May the Force be with you

The small rural town of Templemore, with its wide market streets and outlying bungalows, looks like many other Irish towns. But Templemore is a name that sticks in the public consciousness, since it is synonymous with the Garda Siochana Training College, which moved here in 1964 from its previous base in the Phoenix Park. Quite possibly, its pubs have the promptest closing hours in the State, because if Irish towns were colours, Templemore would cop the entire range of blue hues.

"Templemore is really a little campus," explains Kevin Corcoran, Sergeant in Communications, showing off the lecture theatres, the segregated accommodation blocks, the gym, swimming pool, canteen, audio-visual room, squash courts, bar, dancefloor, and library. There are currently 1,127 students who are participating in the two-year training course at the Garda College; 783 men and 344 women.

It's not easy to pass the entrance qualifications for Templemore; only one in five applicants will be offered a place there. Apart from having certain exam grades, applicants must also sit an aptitude test, and be a height of not less than 5 foot 5 inches for women, and 5 foot 9 inches for men. Applicants must be aged between 18 and 26. Following the interview stage, there is a strict medical.

For those accepted on the five-phase course, there is the happy prospect of 100 per cent employment at the end; all those who successfully complete their two years are offered jobs. Drop-outs rarely number more than one person per intake, if that - an impressive statistic of commitment by any standards. So who are these young men and women who are joining the ranks of our police force today, and what is motivating them to sign up? Family background remains an important contributory factor. Of the nine Phase 1 students (the initial 22-week study module) this reporter spoke to, five had uncles and grandfathers who were former members of the force, and four of those five also had fathers who were gardai.

"Because it was in the family, I had a better understanding of what the job involved," explains Damien Prendergast (22) from Portlaoise.

"My father was a peace commissioner, so I grew up used to seeing uniforms and squad cars," says Rosaleen O'Connor (21) from Limerick. "To me, it was a career with a good image."

One thing becomes surprisingly clear over the course of the interviews: all of these students see their choice of career as something akin to that old-fashioned term - vocation. Thomas Browne (27) from Cork, worked in a chemical plant prior to his second successful application for the Garda Siochana, making "great money. Lots of people here accepted a drop of 20 per cent in their income to come here".

A garda's starting salary is £12,452 a year, which for those who have already been in the workforce for several years, like Browne, can only be a backwards step financially. Templemore also attracts a sizeable number of graduates, who have already been through a third-level course. During the training period, students get paid £88.93 per week, plus a rent allowance of £42.80. On-campus accommodation and canteen meals are deducted from that.

"We're the only third-level college who gets paid to go to college, and we get free meals," says Niamh Coates (23), from Dublin.

"But we're really more apprentices than students," argues Prendergast. "We're doing on-the-job training in stations after 22 weeks." Some of the others are shuffling uncomfortably in their seats at the mention of money, but most of them are silent on the matter - for now at least.

"Well, you won't get rich in the guards, but you won't be poor either," offers David Duffin (27), from Terenure, pragmatically. "It's not about the money."

If it isn't - apparently even partially - about money, then what is the attraction of joining the Garda Siochana? David Nolan (23) from Tullamore, was working in a factory prior to entering Templemore. "The money was good, but the job satisfaction wasn't. The guards has lots of promotional prospects, and there's a huge variety of work involved in the job. You almost have to be a sort of social worker to be a guard these days. The idea of working in the community appealed to me."

"People always look up to the guards," says Coates . "If you're a guard, you feel you can make a difference in society."

"I wouldn't like a nine-to-five job. I'd hate it," says Mairead Donohoe (20) from Wexford. "And the guards isn't that. It's a bit of every profession rolled into one. You're told when you join, that you're not in the Garda Siochana, the force, but the service."

One of the most dedicated and determined of the current students must be Niall McNaught (29), from Firhouse, Dublin, who has a young family. His first application to join the guards went west when he failed the eye-test at the medical: short-sightedness is still absolutely out. He went on to work for Dublin Bus, but still hankered after the Garda Siochana. "I went and had the laser operation on my eyes," he recounts, wincing slightly. "The second time round, I passed the medical."

They are unanimous on the issue of whether gardai should be armed or not. "The whole ethos is to police without using force," says Coates.

"If you were carrying a gun, you'd lose the confidence of the people you were protecting," argues Duffin. "You'd be creating a double standard, trying to peacekeep, but with the help of guns."

"If every garda carried a gun, then every criminal would too," says Eoin Brehony (23) from Dublin.

"The public wouldn't approach you as much if you were armed," insists Annette Ryan (23) from Nenagh.

What differences do they see between today's members of the force and those of a generation ago? "Years ago, guards were more heavy-handed," says Brehony. "You have to be accountable for all your actions now," Nolan says firmly.

"There are different problems in society now," Ryan points out. "Domestic violence, racism. We have to deal with those things now."

"The job has got harder," says Coates. "There are syringe attacks for a start. Nowadays, you might get stabbed with one while on duty."

Unsurprisingly, given the vocational-like attraction to the job, they all agree that being a garda is not something you leave at the door on your way home. "When you're a guard, you're 100 per cent committed," says Donohoe. "Even if you're off-duty, you're still a guard."

"If you're a guard in a rural community, you can be just as effective outside the station as in it, because everyone knows who you are," says Duffin.

A week after media coverage of the Patten report, some students look blank at the mention of the proposed increased co-operation between the RUC and the GS. "The what report?" more than one asks. Interestingly, those students who have heard of it are almost all the older ones.

"The North is a whole different set-up," muses Niall McNaught. "For a start, the force is armed up there, which is completely different to down here. I don't know how they'd get round that one. And us being mostly Catholic wouldn't make us feel very welcome: maybe that's one way they have in mind of getting more Catholics into the new policing system. But it is a good idea, definitely, and it's new and exciting. It has to be part of the way forward, especially with the peace process."

"It would involve us policing in a different state; I don't see what benefit the co-operation would be," says Nolan flatly.

"Personally I wouldn't like to serve up there," says Christy Browne (22) from Cahir. "My girlfriend or my family wouldn't like it very much. I wouldn't like it much either," he adds.

"It's a good idea, but it'll take a long time," says O'Connor. "Maybe we could share modules of our training with them. It's all about breaking down the barriers in the end, isn't it?"

"It would be interesting to look at their methods of policing. It would make policing more open if we knew what went on," offers Brehony.

Have they discussed it at all among themselves, as shop-talk in the pub, for instance? There is first silence, and then roars of laughter by way of answer.

There is not, in fact, much leisure time at Templemore to discuss even less taxing topics than the Patten report. The timetable of classes is nine to five. The rules are strict: there is an 11.30 p.m. curfew, for instance. Even when students live out of college, they are placed with families in Templemore and while there, they must still obey the curfew.

It's a system which has more in common with schoolchildren in the gaeltacht than men and women in their mid or late 20s. Discipline is the reason given for the rules, but there's equally an argument that instating a rule such as a curfew takes responsibility away from the students, rather than letting them have a free choice as to whether they wish to party all night on occasion and take the consequences of the three-mile run with a hangover next morning. Further education, after all, is generally meant to have a holistic element to it.

Astonishingly, the students genuinely don't seem to mind, and go to some lengths to explain why they don't. "If you can't take the rules, how can you enforce the rules yourself later on," says O'Connor. "I mean, we can't take the law into our own hands, can we?"

"You're being paid by the State, so you have to do as they say. You can't have everything," says Duffin. "We knew what the rules were before we came in, so we can't say we didn't know what we letting ourselves in for."

Did they receive support from family and friends when they decided to join? Yes, they say, more or less, they did. Even when it went against old grains. "My father is a publican and he hates the guards," cheerfully admits Christy Browne (22), from Cahir. "But even though he got an awful shock, he put all that aside, and told me he was still going to back me."