Ian Granland

In 1933, Superintendent W. J. Mackay, later Commissioner of Police, introduced a system of Police Cadets into the ranks of the New South Wales Police Service. The innovation was not immediately popular with members of the Force because it was feared that cadets would become a "select group" of potential officers, on similar parity to cadets training in selective schools of the Armed Services. When it was established, however, that the only material advantage to cadets would be sectional clerical experience and extended long service leave benefits the system was accepted and finally approved.

On June 12, 1933, twelve Police Cadets, the sons of serving Policemen, were appointed to the Police Force and attached to various sections and metropolitan city stations. The Cadets were an immediate success and on the 1st October of that year, an additional 18 Cadets were recruited. Of this intake, only a few were sons of Policemen. The rate of pay was £2 weekly. The first intake of original Cadets was sworn in during 1936, and many of them twenty five years later, were serving Sergeants and Detective Sergeants in important sectional positions. Between 1933 and 1977, over 3,360 Cadets were enrolled in the Police Service (not the Police Force).

Conditions of Police Cadets had improved greatly over the past two decades and by 1962 all Police Cadets received training in Statute Law, Police Procedure, Police Practice and Duties, English, Shorthand, Speech Culture, Physical Training, Squad Drill, and all sporting pursuits. A select few also attended a course of wireless instruction at the Marconi School of Wireless.

Also by the same year Cadets entering the service were required to study shorthand and enter into a departmental contract to write shorthand at a speed ranging from 100 to 120 words per minute at a specified period of their training. Cadets studying the theory of shorthand were required to attend an approved business collage at their own expense, in addition to attending daily courses at the Police Training Centre. Upon graduation from the theory class Cadets terminated private tuition and then received instruction in the Low and High Speed classes conducted four mornings weekly, until they could attain their contract rate. Up until 1977 and since the inauguration of the system over 3,360 Cadets have received shorthand tuition. All had attained speeds of 120 words per minute, and 5%, had achieved speeds in excess of 150 words per minute, the qualifying standard for appointment as official departmental shorthand writers.

The use of shorthand proved of inestimable value to Cadets when later appointed Probationary Constables, in the recording of wireless and telephone messages and the taking of statements at accident and various crime scenes. A large number of ex-Cadets were utilised in the offices of country Superintendents and Inspectors as clerks, whilst twelve high speed writers were permanently employed at Police Headquarters on special investigations and departmental conferences.

The days of the Police Cadets are gone. The system which proved so successful for almost 50 years is finished. In 2005 (the time of the story below) most are out of the Police Service but are still alive and well.

I have documented just some of my time in the NSW Police Cadets and I believe it is beholden on others who have walked that path to put their experiences in writing so that the times and history of this unique part of the NSW Police Force are not lost forever.

Before I get into my time in the cadets, I guess I should try and explain why I entered the police force and my time leading up to it. At the time it was a job which I really thought would end up being my occupation for life.

I was always big for my age. Like large: I was about 178cm when I was 14. I thought I would go on at school, but really I was fooling myself when I look back and even then in my final year - which turned out to be months, I was only going through the motions.

I kept on at school after my intermediate certificate in an attempt to complete the leaving certificate. I used to find it very hard to study and still do; hard in that it was difficult to concentrate. Hard to get things stuck in my mind. I always felt that there were more important or other things to do. I would always find my mind wandering. In recent years and since ADHD has become a fashionable excuse for contemporary lunatics particularly after reading the symptoms, think I have a touch of it.

I had always relied on my memory to get me by (as you can see by what I have written here) but found that when I went onto fourth year it took more than that to succeed and I just couldn't switch onto it. I found that difficult to come to terms with because I considered I had a reasonable IQ, but couldn't get my head around study etc. In fourth year I slowly realised that I was out of my depth. Consequently I didn't try hard enough because I knew I was losing the battle. Plus, I disliked it, after all who is interested in amoebas and other biology stuff?

In 1963 at a careers day at Matraville High School I looked at the Police Force as a job. After that, I also spoke to a former good schoolboy friend of my brother's, Ron McSporran, an ex-cadet who had joined the police force and at that stage was working at Dareton in the far west of the state. Besides the police, I also considered entering the Navy.

Ron, who was 7 years older than me and remained in the police force right up to his retirement, came to our house to talk to my parents and myself about the possibility of me joining which was very nice of him.

I guess I always had that in the back of my head, as a backstop. Seeing I was big enough and thought I would go OK, after all the work didn't appear to be too taxing. When I would tell people I was joining the police cadets or after joining some would remark, "Well, you're big enough....." leaving out the obvious implication of my (possible lack of) brain capacity or maybe it was that there was a veiled suggestion that you didn't have to be too bright to be a cop?

Lets backtrack a bit. At the end of 1963 and off my own bat I applied for an apprenticeship at ICI as an instrument fitter - whatever that was, after reading an add in the local Messenger Newspaper. ICI was where my father worked and I didn't let him know that I had applied. I had an interview but failed to get the job. In retrospect, thankfully because I was hopeless at tech drawing and such.

So back I went to fourth year at Matraville High School where I had transferred to after (only just) completing first year (year 7) at another school.

As I said, joining the police force was always in the back of my mind and it wasn't too long before I realised that I wasn't going to make it in the higher level at school. In mid April, a maths teacher, and Singaporean, Mr Bell, spoke to our class one day and indicated that many of us were just marking time by staying on and we should be looking at a different direction in our lives.

Well on 20^th I decided to leave. I informed the school administration and left about mid morning to arrive home and tell my mother that I had finished. Her reaction was immediate: "wait till your father hears this". I imagine Dad was disappointed just as my mother was and he said, "don't think you're sitting round here on your arse, get out and get yourself a job".

First stop was the PTC: Police Training Centre at 749 Bourke Street Redfern where the recruiting office for both police and cadets was located.

Enrolment in the Police Cadet Service was open to youths between the ages of 15 and 17 years who were of excellent character, weighed approximately 10st. 7lbs (66.7kg), measured not less than 5ft. 8 1/2in. (174cm) in height, educated to a higher primary or secondary school standard and were of such physical proportions as to reasonably indicate that upon attaining the age of 19 years they would fulfil all physical requirements for appointment to the Police Force. As young men, they could now be appointed to the Police Force at the age of 19 years, but it was not the practice to accept applications for cadet appointment from youths above the age of 17½ years unless the applicant was in the possession of outstanding qualifications.

The first person I met there was Dick Guy, a blonde headed constable first class (one stripe) who was a NSW representative cricketer, playing for the Gordon Club and aged about 28. He was what you would call a 'recruiting officer' which was a fulltime job for certain police.

His manner was terse and far from pleasant and in fact what I would call a smart arse (dejavou perhaps) - later I found that he was an ex-cadet but he showed no compassion. .

First off I had to sit for a spelling and maths tests. I failed the former and had to return in two weeks for another attempt. Applicants were given only one extra chance.

From memory, my brother Bob failed too when he applied some years earlier with Ron McSporran, but never returned.

The next day I began ringing various local factories looking for work. ICI - "no", Johnson and Johnson at Botany, "yes, come in for an interview". So I found my way to Stephen Road Botany and into the personnel office where I was interviewed for a trainee managers job. (I was just after a job really, nothing like this and in any case I had no intention of telling them it was only a 'stop gap').

Their idea was that I would be trained off the shop floor as opposed to a tertiary educated person; then come up through the ranks, although there was an older lad there fresh from university who was doing something similar but he alternated between the factory and the city office. I was in good company but still very young and naive.

I started there on the 23^rd April 1964 where I was issued with two pairs of white J & J overalls and introduced to a ruddy faced foreman (he wore white trousers, white coat and maroon tie), named Darcy Smith who gave me a guided tour of the band-aid area. (It probably had a more appropriate name but I forget it). Thats where I was to work.

I do remember putting my age up a year from 15 to 16 because as a 16 year old I would receive more money. Funny though, each pay day I had to go and ask for that bit extra because I was always short changed!!! (did they know??)

It was here in this section that about 30 or so women packed band aids, tampons (I had no idea what they were for) etc. In adjoining rooms male workers ran big rolls of material through machines to apply glue which when finally cut into rolls became elastic bandages and other types of adhesive tapes.

Primarily, I worked as an ‘assistant slitter’ where I was an offsider to a machinist who placed the long heavy rolls of uncut adhesive material onto a machine which then proceeded to cut them into smaller individual user rolls. One huge problem was the static electricity the machines gave off. When working to full capacity they often shot out in long blue tongues of this static electricity and scared the shit out of me. I got zapped a few times and believe me it was a lot worse than the shock level you get off your car or when taking off a synthetic jumper these days.

To get to work, I used to walk from where I lived at Chifley: Down Caley Street, into Wassell, left into Franklin, down Perry and at the intersection of Beauchamp Road, I would cross onto the industrial rail line at the East Botany or Banksmeadow siding. I would then walk along the rail line to Swinbourne Street adjacent to Johnson and Johnson and between it and Kellogs, then along Stephen Road to the factory. It took about ¾ of an hour.

A few times as I walked along this isolated freight line with a swamp on one side (now referred to as a ‘wetland’) and ICI on the other, a diesel train would sometimes creep up behind me as my mind wandered each and every way and blast it's whistle only a few yards away from me which would make me jump like a scared rabbit. I imagine the driver and engineer on the locos would kill themselves laughing when they saw the effect the noise had on me, because it WAS fucking damn loud. And the trouble was, to get out of their road there wasn't anywhere to go, apart from into the swamp - bastards!!!

There was a security gate at the plant and sometimes workers’ bags would be checked when leaving the factory looking for stolen goods. Some were sacked over this.

I can remember the first pay I received at Johnson and Johnson (although I had worked at Fresh Food and Ice at Darling Harbour the previous Christmas stacking milk cartons etc). It was £6.10.6 in cash. Most people got paid in cash in those days. At knock off time I caught a 027 industrial bus from J & J into Kingsford, went to a shop in Gardeners Road and purchased a cut throat razor to shave with. I always fancied those things. I only used it once and in later years I always thought that a very dumb and wasteful act that was.

There was always another way home: the 027 then a 393 or 394 bus from Kingsford along Anzac Pde to the gaol at Malabar (near where I lived). I hardly ever travelled on the 337 route along Bunnerong Road to Matraville. The walk home was too far compared from the shorter journey from Anzac Parade.

I suppose I was always a bit of a smartie (I don't suppose, I was!) in my life and never failed to use every opportunity to take a rise out of people. They gave it to me so I gave it back; Even there and when I was 15 there was no exception.

Where I worked at J & J, as I have indicated, there was a room where these huge rolls of material were run through quite long machines to attach the adhesive. Whilst I was there, these machines for some reason, were always primarily manned by Greeks. I don't know why, it didn't seem a bad job, as jobs go but there were a number of Greeks working in that part of the factory.

When I walked through that section they would always say dirty things to me in Greek. (Well I imagined they were dirty things) and I soon learned swear words like: malaka, poustie etc. and I wasn't backwards in returning their sexually implicated greeting with the same. One day a red headed Greek guy (yes a redhead – have you ever seen one?) who was about 25 cornered me and flashed his dick from between the buttoned up front his overalls which put the wind up me but I was able to escape and made sure I was never caught in a similar situation again. It taught me to use my senses and be aware of what was happening around me. Peripheral vision! I have always told my kids when they go out. Use your peripheral vision and constantly be aware of whats going on around you.

One absolutely vile job the management (Darcy) loaded me with which I hated, was to spray the edges of some of the product rolls we had cut, with a solvent solution. The spray apparently restricted the glue from being squashed out and running down the sides of each unit as it was being rolled and cut. Or maybe it just cleaned them up.

This was done in a very remote section and in a confined place well away from where I normally worked which had a loading dock frontage on one side and an internal entry/exit on the other. I had to wear a surgical mask to stop from inhaling the noxious fumes when I worked in those situations and had the roller door over the loading dock opened when spraying.

In such factories the company employed fitters to repair and maintain the various machines which wer used to manufacture the various products.

In general, and consistent with all Australians, in workman banter we would chiack and try to take the piss out of each other - yes, me at 15. In order to survive you would have to be able to come back with an answer or be left as a fool. I learnt that very early.

I think most there thought I was much older than I was, mainly because of my size.

One time when I was in the isolated area spraying the rolls and done up like a pox doctors clerk with a face mask and goggles, one of the fitters, Cliff Boon and his final year apprentice, both of whom had devised the spraying unit, crept up and tackled me to the ground with a view of covering my orchestra stalls with machine grease. Not an uncommon practice to do on youngsters in the workplace of those days.

They were quite older and stronger than me and I quickly realised what was coming. So as they tried to unbutton my overalls I feigned an attack (of some sort), gasped for air and let out loud and blood curdling throaty noises that would have woke the dead and at the same time thrashed my legs around furiously.

This action stopped them in their tracks and they quickly left me by jumping off the loading dock and started to run in the opposite direction (I would have hoped to solicit help). When they were far enough away, I gain my feet only to call after them "sucked in" and gave rude gestures in a manner of defiance. Thankfully I was only days away from leaving but I could see that look of "you'll keep" in their eyes. I was very, very, very careful after that to keep my distance from them as well.

Whilst I was a J & J my parents took an overseas cruise to Hawaii and left me in the hands of my married brother and his wife.

When the folks returned, they gave me a small transistor radio, not much bigger than a packet of cigarettes and I often listened to it with the aid of a hearing piece. These small transistors were new and somewhat a novelty of the day. I had not seen one before.

I ended up taking it to work where I used to work with the ear piece in and going about my business listening to music - Bob Rogers and Ward 'Pally' Austin etc. Darcy Smith, the foreman saw it one day and beckoned me into the vacant superintendent's office. He questioned me about my hearing and I quickly realised that he thought I was wearing a hearing aid, so I played along with it, 1) not to embarrass him and, 2) so he wouldn't make me remove it. It didn't take long before he realised it was connected to a small radio in my overalls pocket. Needless to say, he wasn't too happy in making a fool of himself. Darcy one, Ian nil. In most of my adult life, authority and Ian Granland did not really see eye to eye and yet I respected it.

I had a sick day to go to the police academy (PTC) in Bourke Street where I passed the second spelling test; another day for the medical then a further day for the interview where I was given the green light. As part of the medical, I had to have a chest X-Ray.

The closest and most convenient place for this was the Anti TB Centre on the corner of Crown and Faveaux Streets, Surry Hills.

I arranged for the nursing sister at Johnson and Johnson to refer me there and off I went for my first chest X-Ray which fortunately enough, returned a negative result.

Then I received a letter to come in for an interview to become a police cadet. There, I appeared before four men. The Recruiting Sergeant, a superintendent, an inspector and the cadet sergeant. Their decision to accept me quite obviously changed the rest of my life.

Just prior to joining, my mother took me to a menswear shop where I purchased a suit and a number of shirts. Well…. maybe she bought them.

My father cut my hair on the day before I started and began at the crown of my head with the sheers and worked down. Oh god how I hated him cutting my hair like that, which he did with regularity when I was young. (cue the sound of Dueling Banjos)

Subsequently I received a letter (shown on the left of here, click it to enlarge, when finished press the 'back' button - top left of screen to return to this spot) of my acceptance to the police cadets so on Monday 17 August 1964, just 16 days after my 16^th birthday, I walked into the Bourke Street Police Academy to begin my training as a police cadet. I had no reason to realise the significance of being taken in at 16 as opposed to a year younger, a fact which I shall reveal later. On the day I walked in just prior to the allotted time and walked around, like many others of the day, looking for someone or something to take charge.

There were 16 cadets in my intake: Col Green, Ron Steer, Martin Crew, Ian Riley, Hector Aitken, Ray Laycock, Malcolm Wright, Bruce (B.A.) Howard, Gary Middleton, Doug Hannan, Dick Hayden, Bob Molony, Ron Johnson and Laurie Bool were some. The other names I can’t recall. As far as I can make out, there were four intakes of cadets a year of approximately 15-20 or so replacing the number who had moved into the police force or had resigned - or sacked.

One in the same intake as myself was a fifteen year old who lived at Bondi who was charged with indecent exposure or commit an indecent act, shortly after joining. Apparently he was caught in public toilets in Centennial Park. He was sacked.

There was a mix of city and country kids with the latter having been placed into boarding houses in either the eastern or near western suburbs.

One fellow classmate at the time asked if I was from the country apparently because of the way I looked and dressed. God I thought, do I look that much of a dork? (no offence to our country cousins)

Jock Stewart was the Cadet Sergeant who was a Sergeant 1^st Class or in today's terms, a senior sergeant and addressed us after we were gathered together on the grassed centre of the academy and facing his office. This area which was later to produce much sweat and marching practice for me.

I will never own up to referring to the Scottish gentleman as: Jock Strap!

We were then given over to Sergeant 2/c (incremental sergeant) Jack Hislop, himself an ex-cadet from 1934 (so we were often to be reminded who "contracted tinnia in those showers [in the gym], so make sure you wear thongs and and dry your feet properly") and a policeman who had spent much of his time at the training centre (Bourke Street Academy). In total, there were three cadet sergeants. Jock, Jack and Ben Hall.

They were housed in an office on the third floor of a building located on the northern side of the four acre complex. The block was

initially built as live-in accommodation for police in training however, when I was there besides the cadet sergeants and shorthand instructors, it housed the police pipe and military bands, the police boys club administration, 21 division some traffic office staff and later the police rescue squad. With thanks to Peter Barron and Bruce Howe for the photograph of the sign.

Strangely enough, in my three years in the cadets I visited the Cadet Sergeant's office on not more than on half a dozen occasions. It is now accommodation for the Taosists Assn who own the entire complex.

I re-visited the place in 2005 and took several photographs. The one I have included here on the left is of the building I described in the above paragraph. Besides the obvious Oriental facade which now adourns a front portion of the four storey structure, I could detect a difference to it, but for the life of me couldn't pick out what it was. It wasn't until I was home and reviewing my photographs that I realised the grey rough finish cement render was missing from the external walls. I added the red lines in the larger picture (after you click it), which border where the Cadet Sergeants Offices were housed.

Anyway, Jack ushered us out of the Training Centre and up Bourke Street to the old unused and vacant police station, just north of Cleveland Street which later became the main office of the Breathalyser Section in 1969 before it was hived off to some drug rehabilitation centre or some such organisation.

One time, in 1967, I worked there over a weekend as a young constable just guarding the place whilst public service workmen replaced the lights in the old cells and rooms in preparation for for the occupation by the new Breath Analysis Section. Prior to their arrival it was used as a repository for old police records and files etc. Being bored shitless whilst the tradesmen installed the lights, I made up my time by reading several of these. There was one, which I kick myself for not keeping describing in very dramatic terms, the first use of a siren on a police vehicle in NSW (probably

Australia

) in about 1932.

But back to Jack, who to his misfortune had forgotten the key to the place on our first day and sent Mascot lad, Ray Laycock back to get it. Ray was the brother of John, who was in the same (police) class as me in 1967 and went on to become an Assistance Police Commissioner.

When assembled in the vacant, cramped conditions which was nothing more than a dusty room furnished with a few chairs, Jack gave us the 'dos and don'ts' and generally what was to be expected of us as

police cadets. I think in today’s terms it would be called an induction. This lasted two days, well two, two hour morning sessions over two days.

First and foremost, if we got ourselves into trouble, we could expect to be sacked. Secondly, we would not be wearing a uniform, only the 'elite' 20 or so cadets out of the 200 would get that privilege and in any case, "they were senior cadets".

Jack grabbed me and asked if I was any relation to Alan Granland, a former ex-cadet who joined in March 1959. "If you turn out half as good a cadet as he was you'll be doing OK" were Jack's words to me. "Alan Granland" I thought, "who is he?" I told my father when I got home and he said he thought he was a son of his cousin who lived in Wollongong. They too had never met but he was right as I was to later learn.

Our day would begin at 7.45pm and finish at 4.15pm Monday to Friday. A normal day would consist of shorthand instruction from police at the academy (Jack being a former instructor himself), statue law, instruction of police procedures and speech culture. Then a session of physical training or marching and by 11.00am or so would be farmed off to various police establishments, ie headquarters, traffic office, modus operandi section etc. where we would work, certainly in our first 12 months or so - as clerks, but he didn't use that term.

We would not normally be called upon to work overtime but if we did we would not be paid but rather receive time off in lieu. A card system would be kept on which the credit hours would be kept.

Each of us had 6 months to become proficient at typing at a rate of 30 wpm and we were to enrol ourselves in a private typing class somewhere. For those who lived in the Eastern Suburbs he suggested Hornblowers Business College which was on the northern side of Cleveland Street between South Dowling and Bourke Streets, not far from where we were. It was a dank old grey tenement house which reflected no outward sign of any type of educational establishment. It was in fact, a private house with very few minor internal modifications.

Whilst the 'college' has gone, the house is still very much there and I always glance at it each time I travel along Cleveland Street. It hasn't changed much. The place was ran by a Mr Olaf Hornblower, a silver headed man in his fifties who used to wander round amongst us dressed in a grey dustcoat and black beret saying, "good, keep it up" and his spinster sister Alma, both of whom by now I imagine would be long dead. I think we paid 4/- for our hour session paid all in cash - no receipts were issued then.

I always used to think that the 'college' (which always stunk of cats piss) was in a different house than it actually was but I clearly remember the entry door was on the left as you enter. When I took this photo in 2005, this was the only house amongst over a dozen or so in the line which had it's door on the left.

Typing classes were held in the front two adjoining rooms on the ground floor and applied on those old black ancient Remington machines whilst speed shorthand classes for various people, not primarily for cadets, were held in a room at the top of the stairs. I can still remember the words "starting Mr Hornblower" which we would say in a sing-songy fashion when beginning a typing rate (a self test to ascertain our speed) as us cadets gaily chuckled to each other amongst the other civilans who were very serious in their bid to become proficient typists. We would always make sure Mr Hornblower was in the other room when any of us began our 'rate' because we would already have had at least one paragraph typed out when he began to time us.

Sometimes, if there was a few of us cadets in the room, and he was in the other, we would call out to him one after another "starting Mr Hornblower" in irregular succession so he had no idea who had started at what time. It was so funny to us because he kept a stop watch in his hand to time us. I still laugh when I think of it. He was probably a wakeup to our little scheme.

Touch typing is a skill which has remained with me and has been a wonderful asset during my lifetime. I tried in vain to get my two children to learn when I purchased my first computer years ago but they both scoffed at the idea. My son is now a radio journalist who uses a keyboard for hours a day typing with two fingers. What is the saying, 'you can lead a horse to water ......'

It was dark, cold and chilly at 6:00pm in the last weeks of winter 1964 after these leaving the typing classes as I waited in Cleveland Street for a 393 bus near the interesection of Sth Dowling Street which travelled from Railway Square to La Perouse. My destination was Long Bay Gaol, the closest stop to my residence. Occassionally I would cross the road from Hornblowers to buy an evening paper from a small, squat isolated shop built in front it it's Victorian tenament parent (its still there, but no longer a shop) and sometimes walk up past my old school of one year, Sydney Boys High, to the Roundhouse Kiosk or was it just a lollyshop, at the Anzac Parade intersection to wait for a 394 bus from Circular Quay with the same destination. That way I could pick up buses from both the city and railway.

My first posting as a cadet was to CIB Records Office which was at the old CIB in Central Lane above Central Police Station. (photograph following). A records office is a place where correspondence and files going to and from a particular section would be recorded.

There were two cadets there working along side two public servants. The other cadet, Dick Martin who lived at Kingsford and entered the cadets 3 months before, grabbed me at the Academy and after our instruction took me out onto Baptist Street, over Cleveland Street to the bus stop at the bottom end of Crown Street. The milk bar owner there must have made a lot of money out of the cadets over the years. By the way, poor old Dick didn't last that long in the cadets.

At the Crown Street shop, 30 or so young, wreckless, big noting cadets would daily catch the 302 from bus Brighton-le-Sands into town. Of course we all had to pay. There was no free travel for us cadets, unlike the police.

A few would debus on the corner of Pitt and Liverpool and walk down to the CIB. On my first occasion, Dick walked with me explaining all the pitfalls, what we could conceivably get away with and where the 'best sorts' had lunch so we could perve on them.

We walked up the stairs of Central Court, turned right at the first landing around the building to reach the CIB which was in a big yellow building immediately opposite but part of the police station. There we entered the lift at the CIB, manned then by former WWI aging and seated ex-serviceman, Jimmy xxxx and up to the third floor. Dick greeted him with "G'day Jim" like a 30 year police veteran as we piled aboard. Yes the lift and building are still there (photograph below). I went and had a look not long ago, but its vacant now. I have a feeling the building has been put on the registry of the National Trust. Funny to walk around those revered offices knowing you worked there as a boy over 40 years ago. It was a hive of activity then.

In those days most lifts were manually operated, many by disabled ex-servicemen.

From the lift, into the building itself, past the CIB Superintendent's Office, who at that stage was Ron (Rocky) Walden, a detective and and former heavyweight pug and international rugby player from 1934. Then down the corridor walking past small offices each side which housed the Fraud Squad (of three personnel), Drug Squad with Ken Astill and a future police commissioner, Cec Abbot as the only police stationed there together and a few other units which I forget.

They worked in such small cramped rooms. Unbelievable when you consider the OH & S rules of today.

CIB legend, Ray 'Gunner' Kelly was still in the job then and plied the corridors of the building. I think he was in the Murder (later to be renamed the Homicide) Squad. "Hello Mr Kelly" (just trying to get some recognition, I think its now called 'sucking-up') I would say as we occasionally passed each other in the passageway. "Good Morning Cadet" he would reply.

Phil pushed the door open to reveal a dirty depressed looking room with a little old guy wearing glasses sitting in one corner: Sid Pride – the chief clerk, a single man I would estimate in his early sixties with a club foot who lived in Tramway Street Mascot. Sid wore a shade over his forehead and metal expandable braces on his shirt sleeves. He had been in the pubic service for years and years (I always used to think he was a bit twisted, I don't know why) - probably my stupid brain working overtime and his offsider a much younger and smaller public servant of Russian descent.

Dick introduced me round and pointed to a desk (obviously his last week) making some superiority remark to the work I would be doing. The new cadet would always take over the latter’s role whilst the encumbent who had already been in the office for past three months was elevated to a slightly ‘more important’ position in the office. Dick seemed to have the run of the office. Cadet appointments or postings in these offices or stations were of six months duration.

It was my job to collect, document then circulate the police mail in an out of the building. Files from different stations and branches would come into the CIB vide the police mail system to this office and after recording them I would take them to such places in the building as the Motor Squad under D/Sgt Griffith, Vice Squad under D/Sgt Lou Nile, the Scientific Branch where, besides others, two sergeants 2^nd class, Barney Ross and Ross Nixon who were destined to become Assistant Commissioners, if not Deputy, worked. Incidentially, I bumped Barney Ross in Vietnam whilst I was there as a National Serviceman. The plane I boarded to go home on was the one he arrived in and when I saw him I made myself known. I was quite surprised to see him and he told me he had been secconded into the army to investigate the murder of a sergeant at Nui Dat by a disgruntled digger in an action called 'fragging'. Other similar investigations by army and or military police had been botched.

Also there at the CIB was the CIB Inquiry Office conducted by Snr Constable Les Finney and co, the (plain clothes) Women's Police Branch, the Police Prosecutors who occupied a small building adjacent to and on the eastern side of Central Court but detached from the main block. (it is the photograph on the right, still there but also vacant)

The Murder Squad and also the Police Gazette which contained lists of stolen or lost property (which ceased publication in 1982) was published on the fourth floor by two police, obviously glad to be out of the eye of the police hierarchy.

Other cadets in the building were allotted to the CIB Inquiry Office, Vice Squad, Scientific Branch and of course, the two of us in the Records Office at the CIB.

One of my jobs in the Records Office was to record the movement of those files on a card system. It was heavy shit, let me tell you!! (joke there). Although through the system, we could quite easily locate the supposed whereabouts of certain files through the building.

Sometimes we got to travel in the Superintendents black Humber Hawk sedan over to the Government Printing Office in Harris Street Ultimo to pick up clerical supplies for the CIB. Chauffer driven - man, that was living for a 16 year old, and we used to play up to it too, riding in the back seat like a pair of toffs.

Soon after I started at the Records Office I was visited by a fellow who was in his late forties who introduced himself as Clem

Walsh. He worked for Colonial Mutual Life Insurance Company and told me he was a former cadet (way, way before me) and he was 'looking after the interests' of the new arrivals by offering them a chance to take out an insurance policy. This was all new to me but I was impressed by this mature, silver haired well mannered, hail fellow well met gentleman and thought an insurance policy was a good idea, so I signed up, paying some paltry amount out of my wages for a maturing policy of five thousand pounds when I was sixty odd. Over the preceding years I would see Clem plying his trade around the police stations and administrative offices of the police force sucking in other young prospective clients. I cashed the policy aged about 35 when I was broke.

Another one who used to get around the police stations was 'Cigarette Bob'. Clem got me first but Bob was soon on my case. He didn't mind, still dished out the free fags to us.

Life settled in for me as a cadet. I started to smoke as we gathered around the old grey bomb shelter on the edge of the parade ground outside the gym waiting for roll-call of a morning, but soon gave it away when it made me cough and found that others would bott cigarettes rather than buy their own.

This period was also at this time when I made my first real visit to a hotel for a drink - I was 16. Malcolm Wright a fellow cadet from the same August intake who had been posted to the Vice Squad at the CIB (sounds glamorous but he was just another virtual clerk) decided one lunchtime we should visit the Edinburough Castle Hotel on the corner of Bathurst and Pitt Streets. We went into the saloon bar and ordered two middies of Reschs - yuk, what a bitter tasting beer. Who should be in the same hotel but Ellis Noack, captain of the police aussie rules team and a person I would get to become closer to in succeeding years. I was very nervous so we just downed our beer and left.

The cadets was a fun time. These boys had no authority but it was relatively enjoyable work for a 16-17 year old. Stuff up though and it would result in the sack! I saw evidence of that only too often. It was a shame really because there were some nice young men (boys) who had made some menial mistake and were turfed out, mostly never to be seen again. Others were not.

The cadets would parade on each morning, about 180 of us give or take holidays and sick. In this story I mention the number of police cadets ranging from 180-200. I was never sure of the exact number. One of the three cadet sergeants would call the role whilst the other two would walk up and down the ranks to inspect us all for haircuts, shave, shoes etc. and woe betide you if you weren't up to scratch.

Many was the time I would see the shonky cadets (who me?) dodge from the end of one line to the front one as the sergeants passed by so not as to get caught with say, long hair or the like. No, I wasn't one of the those. I was too scared to rock the boat there. Really, it was funny the times in the cadets, the parading, the PT, the law instruction etc., but as you have probably read before, you had to be there.

'Ben' Hall was one of the cadet sergeants of my time. A hard nosed, second world war man and an ex-rugby league type who LOVED the Manly Sea Eagles. He was a former police drill instructor type who took no nonsense (to many of us he appeared a bit dumb but he knew his job and kept us in line only too well) and only really loved you if you played rugby league. I didn't.

I can still hear the way he called the role. If there were two cadets with the same surname, he would call "HOWARD - B.A. - here Sergeant" then, "B.M.", which meant "Howard B.M." but he didn't say the surname. Having two cadets with the same surname was common with more common names such as Jones, Smith etc. He loved calling JONES M.T. who was always the second Jones called and of course it was "M.T." ('empty' - get it?) which gave us all a laugh - initially that was but he continued with it and it became very 'unfunny' to us who would roll our eyes in wonder but we weren't game to say or do anything, apart from one time which I mention later.

Each three months we would sit for our law and police procedure examinations at the Bourke Street Centre.

The pass mark was 60% and in the first one I obtained 57%. The results of my first examination were announced as they were to all on morning parade in the gym at the Academy which would be used as our parade area when wet.

"Those cadets who failed to par-hssss remain behind" was the call by Ben Hall before the group was dismissed.

There was about 10 or so of us who remained behind and the words he said echoed in my mind each time I attempted a cadet exam from then on. "You get one chance. Fail again and you're out - got it?". Now to me that was a serious warning.

I have to say that I never again failed a cadet examination, although neither did I excell - in as much as I wanted to.

With physical exercise classes each day I became reasonably fit. We would either work out in the gym or go for a run which most of the time was out of the academy across Bourke Street into Chelsea Street to Sth Dowling Street, turn south down past ACI Glass, left into Crescent Avenue to the intersection of Anzac Parade and Allison Road. Then along Alison Road to Darley Road, left there and up into Centennial Park. We would then run around the main road in Centennial Park on the eastern side and come out at the intersection of Oxford St and Moore Park Road then run down the latter, past the Sports Ground across the very top end of Moore Park and into Sth Dowling Street and back.

Well you didn't have to be a mental genius to work out that that was hard going. And most of the time I would be up the back end of the pack chatting and raving on to mates whilst the main body of fitness freaks would soon be lost in the distance.

I can remember one time when running down Moore Park Road in the absolute heat of summer and a lady who was watering her front garden sprayed us, it was so refreshing. Another O H & S situation where it wouldn’t happen today.

I quickly realised that one way to overcome the running was to hitch a ride off passing traffic mostly in Alison Road near the entrance to the race course, where the police fitness instructors who accompanied the group couldn't see us. They were way out of sight.

One day about six of us got a lift on a flat top truck in Alison Road, Randwick, near the race course and thought it was great because the driver was a bit sympathetic and took us into Centennial Park to follow the main mob. Normally we would jump off the vehicle say, 100 or so metres before where the pack of fitness freaks were waiting for us under one of those big Morton Bay Fig trees and then jog up feigning exhaustion (it wasnt the first time I had done this). We would all be making agonising noises and complaining about the effort we had just done as if we had really taken part in the run.

However on this occasion we failed to see the group, all dressed in navy blue shorts and t-shirts with white socks and runners who were resting just out of sight under a tree and as the truck drove up. Sgt Hall spotted us hanging off the back mucking round and acting the fool.

Some how I had jumped off the other side of the truck and he failed to cop me but the other five had strips torn off them and were penalised with some menial tasks as a result of the infraction. Don't worry though, in my three years in the cadets, Ben Hall got many more victories over me than I did over him.

Other times we would run around the paved roadway which bordered the parade ground at the Training Centre.

I can remember one time when, for no particular reason, we were stirring up Cadet John Gillies. Ben Hall saw him remonstrating with us and told him to put his bag over his head and start running around the 'outside'. "But Sergeant, Sergeant........" he began to plead. Only to be met with a shout of "Get moving Gilliehhssss or you'll be doing it all dayyyyyhhh!!!" (spit, spit). I still read that an laugh. Poor old John Gillies wasnt the most athletic person you could ever meet and to have him do a few laps 'around the outside' was a real chore, particularly running with his bag over his head.

The worst part about running around the outside with your bag over your head was the looks we would receive from the young girls working in the offices. I mean we were young men and out to impress, certainly not there to be doing dickhead things like that. But ... thats the way it was. I guess many people working there had a laugh to see the odd one or two each morning, dressed in a suit and tie, running with his leather bag over his head. Oh well, such is life.

And when it rained we wouldnt do PE on the grassed area we would do it in the gym, mostly climbing ropes and hanging from the wall bars and mucking round as we did. I could never climb a free standing

rope. I had and still have thin arms and could manage about 2 metres before I could literally go no further. "OK Granlandssss, you can hang from the wall bar-hhs, (spit, spit) lets see how long you can last at thattt" was my punishment. I think everyone had their time hanging from the timber bars which bordered the gym walls.

Today the gym itself is still standing. As can be seen in the attached photo the ropes have long gone along with the wall bars and the room now serves as a foyer to a Chinese church. The church itself was later built on the land immediately behind the gym between it and the rear of the shops in Cleveland Street - yes its just a bloody foyer now. The *('Teddy Homeyer') showers and toilets have been transformed into a shop selling chinese/church aids.

Whilst there in 2005 taking the photos I popped my head through the doorway, which if you look at the photo used to be under the basketball ring but has been relocated, for a peek at the shower room and this chinese lady gave me with the "what do you want" look - I don't think she could speak Engrish, so I nodded and left.

The same thing with the ropes happened to me when I was in the Army and undergoing my Vietnam pre-embarkation jungle training course at Cunungra Queensland. One of the soldiers' tasks was to regularly climb free standing ropes with a full pack and rifle. I still couldn’t do it - yes I know, weak as piss!!!!

Cadets were looked upon generally to be shifty know-all bastards always with an answer to everything who knew all the tricks of the trade. In my case that was mostly true as it was with others, although I admit, not all. In hindsight, we were a product of our environment. Many of us became what 'they' wanted us to become or how 'they' perceived us and it was easy and fun just to fit into that mode. I have to say thought in defence of others, there were some very serious minded cadets too who will probably die of stress!!!!!

One of the good things in being a police cadet was that we got to play sport of a Wednesday Afternoon. It was organised of course. I played basketball at the academy in the summer and AFL in the winter with the police Aussie Rules side. I often would skite that I was a professional sportsman – being paid to play!!!

We would play basketball in the gym at the Academy on those afternoons for two or three hours before being dismissed for the day. Instructors Dave Ferguson or Graham ‘Liberty’ Vallance would take the class. "None of your 'Aust. Rules' tactics here Cadet Granland", Liberty would say (he didn't add the 's').

Sometimes a roll would be called at these events and the names passed onto the cadet sergeants. So if we buzzed off to do other things, we could well be caught. This was a sackable offence. There were times when I would choof off with a mate for a few beers at the Coogee Bay Hotel before turning up at the Academy, much the worse for wear.

The basketball though used to be a rough and tough game with no quarter given and lots of skin lost on the floor of that building. Fun though.

Big Ellis Noack who was then stationed at No. 1 Traffic encouraged me to come and play in the Police Aussie Rules Team. Because I joined in the August and the season was just about over, I couldn’t play until the following year. “Young Granlands”, as he referred to me.

We played of a Wednesday Afternoon in the mid week services competition. Most of the games were on Moore Park, opposite the Bat & Ball Hotel. Although the sport isn’t played there now, the ground had been a base for Aussie Rules since the 1880s.

The very poorly appointed amenitites shed under the Morton Bay figs was never open and so we changed in the small ancient dark brick toilet block which was adjacent to South Dowling Street. Since, the road has been widened as a conduit to Southern Cross Drive and this small toilet block has been demolished however it did have it’s notoriety.

In 1961 Sydney was abuzz with a number of horror murders. On 21 November William McDonald lured a drifter, Ernest Cobbin, into the toilet on the pretence of drinking beer. He stabbed him 50 times with a six inch blade knife he had purchased from Mick

Simmonds Sports Store that morning. It was in that year (only) that I was a student at the close by Sydney Boys High School and on the day I can remember the inordinate amount of police activity around the park. Thats McDonald in the photo at the old CIB - note the writing on the light.

As I said, the toilet was very small, built of very dark brick which comprised of a one person porcelain urinal and a separate wc and often when I changed there I would think of the body on the floor and the crime committed in this confined space only a few years before.

After the Moore Park games we would adjourn to the Bat and Ball and sometimes get home very late. Former St George rugby league player, Ronny Roberts had the lease-hold of the premises then and much enjoyed our company - and money! This was an era when I began to develop my drinking habit mostly because it was what everyone else did not that I liked the taste of beer (Reschs)

The teams in the midweek service competition included: Big Ships, Little Ships, RAE, one of the army battalions based at Holdsworthy, a team from the Bundock Street Barracks at Randwick, HMAS Penguin and of course, HMAS Albatross.

Most of our games were played at Moore Park but occassionally we would play at Moorebank, Holdsworthy, Ingleburn and later at Bundock Street.

HMAS Albatross was the land based Fleet Air Arm which was located just outside of Nowra on the south coast. Australia then had two aircraft carriers, HMAS Sydney and HMAS Melbourne both of which were to attain their respective notability in separate incidents. Albatross serviced these two ships as well as the naval helicopters and at it's peak had up to 2,000 personnel stationed there.

The police team used to travel there once a year for a match and boy, what a day it was.

1974 NSW Police Aussie Rules Team
(photo contains many cadets)

We had all sorts play with the police side, not all of them cops and this trip was the crown in the jewel in our season. Peter Burgess, a police driver and senior player with the Western Suburbs Club in Sydney would drive the old grey police Bedford bus, starting off from the police academy at Bourke Street.

The bus would pick up players along the way. It was always full with the likes of Neil Stevens, a 'tough as nails' second war man who was a permanent senior constable at 21 Division and who had played football with Eastern Suburbs years before. He was the mainstay of the club or team and played with the team right up until he was about 57 when he broke his leg in a police game. Brian Andrews who had played with South Sydney, St George and later North Shore was another. When I started as a cadet he was the Chief Instructor at the Police Boys’ Club Camp at Kurrajong and later police drill instructor although he didn’t play then because of his bad knees. Also there was Stan Anderson who became the permanent observer on the prison van 'milk-run' and so the list went on.

The trip to HMAS Albatross had the usual stops: Mt Oosley, Kiama etc until we drove into the Naval Establishment. I think the ‘Pusses’ used to love us coming: 1. to beat us and 2. to have a great after-match function in the P.O.s Mess.

I didn’t always get a run probably because I wasn’t good enough. We didn’t have water runners or even runners then so I would just sit and watch. Ellis Noack was the captain-coach and he never took a backward step playing against those Navy teams. In fact he was quite vigorous. He used to love belting them.

We would end up drinking like there was no tomorrow after a short presentation and a meal. At that stage of my life I wasn’t into the drinking that much, at only 16, but things changed later.

In the 1966 trip I can remember cottoning onto a WRAN much older then me and arranged a date for the following weekend in Sydney seeing she worked at the Mosman base of HMAS Penguin. In as much as I was a niaive young man I worked as hard as I could for some action with her that night only to be continually rejected. Finally and with it very early in the evening I gave up and drove her back to the Mosman Heights barracks. At the last minute, and I think much to her chargrin, she relented but I had had enough and dropped her off and left. Another one who got away.

After the Albatross game we would leave the base about 8.00pm or so for the joyous trip home.

I can still remember the first journey back. I think everyone on the bus was pissed, including the driver - ok then, not the driver. We sped through Nowra only to be tracked by a police solo cyclist. He came up along side the bus with his siren sounding so Peter Burgess pulled the siren in the bus on and the guy didn’t know what to do so he sat behind the bus until someone opened the swinging window on the back of the bus and a few began pissing out of it, obviously trying to spray some on him. He soon left us.

In 1966 a future Deputy Commissioner in Jeff Jarrett who was a pretty fair footballer and late of Deniliquin also came on the trip. For some reason it was our job to time keep and I decided to use the siren on the bus to sound the end of each quarter etc. I thought it was a good idea.

At the first break I gave the siren a long run which inadvertently activated a general alarm on the base, also an air strip for the fighter planes from HMAS Melbourne, the nation’s only active aircraft carrier of the time.

Well fire trucks and ambulances came from everywhere, rushing down to the runway. It took a while but I realised that I had caused this atmosphere of panic. Some of the naval officers came to the bus and requested that I no longer use the siren during the match. I can tell you, I was tempted.

I was later secretary of the police team in 1967-8.

The above photograph of the team I have attached was on grand final day which was played at Erskineville Oval. I can remember there was a problem during the match as to the number of players we had on the ground and the opposition stopped the game and was going to demand a count.

Well, Brian Andrew, the coach, boomed in his voice from the other side of the ground about “What do you fucking-well think we are, a mob of fucking cheats? Get on with the fucking game”. He surely intimidated the opposition captain, a Naval Officer and with that, there were no further interruption to the game.

The first time I met Peter Burgess was in 1964 when I went to Camp McKay at Kurrajong as a supervisor for the weekend. He was working at 'Four Wheels'. Another cadet, Gary Middleton (whom I subsequently nicknamed 'Rubber Legs' because of his lilly white legs with little muscle tone) also came that weekend.

I was told that it wasn’t a bad way to put in a couple of days and you could get days off in lieu, so I couldn’t get there quick enough.

We were collected at the PTC one Friday afternoon near where the Police Rescue Squad were based.

Again Peter was driving the grey Police Bedford. We first went to the City of Sydney Boys Club at Woolloomooloo to collect some kids, then to Balmain and then on to Burwood Boys Club. Some other police supervisors and civilian Boys Club workers also came along.

We made it up to Kurrajong in the dark. Saw the kids fed and off to bed. It was an experience for me. I had never done anything like that before, not even as a member of the Boys Club at Daceyville when I was younger. I remember though, I passed the code of ethics there.

Brian Andrews was the supervisor at Camp Mackay and his wife were great hosts. He warned us about paedophiles, told us the format of how it all worked etc. and allocated us to the various huts with the boys. I think there were about 100 or so there. I was in one of the smaller huts.

The boys went through their activities during the day, archery, swimming and other interesting stuff. I think there was a dairy there too which was good for city kids, seeing where milk really came from.

On the Saturday Night most of us went off to the pub at North Richmond. As I said before, I was not a big drinker and still 16 so had to pretend.

I went to Camp MacKay a few times during my period as a cadet (cheap labour). Once or twice I had to catch a train to Richmond to be picked up there by Brian Andrews. After that the novelty had well worn off. I didn't go again.

Early in my time in the cadets when I was still 16 I think Phil Lloyd organised unofficial harbour cruise held for the cadets. It cost us one pound each and we all met at Circular Quay, boarded the boat (ferry) and then off around the harbour.

Fellow cadet, Teddy Homeyer played in a band and they were the entertainment at the bow of the ship. Obviously we drank but I can’t remember whether it was supplied or we took our own. Something tells me we had kegs on board.

Anyway, we did the Goat and Clarke Island stop over and got back to the Quay about 11.30pm or so, most of us quite drunk and got myself home after nearly getting into a fight at the wharf with some wacko from another harbour cruise which had docked at the same time.

When we all got into the Police Training Centre (Redfern) on Monday Morning, it was the talk of the 200 or so of us who were going on parade. We thought it was a great jaunt and were laughing and going on about the night.

Again, obviously because it was a wet day we paraded in the gym and at the end of roll call, Sergeant Ben Hall addressed us.
“It has come to my attent-ion, that some of yo-uuuhh, went out on Saturday Nigh-t (spit), on a boat in the harbour and par-took of alcohol, illegally. Those who were in that party, take one step forward”.

Quite obviously our efforts on the Saturday Night were grounds for the sack and my fellow cadets were not really inclined to nominate themselves as being involved.

Three stepped forward.
“Come on nowwwa, I know there were more of yo-uuuuhhh. I hhhave names, dhon’t let your ma-tessss - take the wra-ppp (spit)”.

Gradually, others took a pace forward until two thirds of the parade acknowledged that they had been part of the harbour cruise.

The cadet sergeants took time for a short in-house meeting between themselves after Ben Hall dismissed those who had not participated - including a few of the pretenders who didn't own up so about 120 cadets remained standing stiffly to attention and shitting themselves. He went on to tear strips of us for our activities finishing with the words “……….annnnn-dhh, if it happens agaaai-nnn, you will no lonnnger - have a job – got it?”

A muffled “yes sergeant” was the response. “GOT IT?”. “YES SERGEANT”. – Dismissed!!!!!!

Apparently Cadet Ian Riley had got to his Penrith home in the early hours of Sunday Morning well under the weather where his policeman father (Willliam Riley who was later shot and killed whilst on duty in 1971) found him vomiting on the front lawn. He had made inquiries about how his son had obtained alcohol and where he had been on the Saturday Night all of which information ended up with the Cadet Sergeants. I think (cadet) Neil (TB) Anderson also had a bit to do with putting us all in.

The weight of sheer numbers stopped any repercussions from the evening.

The friendship and bonding in the cadets is generally something which would go on to last a life-time. There was always that relationship with these friends years later, with a few exceptions. My heart was and is always open to an ex-cadet. One problem I found that was after they were sworn in as policemen, you may never see them again particularly if they lived in a different part of Sydney than yourself. So some good friendships just faded away.

Cadet Bob (Mitsu) Sullivan who came from Gosford and like many country boys, boarded in the multi rooming establishment at 120 Allison Road Randwick - opposite the racecourse.

Bob was not a bad bloke but a strange one, just not the norm in some ways. He got himself involved in two unusual interests: karate and hypnotism.

One morning after doing our physical training with most of the boys in the showers, (my first time of showering together with other males – that is somewhat of a major step in a young man’s life as I have later learnt) Bob had Max McKinnon (son of Harry McKinnon, president of North Sydney Rugby League Club at the time) and began to hypnotise him.

Bob had convinced Max that the lighted cigarette he was holding would not hurt him as he stubbed it into his hand. A few of us were looking on with towels around our waist in delighted interest.

Just as he pressed the glowing ember into Max’s hand, his mate, big Phil Lloyd came bursting through the door from the gym, pushed Max out of the way, threw the cigarette on the floor and told Bob to “piss off and stop being so f*** stupid”. I don’t think that was in the script and Max’s hand blistered up for weeks after.

On another occasion, *Ted Homeyer (whos nickname should have been 'tripod') and who was a bit older than Bob was clipping him around the ears and stirring him up after PT as we all stood round the change room with towels draped around our bodies and saying "come on Sully show us how you can go" A lot of us, apart from Ted could see what was going to happen. Bob kept on telling him to stop and the more Bob said stop the more Ted kept at him. The next thing Bob let fly with his karate punch which hit him square between the eyes, knocking him down and it looked as if Ted was going to bleed to death all over the change room floor. He survived but still carries the scar.

Bob tried it on me one afternoon in the office of the Personnel Assistant to Norm Allen, the Police Commissioner. This person was a hard nose but very smart and astute first class sergeant (whose nick name amongst those in my office of the time was “Orooloo” – the chimp, he was also an ex-cadet but of course from years before), whilst he was away at afternoon tea. I had to baby sit his phone each day at that time. Just as I started to go under, the Sergeant returned wanting to know why there were two cadets in his office and what exactly was going on. We made up some flimsy excuse and departed.

My last story with Bob Sullivan relates to an evening when we were doing typing at Hornblower’s Business College in Cleveland Street. He had another cadet, Allan Driver who was a fair size lad, more solid than tall who was playing third grade for Western Suburbs Rugby League Club at the time, baled up doing his hypnotic trick in the hall way at the bottom of the stairs.

Mr Hornblower’s elderly sister (well she looked elderley to us), Alma, used to take the speed shorthand classes on the first floor. As Bob was going through his routine of putting Allan in to a trance, Miss Hornblower came to the top of the stairs to tell us to “keep the racket down you boys”.

Bob said to Allan who by this time was hypnotised, “get her” and the boy turned and started to walk up the stairs with his solid arms outstretched making gorky animal noises as if he was going to strangle the poor old woman. Of course we freaked and Bob had to work hard clicking his fingers saying "stay" and "come back" to get him back down and defuse his control over him. I was nearly on the floor laughing it was so funny whilst our colleague had no idea what was going on.

On 12 January 1965 the bodies of Marianne Schmidt and Christine Sharrock, one fifteen and the other sixteen year old were found on Wanda Beach, Sydney. The girls had been brutally bashed, stabbed and sexually violated and their bodies partially burried. No-one was ever charged over the murders.

The girls had been accompanied on their beach day outing by four of Marianne's siblings. Within a month of the crime a brother of Marianne's who was aged about 9 or so, inspected a parade of the 180 odd plain clothes police cadets on the parade ground of the Bourke Street Training Centre. Somehow it had been suggested that a police cadet had been implicated in the crime.

He identified one possible subject from our ranks which turned out to be a totally incorrect assertion. How and why he did this was completely beyond all of us. Our whole group, particularly the one implicated, were completely devistated. He was interrogated for some time by detectives and subsequently discounted as a suspect. It must have been a harrowing experience because he was virtually still a boy and the case was such big news at the time. The incident of his selection and questioning has been well reported by those who have covered the story in the press over the years.

In 2005 a reunion of police cadets was held at the Sutherland Services Club and the one who was chosen 40 years before was present. I asked him what happened and he said it was a very frightful time and that obviously this young boy had made a mistake in selecting him but it had lived with him since. I can well understand how innocent people feel in these situations.

During the period of their training, all Police Cadets were required to participate in the "Silver Baton Award" competition, which was conducted over a set 12 month period. There would be say, 60 cadets in a ‘Silver Baton Group’ each year.

The group would be judge on their law marks, shorthand work, reports from their stations and a public speaking course. <