• Wendy Wilkins

Exciting news my memoir, Sex, Love & Cops just hit Number 1 on Amazon Bestsellers… If you get a chance check out this weekend I have a FREE promotion on amazon kindle where you can grab a copy, yes for FREE, it also has a bonus chapter about The first major bombing I was in the middle of and more about my time at The Police Academy and how I felt about being a cop and why I joined… Please let me know what you think and if you would like to see this made into a TV series … by the way I think we need to shine more light on all these issues that haven’t changed that much since I was a cop!

I hope we can live in a world where all police are fair and good, the color of your skin doesn’t define you, females and males are treated equally in the workforce and true love lasts forever.

Available to download for free this weekend only https://www.amazon.com/Sex-Love-Cops-Wendy-Wilkins-ebook/dp/B07NWY9R6K

This is not helpful, it has made things worse.

It was more than twenty years ago I was a young cop on the streets. Much like the military services, the more junior you are, you are on the frontlines in battle, so we saw it all. When you call 911 the first on the scene is the uniformed cops and then if it is a murder, or a serious assault, or armed robbery, you call in the Detectives. I was 19 years old and I stopped answering people that asked “What do you do?” and mostly when I said “I was a cop” got the answer “I hate cops”.

When I asked why? The answers varied from “Because I got a speeding fine” to unfair treatment.


I was Twenty years old and full of excitement as I arrived at South Melbourne police station for the tour of my first training station. I was greeted by the ‘local mentally unstable but harmless man’, who every morning when the Constable on duty that day went out front to raise the flag, he would wait for the occasion, salute, and then be on his way.

From the outside the police station looked very nice, bright fresh white paint, a two story spanish mission looking building with a pretty little garden, green lawn and flagpole out front.

Not so nice on the inside. I was shown around. At ‘the watch house’, where prisoners were entered into ‘the watch house book’, I noticed dried splattered blood on the pages. There were two holding cells, stark concrete, heavy bars, two iron beds with thin mattresses, folded heavy grey blanket and thin pillow on each. A dull silver toilet base in the back with a roll of toilet paper sitting below on the floor. No privacy. It began to sink in, what I had actually signed up to do and I had to give myself ‘a good internal talking to’. “What did you think it was going to be like? This is the real deal, so you better get on with it.”

Our first afternoon shift I was on the Divisional van with a Senior Constable and our first order of the day was to serve a warrant for arrest in the local high rise commission flats. (Social welfare housing). As we pulled up to the high rise low income buildings , the SC said , “Never park in the driveway.” “Why not?” I asked. He said, “We will get pelted with pot plants and whatever else they can throw down on us and also wear your hat in the elevator.”

“Why?” I asked. “Because when they see us coming they put spit on the inside roof of it to fall on our heads.” This location I ended up visiting many times for various reasons, calls to domestics, more warrant serving etc.

I also worked with a cop who immigrated from Sri Lanka with his family. He looked more like a hot male model from GQ Magazine than a cop. We became good friends, and once when driving past this building he said, “That’s where I first lived with my family when I came to Australia”.

I had only been out of the Academy a few weeks when I got my first punch in the face and it was by a woman!

It was Melbourne Cup day, the horse race that “stops the nation” and a public holiday. Even if you don’t bet on the horses normally, most people are in some sort of office sweep for this race.

I had just started day shift and it was only 10am when we got a call to go one of the local pubs to assist with a drunken woman customer. On the way to the pub, the Senior Constable driving informed me that “Women drunks are the worst”. I should have paid more attention. Upon arrival at the local pub the Bar Manager pointed out to a woman,in her 50’s, teetering on a bar stool, a bag of groceries at her feet. “She’s wet herself too.” My partner, nodded and muttered “Charming” as we approached her. He seemed to know who she was and said to the disheveled woman with a beehive hair do and lipstick smudged above her top lip, “C’mon Annie, you’re starting a bit early today!”. As we helped, Annie out of the pub and into the divisional van she slurred at us, “Mee Grocereezz”. I retrieved them for her, broken eggs and all and popped them in the van too.

When we arrived back at the station I stood by her helping her to stand as the watch house sergeant entered her details in the watch house book saying, “You can just sleep it off here for a few hours and you will be as good as gold.” Then to me said “Search her pockets.” As I motioned to do so, Annie pulled away from me, clenched her fist and punched me full force in the cheek. I reeled backwards into the wall and think I actually saw stars like in a TV cartoon.

Annie ended up being my first court case also. She was charged with ‘assault police’ and it turns out she was one of the oldest prostitutes in town and she had about fifteen pages of prior convictions.

The day I went to court as I got up and began to give my ‘evidence’ as to what occurred, she had a huge fake coughing fit and the Judge had to call a short recess. When Annie finally got up to give her story she told the judge that I stole $50 from her and that she only ‘accidentally brushed my cheek’. I was furious and mortified at her blatant lies but all the other cops in court that day thought it was hilarious free entertainment.

It was a great lesson to learn though, before that I thought women didn’t punch people, but from that day on I was very wary and managed to avoid getting punched again.

This is an excerpt from Sex, Love & Cops Order my memoir “Sex, Love & Cops” now at Amazon prime http://bit.ly/sexloveandcops

Things haven’t changed that much since then.

With the recent “Defund police” cries, coming from a voice of actually having been on the streets and risking life cops and military should be paid more, not less!! Instead of “defunding” , better educating, more female cops and higher pay would make a positive difference. Cops that use undue force and prejudice should not be cops. Generally females don’t lead with violence.

Did you know that female officers make up less than 12.8 percent of the numbers?* I am speaking from experience and most of the time was able to talk through a situation, instead of leading with force. I knew I was not physically as strong as most of the men I worked with, however I was able, through communicating clearly to detain several suspected criminals who were double my weight and twice my size.

Who else thinks there should be more female cops?

*Source: Gender distribution of full-time U.S. law enforcement employees 2019 Published by Erin Duffin, Oct 1, 2020 statista.com

  • Wendy Wilkins

"Driving down Fitzroy St, it was very quiet, all the restaurants and hotels closed. No one on the sidewalks." [Excerpt from "Sex, Love & Cops"]

I was the senior person on the van, at twenty five years old with my brand new trainee by my side, Ed, who was twenty five himself. We were on an early morning shift. It was 7.30 am a crisp Sunday spring morning and the sea mist had just lifted to expose a beautiful blue sky.

Driving down Fitzroy St, it was very quiet, all the restaurants and hotels closed. No one on the sidewalks.

I noticed further down the street a man walking by himself and as we got closer I could see he was an Aboriginal, looking around hesitantly, as he carried a large object. I pulled the van up beside him and motioned to Ed, my partner, the trainee, to hop out with me.

“Good morning,” I said. “What brings you out and about so early and what do you have there with you?”

The Aboriginal man held his hands behind his back, seemingly hiding something.

“Let’s see it,” I said. Finally, he showed us. It was a large, professional, expensive-looking camera.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“Found it,” he said.

“What’s your name?” “Simon Black,” he said.

We both raised our eyebrows at this. An Aboriginal called Black. That’s a first.

“Okay, Simon, we will hang on to the camera for now. Hop in the back of the van and we are going down the station for a chat.” Slowly, but obediently, he got in the back of the van.

As we drove towards the station I called into the back of the van.

“Simon, by the time we get back to the station I want to know how and where you stole that camera from, okay?”

My new trainee whispered “Aren’t we supposed to read him his rights, say “You are not obliged to say anything unless —.”

“That’s only in the movies, and besides we haven’t arrested him yet,” I replied.

My trainee got a huge crush on me that day. He thought I was ‘a super cop’ because it turned out in fact that Simon had just climbed into a lovely Stkilda home’s open window about an hour earlier and taken the camera from the coffee table of a local resident.

There was a label attached to the camera with the name of the owner. When we called him, he had just woken up and said “yes the camera belonged to him.” He went into his lounge room and was shocked to find out that a man had been wandering around his house while he was asleep an hour earlier.

I knew I had just got lucky seeing him walking along the street with the camera, it just didn’t fit the picture.

I said, “Okay Simon I know you have done at least three other burglaries recently. Why don’t you tell me about them?” And he actually did!

We spent the afternoon driving around the streets as he pointed out houses that he had burgled and we solved a number of crimes that day. Simon Black pointed out houses he had stolen VCRS, TV sets, boombox radios, etc. In total, six houses and he also gave up his ‘fence’, the guy who got rid of these stolen goods for him.

As we began the interrogations, our local detectives paid a visit. They normally take over at this stage but they said, “You can do this one because Simon has been in and out of jail many times and normally says nothing at all when he’s arrested so you go for it.”

I asked Simon later why he told me everything and he said, “cause I didn’t give him a wack across the ears and I talked nice to him.”

There was a group of local homeless Aborigines at that time that congregated in the Cattani Gardens by the foreshore and drank copious amounts of cheap alcohol out of brown paper bags and then fell asleep in the grass. Most were harmless and just displaced citizens.

The history of the Aboriginals in Australia and the way they were treated is not something our country should be proud of.

They are a nomadic people that were introduced to western ways through alcohol, disease and attempts to urbanize. Generally aborigines are alcohol intolerant which also doesn’t help.

Around the time of arresting Simon there was a huge national incident that made the front page of every newspaper.

There was a local trendy bar in Fitzroy Street, named the ‘Cattani Bar’ just like the local park at the foreshore at the end of the street. The owner refused to serve a man he thought was one of the local homeless Aboriginal drunks and sent him out of his bar. Unfortunately, the owner did not recognize this slightly drunk Aboriginal who just happened to be a famous Aboriginal singer with a number one hit record.

The singer made a national incident out of it and a few weeks later the bar was closed for good.

*This is an excerpt from Sex, Love & Cops.

Order my memoir “Sex, Love & Cops” now at Amazon prime