In 1971, as a 6ft tall, rugby playing lad from a small village, I joined Leeds City Police with no idea of what I was letting myself in for.

The three month initial training course, unlike today, was army style in discipline and fitness with rigorous academic content.

Having led a sheltered life, the gruesome, bloody and tough realities of the real world hit me like a train as I began uniform patrol from the old Dewsbury Road police station in Hunslet.

Foot patrol was obligatory in all weathers and my first beat was Middleton. One extremely frosty night, I returned to the station and was surprised to find that I had two icicles hanging from my rudimentary moustache as a result of breathing through my nose.

On another occasion, whilst walking along the footpath to my beat with my back to a raging blizzard, the Inspector drew alongside me in his patrol car. The warm air from the interior as he lowered the window was welcome but he then gave me a verbal rocket for having my greatcoat collar turned up and drove off into the night.

Can you imagine that happening today?