamorous, but it's where you start."
My heart sank a bit. I had hoped for an immediate introduction to the intricacies of detective work, but it seemed that my initial duties would be more about getting my hands dirty with the basics. I wasn't mad or annoyed. I have seen this coming as I'm only a police trainee, but still I couldn't help, but believe believe would put me on a case right away. I can only blame myself for getting high hopes. Life is all about turning setbacks and challenges into a wonderful, but learning experience that you can look back on. I can always learn something from nothing, and I have to file cases all year to become a detective, I will. Besides, when I become the world's greatest sleuth, I will need to have the three Ps. Patience. Perservance. Proficiency.
Sergeant Phillips continued, "You'll be doing everything from managing evidence, handling minor incidents, to keeping the public safe. It's all part of the job. And don't think you'll be left to your own devices. There's always someone around to lend a hand."
He turned to a large whiteboard and began scribbling down some key points. "Right, let's go through the basics. First off, you'll need to get familiar with the filing system. Every case, every incident, it's all documented. We use a system called the Case Management System, or CMS for short. It's your job to make sure everything's filed correctly. Mess it up, and you'll be in hot water."
I mentally took notes as Sergeant Phillips outlined the process. My eyes flitted across the room, remembering every single face as they had all attended a formal swearing-in ceremony last week.
"When you're filing a case, you've got to make sure you log the case number, the incident type, and any relevant details. Make sure the evidence is cataloged and stored properly. You don't want to be the one who loses crucial evidence because you couldn't be bothered to do it right."
A hand went up in the back. "Sir, what's the deal with the incident types?"
Sergeant Phillips nodded. "Good question. We deal with a range of incidents, from petty theft to serious crimes like assault and murder. Each incident has a specific code and description. Make sure you're familiar with them. It'll save you a lot of hassle down the line."
Whilst Sergeant Phillips quickly began another topic, I heard a constable scoffed behind me. "He's not even going to expand on the incident codes? Ugh!" The probationer grumbled softly.
Sergeant Phillips's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the constable.
"Hey. You there! At the Back! Yes, you. What's your name?"
The entire room looked at the complaining constable who was now shaking slightly in his seat. Some constables placed their hands on their mouth to hold in their laughter, some bite their lips to keep themselves from smiling, and some just shook their heads as to communicate 'Why did you even say that'.
I did agree with the constable. Sergeant Phillips should have explained in depth about the Case Management System. But I also understood why the Sergeant didn't. He did say that the month has been a whirlwind, and that we could always asked around for help. The flaw in that part is what if another sergeant, or inspector, or another police doesn't explain the system problem, or doesn't help us at all?
"Me?" He pointed towards himself with a flushed face, and once Sergeant Phillips nodded, he replied, "I'm Constable Davis."
Sergeant Phillips responded, his thick arms folded across his chest, "What did you just say, Constable Davis?"
The young man opened his mouth, and then immediately closed it. He was thinking whether or not should he say what he said, or make up a lie. He went with the former.
"I complained that you wasn't going to explain the CMS more clearly." Constable Davis answered truthfully.
"You're right, Constables Davis. I didn't explain it clearly or in detail, but you can come to me after the orientation if you want learn more about it. Is that clear?"
Constable Davis nodded, "Yes, sir."
Sergeant Phillips then turned his attention to the rest of the recruits, "And that goes for you all as well. If you want a clearer idea about the CMS, please come to me. We will host a session about CMS in the first six file rooms."
Clearing his throat, Sergeant finished it off with, "Now, speaking of communication, what Constable Davis just did was good, besides the disrespectful talking Whilst I'm talking when he could've simply raised his hand," Sergeant Phillips give Constable Davis a pointed look and the constable blushed awkwardly.
"It is what I expect from you all nonetheless. Do not feel meek or shy when asking your superiors questions, advices or anything related of that sort. We are here to help you be a better version of you you that you can help create a better version of the world. You'll be working closely with other officers, detectives, and sometimes even the public. Keep your wits about you and remember: clear communication is key. Again, do not be shy about asking questions. No one expects you to know everything right away."
He glanced at his watch. "Alright, let's wrap this up. You've got your initial tasks laid out. From here, you'll be split into different teams and assigned to various duties. It's all part of learning the ropes."
Just when Sergeant Phillips were about to dismissed us, an officer entered the room. He had a boyish grin as if he was happy to our faces.
"Hey! Where are yall going?"
Sergeant Phillips rolled his eyes as if he's annoyed with the officer, but seeing how uis lips twitched slightly, I knew the two were good friends.
"I was about to dismiss them, Inspector Kelley."
Inspector Kelley raised his eyebrows and created a crazed look which caused most of the probationers to burst out laughing. The Inspector grinned hearing our laughter.
"Dismiss them? Whattt?! Without me telling them my days as a probationer? Are you looney?"
Pushing Sergeant Phillips aside, he grabbed an empty chair, turned it around, and sat on it backward, resting his hands on the back of the chair.
The smile on his face never faltered as he told the humorous story of his first days as a probationer. The entire room was filled with boisterous laughter. I even saw Sergeant Phillips chuckling behind his palm a few times. Sergeant Williams would also chine in and correct a few exagerrated details that Inspector Kelley swore had happened.
"Phillips, remember when we did the case with the Lockist murder. He kidnapped us and locked us in the escape room?"
Sergeant Phillips squinted his eyes as he tried to remember that day.
"Come on!" Inspector Kelley bugged him. "It was you, me, Hughes, and Sinclair." His voice falter in volume as he said the last name. It told me that something had happened to Sinclair.
After thinking for a few minutes, the Sergeant nodded his head, "Yes, I remember it. Of course, I do. Because it when you blamed all your facts on me!" He knocked his shoulders into Inspector Kelley's own. The Inspector didn't budge, he just beamed mischievously.
The entire room burst into chortle. Someone probationer had their arms curled around their stomachs, and some were slapping their thighs. I had to wipe tears from my eyes a few times due to how hilarious Inspector Kelley was. I wouldn't mind if he had mentored me!
"Wait, did you actually fart and blamed it on Sergeant Phillips? And the rest of the team believed it?" A male constable asked. Inspector Kelley didn't respond, but his raised eyebrows and widen smile told us enough that we burst into another round of laughter.
Inspector Kelley got up from his seat, moved the chair aside, and clasped his hands together in an excited manner.
"Okay, ladies and gents. I'm so excited to train you guys. I'm so sorry to those who won't be having me as a mentor. You'll be missing out on some extraordinary awesomeness, otherworldly deductions, and mental Kung Fu fights as the bad guys and I try to outsmart each other." Inspector Kelley then balled his fists. He placed his left hand on his side, and stretched out his right arm in front of him. He spread his legs more than shoulder width apart until he did the ride stance.
The constables chuckled softly.
Sergeant Phillips rolled his eyes as he stood next to Inspector Kelley. He pushed Inspector Kelley's fist with a finger, and to exagerrate how strong Sergeant Phillips is, the inspector pretended to lost his balance.
"Balance is key." The sergeant said before turning to the class, "Please take the lessons that the inspector and I have given you very seriously. Don't forgot to come to the files for a lesson in CMS. You are dismissed."
As we shuffled out the room, some chatting nervously, some lost in thought, and others immediatelywent to the officers, eager to learn more about their experience as probationers. Even though I had an understanding of the CMS, I found myself in one of files room. For an assignment, I was paired with a few other rookies who were equally new to the force and write up a file on a fake case the officers had made. Soon enough, our real first assignment was to head to the filing room, and begin sorting through a backlog of paperwork.