As the festive season swings into action clubs and pubs across the country are packing in the punters, with Britain’s army of bouncers at the ready, watching for signs of trouble. But when things get ugly on the dance floor, who’s watching them?  

Words by Michelle Stiles

(First published in Stranger issue 12, November 2006)

When it comes to bouncers, everyone seems to have an opinion. And often, it’s a negative one. When I mentioned to friends that I was writing this feature, comments like “Watch your back” and “Careful what you write” came thick and fast. The stereotype of door staff as knuckle-dragging thugs who punch first and ask questions later seems engrained in our collective psyche.
But is this a fair picture? Over the last few years, the security industry has made a concerted effort to clean up its act. When the government put tackling alcohol-related violence at the top of its ‘to do’ list a few years back, it decided that the (then unregulated) security industry needed a makeover. Under the 2001 Private Security Industry Act it established a new regulatory body, the Security Industry Authority (SIA), tasked with bringing in a national licensing system to weed out the ‘small criminal element’ that was giving the industry a bad name. It’s now illegal to work as a door supervisor (which in case you’re wondering is the politically correct term for bouncer) unless you have a valid SIA licence. To get one, applicants must undertake thirty hours of training and pass two exams, plus a criminal records check (which they or their employers must pay for, at around £400 - £500 a head).

Robert Buxton, Head of Media Relations at the SIA, believes that the licensing scheme has radically improved the industry. “You’re always going to get bad apples, and we know that still goes on, but more often now we’re seeing door supervisors described as door staff, door men or door supervisors, rather than bouncers. The perception is changing and the way people work is changing.”

Sue Edwards, a licensing officer with Cornwall and Devon Police, also believes the SIA training has been a success. “Ten or fifteen years ago, there were some very unsuitable bouncers. These days, the majority of door staff are very professional. Most work closely with the police; in fact yesterday I publicly praised the staff from one local club for assisting the police with an incident that was happening out on the street.” 

Unfortunately, there are some critics within the industry who see things differently. Jon Adams, a security administrator who has worked in the field for 27 years, believes that while the SIA licensing scheme was a great idea in principal, in reality it’s done nothing to improve standards, not least because – unbelievably – the obligatory training doesn’t include first aid or physical restraint techniques. “The training is totally inadequate,” he says. “The licensing system is just a money-making exercise for the SIA. The industry could have been improved simply by better policing and bigger fines or sentences for people who crossed the line. The criminal records checks have weeded out some of the old style thugs, but there are plenty of people who use heavy handed tactics who’ve never been prosecuted for it and are still working.”



Eleanor, a 24-year-old student who recently witnessed a particularly nasty incident in Cornwall, can vouch for this. “I was walking through town and came across a fight outside a bar. A male bouncer had a woman pinned down on the road and was hitting her in the face. Two other bouncers got him off her, but then they let him go and he started hitting her again. Some people tried to help the woman, but the bouncers started laying into them as well, and it turned into one big fight, until the police arrived. I felt the other bouncers had no real concern for this woman – they all knew each other and were just looking out for themselves. It was disgusting.”

She was so disturbed by the incident that she phoned the police afterwards to find out whether the man would be prosecuted. “Apparently he was a licensed door supervisor from a takeaway up the road. It was all caught on CCTV, and he had his licence revoked so he couldn’t work anymore, but in the end he wasn’t prosecuted because no one would come forward.”

So when push comes to shove on a Friday night, should we be running towards the men (and occasionally, women) in black for help, or walking briskly in the opposite direction? Getting an opinion from the horse’s mouth isn’t easy. Most door supervisors aren’t exactly falling over themselves to talk to the media. Fortunately, a friend of a friend introduces me to his dad, Trevor, who’s been a door supervisor for 40 years. We meet in a local bar. Trevor’s a well built fellow, but that, in my opinion, is where the stereotype ends. He’s a jovial, articulate Cornishman with a twinkle in his eye, and full of tall tales about his time in the industry. He works regularly as a head doorman at a club in Cornwall, and runs his own security business employing around 70 people. He organises security for the Eden sessions, and has worked many of the main events on the festival calendar.

In between anecdotes, Trevor becomes very serious, very quickly, when discussing certain aspects of his profession (it’s also clear he’s never quite off duty – he’s constantly glancing around the room to check what’s going on). Door staff, he explains, are cagey about revealing their identities to the media for good reason. “Years ago when the SIA licensing was coming in, I appeared in a TV programme about the industry with a male and female colleague. I wouldn’t give my full name,” he says, “but my colleagues did and afterwards the woman got two death threats. You have to understand, we’re dealing with some dangerous people – criminals, drug dealers. Even now, when I get home in my car, I have a quick look around before I get out.”

Over the years, he’s witnessed all manner of nasty incidents: “One of the worst things was a double glassing. They took me into the room and I couldn’t tell if the person was a man or a woman.” Trevor himself has had glass shattered in his face, a finger nearly bitten off, and been held at knifepoint. He was once knocked unconscious by members of the National Front in the Whirlygig tent at Womad: “The doctor said I had to rest for 48 hours so I went off and laid down under a tree for a doze. I’d been laying there for about two hours when I got bitten by an adder and had to go straight back to casualty!”

Like Jon, Trevor admits there are some people who shouldn’t be in the business. “A lot of door supervisors are too quick to judge people,” he says carefully. When I ask him if he’s ever lost his temper with someone on the job, he thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t think I ever really have,” he says. “If you’re working properly in a team, there’s always someone else there who can step in to help. There’s no need to get angry.”  So what motivates him to do what is often a pretty horrific job? “I like helping people,” he says simply. And though he’s clearly a man that wouldn’t take any nonsense from anyone, I believe him. In fact I think Trevor is a genuinely good bloke. That said, I’m not at all convinced that all door supervisors are like Trevor.