The “New Police” introduced by Peel—The System supported by the Duke of Wellington—Opposition from the Vestries—Brief Account of the Metropolitan Police, its Uses and Services—The River Police—The City Police—Extra-police Services—The Provincial Police.
THE necessity for a better police organisation in London much exercised the public mind during the early decades of the nineteenth century. At length, in 1830, Sir Robert Peel introduced a new scheme, the germ of the present admirable forces. In doing so he briefly recapitulated the shortcomings and defects of the system, or want of system, that then prevailed; he pointed out how many glaring evils had survived the repeated inquiries and consequent proposals for reform. Parliamentary Committees had reported year after year from 1770 to 1828, all of them unanimously of opinion that in the public interest, to combat the steady increase of crime a better method of prevention and protection was peremptorily demanded. Yet nothing had been done. The agitation had always subsided as soon as the immediate alarm was forgotten. So this opulent city, with its teeming population and abounding wealth, was still mainly dependent upon the parochial watch: the safe-keeping of both was entrusted to a handful of feeble old men, an obsolete body without system or authority. That crime had increased by “leaps and bounds” was shown by the figures. It was out of all proportion to the growth of the people. In 1828 as compared with 1821 there had been an increase of 41 per cent in committals, as against 15½ per cent in population, and the ratio was one criminal to every 822 of the population. This was in London alone. In the provinces the increase was as 26 per cent of crime against 11½ per cent of population.
Unquestionably the cause of all this was the inefficiency of the police. The necessary conditions, unity of action of the whole and direct responsibility of the parts, could never be assured under such arrangements. Each London parish worked independently, and while some made a fairly good fight, others by their apathy were subjected to continual depredation. The wealthy and populous district of Kensington, for instance, some fifteen square miles in extent, depended for its protection upon three constables and three headboroughs—none of the latter very remarkable for steadiness and sobriety. It was fairly urged that three drunken beadles could effect nothing against widespread burglary and thieving. In the parish of Tottenham, equally unprotected, there had been nineteen attempts at burglary in six weeks, and sixteen had been entirely successful. In Spitalfields, at a time not long antecedent to 1829, gangs of thieves stood at the street corners and openly rifled all who dared to pass them. In some parishes, suburban and of recent growth, there was no police whatever, no protection but the voluntary exertions of individuals and the “honesty of the thieves.” Such were Fulham—with 15,000 inhabitants—Chiswick, Ealing, Acton, Edgware, Barnet, Putney, and Wandsworth. In Deptford, with 20,000, constantly reinforced by evil-doers driven out of Westminster through stricter supervision, there was no watch at all. Then the number of outrages perpetrated so increased that a subscription was raised to keep two watchmen, who were yet paid barely enough to support existence, much less ensure vigilance. Watchmen, indeed, were often chosen because they were on the parish rates. The pay of many of them was no more than twopence per hour.
The Duke of Wellington, who was the head of the Administration when Peel brought forward his measure in 1829, supported it to the full, and showed from his own experience how largely crime might be prevented by better police regulations. He mentioned the well-known horse-patrol,[13] which had done so much to clear the neighbourhood of London of highwaymen and footpads. His recollection reached back into the early years of the century, and he could speak from his own experience of a time when scarcely a carriage could pass without being robbed, when travellers had to do battle for their property with the robbers who attacked them. Yet all this had been stopped summarily by the mounted patrols which guarded all the approaches to London, and highway robbery had ceased to exist. The same good results might be expected from the general introduction of a better preventive system.
It is a curious fact that the Duke incurred much odium by the establishment of this new police, which came into force about the time that the struggle for Parliamentary reform had for the moment eclipsed his popularity. The scheme of an improved police was denounced as a determination to enslave, an insidious attempt to dragoon and tyrannise over the people. Police spies armed with extraordinary authority were to harass and dog the steps of peaceable citizens, to enter their houses, making domiciliary visitations, exercising the right of search on any small pretence or trumped-up story. There were idiots who actually accused the Duke of a dark design to seize supreme power and usurp the throne; it was with this base desire that he had raised this new “standing army” of drilled and uniformed policemen, under Government, and independent of local ratepayers’ control. The appointment of a military officer, Colonel Rowan, of the Irish Constabulary, betrayed the intention of creating a “veritable gendarmerie.” The popular aversion to the whole scheme, fanned into flame by these silly protests, burst out in abusive epithets applied to the new tyrants. Such names as “raw lobsters” from their blue coats, “bobbies” from Sir Robert Peel, and “peelers” with the same derivation, “crushers” from their heavy-footed interference with the liberty of the subject, “coppers” because they “copped” or captured his Majesty’s lieges, survive to show how they were regarded in those days.
Yet the admirable regulations framed by Sir Richard Mayne, who was soon associated with Colonel Rowan, did much to reassure the public. They first enunciated the judicious principle that has ever governed police action in this country: the principle that prevention of crime was the first object of the constable, not the punishment of offenders after the fact. The protection of person and property and the maintenance of peace and good order were the great aims of a police force. A firm but pleasant and conciliatory demeanour was earnestly enjoined upon all officers, and this has been in truth, with but few exceptions, the watchword of the police from first to last. “Perfect command of temper,” as laid down by Sir Richard Mayne, was an indispensable qualification; the police officer should “never suffer himself to be moved in the slightest degree by language or threats.” He is to do his duty in a “quiet and determined manner,” counting on the support of bystanders if he requires it, but being careful always to take no serious step without sufficient force at his back. He was entrusted with certain powers, though not of the arbitrary character alleged: he was entitled to arrest persons charged with or suspected of offences: he might enter a house in pursuit of an offender, to interfere in an affray, to search for stolen goods.