How to be a traffic cop

You’re nicked!

Despite his dodgy driving record, Roderick Gilchrist loved learning to catch speeding motorists

Like most motorists, I have often wondered unflatteringly about the man behind the speed gun.

Do they get a buzz out of it? Or is it just a quota thing – fulfilling performance targets? Now I know, after enrolling as a community Roadwatch volunteer – to give it the official name.

It happened after I’d helped two community officers to free an urban fox trapped in the garden of a London square.

After congratulating me, they said I was just the kind of responsible citizen they were looking for to join their Roadwatch team.

The idea is to release officers for other duties by recruiting London residents to cut down speeding in their neighbourhoods. There were 1,608 deaths in Britain in 2021 – and speed figured in 20 per cent of them.

Two and a half million speeding tickets were handed out last year, raking in one and a half billion pounds.

I was nagged by a feeling of betrayal to my fellow motorists. But I persuaded myself it was my civic duty. In my seventh decade, it was cheering to know I wasn’t too old to help. Roadwatch welcomes pensioners because they have the time and are more likely to be diligent about road etiquette.

That’s why I was standing in Warwick Gardens, South Kensington, with a £4,000 Truvelo speed gun in my hand. Two Police Community Support Officers (PCSOs) – Michelle Taylor and Richard Wheeler – from Hammersmith Police Station knew this was a good place to catch offenders.

‘If motorists see a green light and there’s a clear stretch of road ahead, they often race across at dangerous speeds,’ Michelle told me sternly.

She gave me a sunflower-yellow tabard. And then she issued instructions on how to use the gun and the optimum distance – 80 yards – from which to fire it.

The gun has two screens: one to capture the image of a vehicle; the other to record its speed.

PCSO Michelle, a jolly lady from Barking, said, ‘See the green dot on the higher screen? Get the car in the frame and the green dot in the centre of the frame before pulling the trigger.’

This took a bit of juggling.

PCSO Richard advised, ‘Don’t jerk the trigger. Squeeze it gently.’

I tried this for an hour without recording anyone breaking the limit. It’s because I’m wearing the bloody tabard, I convinced myself – as good as a sign saying ‘Slow Down: Speed Trap Ahead’.

Finally a lorry flashed past, well over the limit. Seeing me, the driver hit the brakes, leapt from the cab and sobbed, ‘For God’s sake, don’t book me. I’ve already got nine points on my licence and if I get any more, I’ll lose my job.’

PCSO Richard let him off with a warning. Grateful forelock-tugging followed. Be fair. The authorities are not without compassion – or humour.

They hear some funny stories when motorists pull over. One woman, asked why she was doing 30mph in a 20mph area, said, ‘Well, the speed sign came up too fast for me to slow down.’

A doctor once held up his stethoscope to explain he was on his way to an emergency. The third time this happened, the speed cop waved a pair of handcuffs at him.

‘Everyone is very well behaved today,’ I said to PCSO Michelle.

She showed me her mobile phone and pointed to an app called Waze, saying, ‘This pinpoints exactly where a speed gun is operating. So anybody who has tuned in can see exactly where we are.’

I’m still not convinced I’m the kind of ‘responsible citizen’ they’re looking for. I have been breathalysed twice and both times narrowly escaped with a warning.

‘You see this yellow light in between red and green,’ the motorway cops said cheerily after I’d blown in the bag on one occasion. ‘It means you are just this side of legal, sir. If it’s red, you’re nicked. You’re lucky.’

I have also been prosecuted for driving without due care and attention after crashing into a police van carrying six uniformed constables. They promptly poured out of the back doors and arrested me.

Even the magistrate had to laugh. ‘He hit a what?’ he asked merrily.

Meanwhile, I’m still waiting to hear if I passed the audition. Will I be let loose with my shooter on the streets of Wild West London? Boy racers, beware!

The driver leapt out and sobbed, ‘For God’s sake, don’t book me – I’ll lose my job’

Quick on the draw: Roderick and his gun