On Saturday I went to the Leicester Tigers stadium in Welford Road to see how the security for the match against the Wasps was handled. And an absolutely fascinating experience it was too – though it must be said I saw very little of the match.
My day started at 12 noon when I arrived to be met by Steve, the head of security for the Tigers. He led me on a brisk walk round the ground as he checked on the Army stand being set up, the coats for his stewards and supervisors being got out of storage and the grounds team. Then it was into the East Stand to find a large meeting room where two dozen or so Steward Supervisors were gathered, along with three police officers. Steve gave them all a briefing on the day ahead – how many spectators were expected [25,000], anybody in particular to look out for [one] and dominating everything the weather. It was on the cards that the match might have to be abandoned if the weather got only a bit worse than was expected.
Then it was off to the Control Room [up four flights of stairs] to check that the key team was there. Loarraine from the Ambulance service was in her place, so to was David who kept in touch with everybody around the ground by radio, Ash who kept a running log of all incidents and Stuart the Stadium Manager. Steve also checked the CCTVs were working.
A call to Steve’s earpiece sent us dashing back down to the pitch. A Supervisor was peering up at the roof of the East Stand. A sheet of corrugated steel was flapping rather alarmingly in the wind, creating a rattling sound. After a brief discussion, a radio call went back to Stuart. A team of his men would shortly be sent up to the roof. I didn’t fancy their job in the wind that was whipping across Welford Road Stadium.
Off went Steve to find Simon Cohen, the CEO of the Tigers. Into the North Stand we went, up the stairs to where sponsors and other corporate guests were enjoying lunch. Steve hovered in the doorway, scanning the large number of tables of happy diners. Spotting Mr Cohen, Steve weaved across the room. He reported on the loose roof panel and said that he thought the gates should remain closed for an additional 15 minutes so that the panel could be secured. Mr Cohen nodded “safety first” he said.
Steve was already muttering into his radio. Off we went to the upper seats of the North Stand. This time it was a Perspex panel on the side wall that was rattling in the wind. Stuart was already there. A fixing screw had come out. The two men wobbled the sheet, checked the other fixings and agreed it was safe. Steve stared across the ground at the roof of the East Stand where two men could be seen up on the roof.
“It’s that one I’m worried about,” he said. “This one,” he pointed at the Perspex, “isn’t going anywhere.”
Off we set again, around the pitch and into the East Stand, up more stairs at top speed to walk down a corridor thronged with serving staff getting the corporate hospitality boxes ready. Steve dived into a cupboard marked “No Entry” and we found a ladder going up to a trapdoor. “That’s the way to the roof,” reported Steve. A few seconds later the trapdoor opened and a workman appeared.
“That panel isn’t going anywhere today” he said, “not even in this wind. We’ll lash it into place for added security, but the other bolts will hold it.”
Steve nodded and was at once on to his radio instructing the stewards to open the gates. Back we went to the Control Room. Up another four flights of stairs.
No sooner were we there than we left again. A spectator who had just arrived in the East Stand had a problem. Steve indicated to me to hang back, presumably the issue was private. After a short chat, Steve came back. He looked around for a Steward and beckoned him over. “I want you to keep an eye on that chap,” he said pointing to the spectator. “Make sure that he is OK.”
Then it was outside the main gates to mix with the crowds arriving. “The winds mean we haven’t been able to deploy the usual pedestrian barriers,” said Steve. “I’m sure it will be fine out here, but no harm checking.” After wandering outside the North Stand, we headed down the west side of the ground.
A man was collecting money for some charity, rattling a bucket. Steve gave him a hard stare. Then he was on the radio to the police officers. Could they check the man for some sort of identification to show he really was representing a charity? “He’s not one of the regulars,” Steve told me. “He’s probably genuine, but you never know. He might be scamming people and intending to pocket the cash himself. Best to get him checked out. He’s not on our land so I don’t have authority to do that. That’s why I’ve asked the police to do it.”
We did not wait to see the result, but walked on around the ground. At the southwest corner we stopped. Steve climbed up on to a low wall. He looked at his watch. “Quarter of an hour to kick off,” he said. “This is the busiest period. Best to check the crowd choke points.” We watched the crowds pouring past for ten minutes, then Steve jumped down and headed for an anonymous steel door. “I’ve got to be in the Control Room for kick off,” he said. The steel door opened on to a corridor with a Steward on the other side. He nodded Steve through, but stopped me and checked my pass. Quite right too.
Back in the Control Room David was talking calmly and incessantly into his microphone, Ash was typing and Lorraine was peering round into the East Stand. Stuart was nowhere to be seen. “He’s on the roof” reported Ash pointing at the CCTV.
Any thoughts I might have had that I could watch the match were quickly squashed. Somebody had fainted in the kitchen reported Lorraine. Steve and I were off again to check it out. We were still on our way to the kitchen when a Supervisor met us. The man was fine. St John’s Ambulance were there and said that there was nothing to worry about. Steve led me back up the four flights of stairs to the Control Room.
Steve was clearly used to this frenetic pace, but my knees were beginning to suffer. When I checked my app at the close of the day, I found I had walked 4 miles and climbed 58 flights of stairs. Phew!
Next up was a broken toilet seat in the ladies’ toilet in the South Stand, then a man threw up in the gents’ toilet in North Stand. Then it was the wind that was again the problem. Some retired military men were supposed to be going out on the pitch at half time for a ceremony of some kind. Steve decided that the conditions were not good enough for the elderly gents. “They can do it indoors,” he said.
“There’s a fight,” suddenly announced David in calm tones.
“A fight?” cried Lorraine in astounded terms. “What here?”
“South Stand, Section S,” continued David calmly. “At the back.”
Steve was at the CCTV controls. A camera swung around and zoomed in on a knot of figures. Two orange-jacketed Stewards came into view and pushed their way forwards.
Steve turned to David “Anyone who has been fighting. I want them out of this ground at once. I don’t care what the excuses are. Throw them out.”
“What if one of them is the innocent victim of an assault,” asked Stuart.
“We can sort that out later,” growled Steve. “Fighting gets you thrown out. No excuses.”
A yellow jacketed Supervisor appeared on the screen. A conversation was obviously going on.
“It’s not a fight,” reported David. “Just two friends having a kerfuffle.”
“A kerfuffle?” queried Steve turning round.
“A kerfuffle,” confirmed David after a hurried exchange on the radio – presumably with the Supervisor on the scene.
“Right,” said Steve. “Well, keep somebody standing right next to them. I don’t want another ‘kerfuffle’ today.”
“Not chucking them out then?” teased Stuart. “You said no excuses, remember.”
“I said for fighting,” responded Steve. “Not for kerfuffles.” He flashed a grin.
Some quiet minutes passed before Lorraine piped up. “A man has collapsed with chest pains,” she said. “First aiders on the scene.” Some minutes later she beckoned Steve over. “It might be serious. The paramedics are going up to have a look.”
“Keep me informed,” said Steve.
I was actually able to watch the game for a bit then. Ash made us all a cup of tea – which was kind of her. And I was given a jammy dodger – Result! Speaking of which, Telusa Veainu then scored a magnificent try, racing most of the length of the pitch to score.
“Fire hazard” reported David.
“Fire?” asked Steve. I looked out at the torrential rain. Surely not much would catch easily in this weather.
“Somebody has lit the candles on a birthday cake in the South Stand,” reported David. “They’re being advised to blow them out double quick.”
“Idiots,” muttered Steve. “That’s a wooden stand. I should put up a video of what happened at Bradford on the screen before every match. Over 50 people died that day in a fire in their wooden stand. We’ve taken precautions, of course, but still.” He shook his head and paced restlessly back and forth until David reported that the candles were out.
And then the final whistle blew. Tigers had won 18-9. Grand!
Steve leaned forwards to watch the crowds dispersing. David radioed out to each of the Supervisors in turn to get a report back. Lorraine reported that the man with chest pains had been taken to Glenfields Hospital by ambulance, Steve raised an eyebrow. “They say it’s a precaution,” responded Lorraine.
“I want everyone to leave here alive and kicking,” nodded Steve.
Stuart appeared. I had not noticed that he had gone. “I’ll do the rounds,” he said and left again.
Steve was back on the CCTV screens. He went through each corridor, concourse and stand with care. At last he was satisfied. He turned to Ash and reeled off the areas that were clear. She noted down each area with care. Steve beckoned me over to the screens. The main screen showed a concourse that was packed with people.
“We have the Rock Bottom band on after the match,” Steve explained. “The fans love them.”
“Yeah,” said David. “They’re pretty good. A bit of a laugh.”
“You might as well get off now,” Steve told me. “It’s just a matter of locking up now.”
I thanked Steve and the others for being so kind as to put up with me and answer all my questions. I must say that I was massively impressed by Steve and his team. Nothing seemed to slip by them. A very professional set up.
And yes, Dear Reader, I did pay for my ticket.
