James was one of our security guards, who’d worked here probably since before any of us had been born. You’d only need to look at him to know that he’d been here longer than you had. He was about 6ft 2, in his 60’s and walked with a hunch and a notable limp. He could probably touch his toes without bending down. He was still a unit of a bloke. That said, he was still one of the nicest guys you could talk to. He’d always say hello and ask how you were doing: ”awright, ‘ow ya doin’?” as he lumbered past you down the corridor, responding to someone up to no good. He spoke a bit like Phil Mitchell from Eastenders (in his earlier days, when he wasn’t an alcoholic)– he was almost identical actually. He’d seen enough in the department that he knew just how to handle certain people. He knew when enough was enough and that the person being aggressive and violent to staff needed a firm attitude to just pack it in. Conversely, he knew when someone was in a vulnerable position having a mental health crisis and would spend hours with them calming them down and reassuring them that they were in the best place to get help. He was truly an asset to the team, not just a heavy pair of hands.
I fondly remember many an encounter with him. Whether that’s him hanging onto the feet of an acutely aggressive and violent patient (either by drugs or brain injury, we weren’t sure at that time) while we prepared to sedate them, and he’d still crack a smile at me with his “nice weather today innit H??” as he clung onto what seemed like a Tasmanian Devil.
One such encounter with James involved a woman who had taken some horrendous unknown concoction of drugs, and was on the back of the ambulance going absolutely berserk- assaulting the paramedics, trashing the ambulance and shouting and roaring incoherently. You could see the ambulance rocking sideways as you stood outside of it. We scrambled to prepare our special room for her- a closed off cubicle with 1 way opening doors, roll down shutters (so medical equipment attached to the wall couldn’t be damaged) and padded walls. Whilst this was going on, police were desperately being called in order to assist with what was going to be fairly advanced/complex restraint as we brought her inside. All of the security guards were very reluctant and spent a lot of time just planning how to get her out. James had come on shift and hobbled over to the cacophony.
“Awright. Oi, what’s goin’ on ‘ere?’ He said, gesturing to the swaying ambulance.
The young and somewhat impressionable security guards hastily tried to explain what was going on.
“Oh forkin’ ‘ell.” He mumbled to himself, disappointed that the others hadn’t dealt with it. He went to the ambulance doors and flung them open, to which the crazed woman directed her cacophony of roaring and shouting at him instead of the paramedics. He lumbered up the step, grabbed her by the scruff of her hoodie as she clawed at him, and hauled her back out of the ambulance with her at arms length, and shuffled down the corridor with her like a feral cat in his hands scratching at his arms and yelling incoherently.
“which room?” he grumbled to me, unfazed. I figured that he’s had years of this that by now he’d probably formed a natural thick callus of skin on his arms, as the woman’s scratches and pulls did nothing.
“Room 10 mate, all good to go. Need a hand….?” I replied emptily, knowing he wouldn’t.
“Cheers H” he said, and booted the doors open with a free leg.
“Gerroff’ me arm...forkin’…gerrof’, there y’are, gerrin, get…in’” he grumped, shaking his arms trying to release the woman as though he was trying to shake a bit of sticky tape off. She soon released and James shut the doors, turned around and slowly lowered himself laboriously onto the chair that had been left outside the room. I half pictured him picking up a TV remote to turn on the football, he’d sat down that casually.
I mean, not the most conventional or recommended methods of getting someone like that in, but it worked and he wasn’t bothered what she spat or scratched at him. Before he’d arrived, we were clearly at a stalemate. Waiting for police, waiting for security, waiting for a room, waiting for her to calm down, waiting for it to be safe. No decisions being made. She was trashing the ambulance (which would have taken it off the road for repair), assaulting the ambulance crew and anyone that came near, and police were too busy to be able to respond within any reasonable timeframe- she was a danger not only to herself but also members of the public and staff. He saw what needed doing, and just did it. Thank god for James.
Another time, I remember seeing a patient (we’ll call him Michael) who was coming down off a cocaine high, he too had been violent and aggressive, consistently rude and racist to staff, always swearing and gobbing off, but had since calmed down and was more just being a general twat, rude, racist and swaggering about with a smug and entitled face (Ok I’ll say it, it …was one of those very punchable faces). Not that punching it would have made any difference- he only had 3 teeth left. If he hadn’t have taken a shit ton of cocaine, he’d have long since been booted out. If we were to discharge him, against his wishes, with adverse observations as he did and then he went and collapsed and had a heart attack in the street that would very much go against us.
So, we were transferring this guy to a ward. I had to take him, so that I could hand him over to the relevant people. James came on escort, as is usual with these cases. Of course, Michael was loving this. He got to look like he was well ‘ard, that he needed to be held back by security- his yellow 3 toothed smile brimming as he strode through the corridors of A&E with me and James. All of a sudden, something triggered him and he flew off the handle at me immediately in the middle of the corridor.
“You sayin’ I’ve got shitty teeth?! What you saying?! You saying I’ve got shitty teeth! You fucking want a fight do you mate I’ll do you one right here mate fucking come on I’ll do you one mate I’ll do you!!!” He yelled, flailing his arms about and launching himself towards me unsuccessfully as James just stood in between us both, disapprovingly- a bit like a big dog with a puppy gnawing at it’s jowls.
I stood and waited for him to finish, as if I were waiting for a toddler to finish his tantrum.
A stray limp thwack landed on James’ head. Line, crossed. He had had enough. He grabbed Michael by the scruff of his collar with both hands and held him up to the wall.
“LISTEN mate if you carry on kicking off in ‘ere, I’ll make sure you’ve got NO fookin’ teeth, AWRIGHT?!” He barked calmly at him in his usual gruff voice.
Michael put his 3 teeth away and his attitude withered, as he plodded up the corridor with us, tail in between his legs, and James looking irritated that he’d had to exert himself beyond a simple walk.
Again, unconventional and not really the recommended response, but it worked. What was the alternative? Let him escalate in the middle of A&E and need more security guards to come and pin him down until he calmed down? Talk him down and reassure him that of course he didn’t have shitty teeth? (We knew already he wouldn’t be talked down, he’d been spoiling for fight the whole time he’d been here)
The other side of James, I recall fondly that I witnessed in passing. A mental health patient had been brought in, going through a psychotic episode, and was at the point where she sat on the floor in the foetal position absolutely terrified of her surroundings and instinctively hit out at anyone that came close. James, all 6ft heft of him, sat crossed legged beside her on the floor with her for at least an hour before the mental health team came to take over- reassuring her and calming her down and telling her that she was in a safe place, no one was going to hurt her, he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her. She’d stopped screaming and was no longer lashing out, and was cradling a cup of tea (normally in these cases we’ll offer water, as the contents usually get thrown over the nearest person. Clearly James had put her needs over his own.) She still didn’t want to engage with anyone, but she at least felt safe. That was James’ doing.
He’s alright, James is. Rough round the edges, doesn’t play by the book and won’t take any shit- but rugged, dependable and always looking out for the other person first. Yes, he’s a bit knackered and about ready to retire, but he’s alright. For now though, he’s still lumbering about the corridors, gruffly greeting everyone with his trademark pearly whites still, putting society’s arseholes to rights, and protecting those that need him.