An article from actu.fr can be seen here (in French)
Another from (in French) Tendance Ouest can be seen here
The French Police are here in April 2018 and on Friday 25th April the rematch will be played on a local football team's ground...
"Wednesday, 14th September 06:00. What a hideous hour to be at the International Ferry Port to meet 12 equally sleepy policemen. There should have been 13, but one failed to arrive. Maybe this was an omen. 13 is traditionally an unlucky number, so maybe the fickle finger of fate decided to join in.
Embarkation and breakfast complete, this seemed an ideal opportunity to catch up with a bit of lost sleep and relax after worrying about what could go wrong. The policemen, being younger and more dynamic, decided to enter the ship’s quiz, which they duly won.
Elated with this early victory, we disembarked and were met by Fred and Xavier in two minibuses and whisked off to Police HQ, delightfully called the Police Hotel, which in once sense is an accurate description given that it had cells downstairs.
We then had a lecture on firearms, both lethal and non-lethal (baton rounds or rubber bullets), ballistic protection and thence onto the firing range. Sadly, nobody was going to have the chance to do their best Dirty Harry impression. Nonetheless, the training side of the Police Nationale is kept busy because all officers are armed and must be kept up to skill.
From there, we attended a police dog demonstration and the terminology was interesting. In the UK, such an animal would be termed a General-Purpose Police Dog. The French do not mess about with such namby pamby terms. This was an attack dog, pure and simple. And no, stroking it would not be a good plan.
From there we visited the police control room where emergency calls came in. Unlike the UK which has a single number, in France police, fire and ambulance all have different numbers, despite the EU 112 also being in place. This is answered by the fire brigade which gets quite shirty if one is asking for a policeman.
At this point we all piled back into the minibuses and travelled over to the Town Hall in which the Municipal Police is situated. This force is operated by the Town Hall. The Gendarmerie is also headquartered in Caen. French policing can get a little involved. We visited the CCTV centre and were briefed on how it worked by the Chief of the Municipal Police, M. Robert la Rocca. He was charming and informative. CCTV is comparatively new in France and is quite unpopular on account of the public’s view that it is spying on their every move. By contrast, they have no problem with carrying ID cards, something that is anathema to the Brits.
Fred and Xavier then dropped us at the hotel and we were done for the day. Well actually, not quite. The brief was to get the price as low as possible. Brittany Ferries rallied to the cause and gave us a very special rate which was much appreciated. It did mean 3 to a room, but there is no other way to get the rate right down. The rooms were not very big and with three burly coppers within, there must have been a lot of synchronised dressing and undressing! The hotel was on the edge of town, on account of cost. Luckily there was an excellent and very friendly restaurant within a 10 minute walk of the hotel and a very cheery meal ensued.
No plan survives contact with anything really, and this one was no exception. The assumption was that these finely-honed athletes would want to get to bed at a fairly sensible time. Sadly, nobody had told them, and the cry went up around the table; ‘how do we get into town?’ Not very cheaply, given that the only option was taxi. Actually split 4 ways, the cost was not too bad. The difficulty was finding a taxi prepared to come out that far. Only one car was available, and he was hard put shuttling some very cheery chaps to the city centre, but with the best will in the world, this was going to take some time.
Fortunately, the restaurant manager lived in the city centre and so gave a few of us a lift, which saved a taxi fare and prevent the group becoming too scattered. From this point onwards, things become a little hazy.
I decided that they really ought to sample a good Calvados while they decided I should consume a line of lurid coloured shots. More confusion ensued because they had chosen Sardine, a gay bar. The French gay scene was not quite ready for a dozen cheery, hetero British coppers hitting the place mid week when all they wanted was a bit of peace and a chat. Still, the French took it in their stride with great good humour.
From there, the decision was taken to move onto the karaoke bar down the street, partly because Sardine was closing and every time someone stood up, the chair was swiftly upended and put on a table.
Off we went, more lurid coloured shots materialised, and things became a little hazier. Everybody was super friendly, and I recognised a young lady from the Police Hotel, so twinning was going full steam ahead. As a Lindy Hop dancer, I am always up for a spin. Sadly, she was less enthusiastic, but her mate was a bit bolder, so an impromptu Lindy lesson ensued. The shots were not helping, but her toes remained uncrushed.
Someone organised a taxi which took us home, but I have no recollection of how it was paid. A result though. As the oldest by at least 20 years, I was the one who ended up cuddling a lovely lady while they had to watch. They were very good about it.
So dawned the day of the big match. Fred and Xavier collected us and off we went to the ground. The match was great to watch, all the more so because Hampshire Constabulary won 9-1. During the match, M. Esson came down to watch his officers routed by the visitors. M. Esson is the chief of the Police Nationale in Calvados, the equivalent of the Chief Constable of Hampshire.
Remember, we are in France, so while the teams showered and changed, it made perfect sense to go up to the bar and dispatch a bottle of Normandy cider with Fred. Some motorcycle police had got wind of the game and turned up for lunch but refrained from the wine. Things have changed a bit, but not too much.
The French put on an amazing cold spread as only they know how. Beautiful, perfectly cooked roast beef, salads, cheeses, pâtés and a vast apple tart accompanied with rosé wine and beer. This could have quite easily continued all afternoon, but alas, we had a ferry to catch, so after some fond farewells, it was back into the minibuses and out to Ouistreham. There was no shortage of groups of illegal immigrants wandering around the place and Fred told me that property prices in the town had dropped by 40% that year.
So back onto the ferry and the team won the quiz. Again. They had also entered me into the dance contest and even managed to negotiate a dance partner, a young lady who approached the whole affair with considerable trepidation, unlike her wiser colleague who flatly refused to have anything to do with us at all.
Having found a track that I felt she could cope with, off we went, managing a grand finale which was greeted with a roar of approval by the audience and a shriek of terror from my partner. So that was the dance contest won as well. Mind you, it was a little one sided. The only serious competition was a two-year-old girl with a very full nappy. She got the prize of twisty balloons made into a bunch of flowers.
And thus, did the team return to Pompey, victorious in everything it had touched. And I now have an official police nick name. Special K."
Below: Photos from Caen Newspaper articles September 2018.
