If Part One was the warm up lap, this is where the memories start sprinting. Bracknell in the 80s wasn’t just a place — it was a full contact sport. Robberies, dodgy motors, youth clubs, blasting The Specials, and me trying to look competent in a Vauxhall Chevette that handled like a shopping trolley with a wheel missing.
Back in the day Coopers Hill was a mish mash of buildings and not the smart residential area that it is today. There was some sort of youth club where Party 3 Magpies regularly played The Specials (volunteer cops) resplendent in the black and white stripes of my beloved Notts County when I managed to persuade most of my shift to give me a tenner to purchase a home shirt from Meadow Lane.
There had been a series of nasty robberies in Easthampstead where the offender was targeting vulnerable old folk. When the call went up, I was driving the crappy marked Vauxhall Chevette and parked it in Old Bracknell Lane West since I thought that if I was making good my escape, I’d evade capture by traversing the myriads of footpaths that connected the estate to Downshire Way. I was right and my decision to think like a criminal paid dividends as I nicked the little shit. I got to interview him too with CID – which in those days was unprecedented.
Wildridings playing fields brought back the memory of the first run out of Bracknell Police in an away Sunday League match. The famous black and white stripes were humiliated and at the end of the game the opponent’s goalkeeper was nicked on an outstanding warrant. Tactically I guess this should have been done before we kicked off but given our performance, I doubt this would have made much difference.
Across the bus lane that joins up the Southern Industrial Estate I was reminded of Sergeant Smith who expertly introduced me to the art of walking a beat and operational stealth. Feeling miffed that I wasn’t driving a patrol car, I soon cheered up when I flagged down a Ford Transit driven by a disqualified driver. I also forgive Smudger for giving me Stonehead’s moody paperwork when he fucked off on leave for what seemed an eternity.
Then into what was once dubbed “The Bracknell Bronx” – Great Hollands.
The Battle of the William Twigg coincided with my elevation to Acting Sergeant and as I mustered the troops we engaged with the enemy. In the ensuing melee I arrested some long haired yeti and we both ended up on the floor. Didn’t this fuckwit realise that he was scrapping with a supervisor? That didn’t deter him and I wouldn’t give up my vice like grip. The upshot was that I held onto his jacket but the rest of him made good his escape.
The adjacent pedestrianised shopping area changed my life forever.
In those heady days there were far more raised concrete flower beds. On night turn, being too arsed to get out and physically check the shops, I decided to mount the pavement in the marked Panda car and attempt to negotiate the maze. I can still recall the crunching sound of metal meeting concrete. My panic turned into a later nightmare when my passenger – Sticky Walton – collapsed like a pyramid of soggy cards under some light scrutiny by my skipper Pete Carter. The way my ensuing collision with the disciplinary code was dealt with meant that I never did try to be a smart arse ever again. Thanks Pete.
Passing the lake in South Hill Park reminded me of the time when I attended the report of a submerged car in the wee small hours. On arrival the lights were still on, so I decided to wade in and check for life. As I reached inside my hand made contact with a solid object. It was a fucking shoulder. Or so I thought. The side of a headrest in pitch darkness would have fooled anyone. Nonetheless I shat myself.
On Ringmead – the road that runs adjacent – was the scene of my first Mental Health Act arrest. A guy was playing hopscotch in the middle of the road and didn’t miss a step even as cars braked to avoid him.
Next time: burglars with bin bags, kids who trashed a dead man’s house, false teeth gone missing, and the day I faced down “Half a Thumb” in the Running Horse.
© Ian Kirke 2026 & all photographs
@ iankirke.bsky.social