The law lecturer who phoned the guard room said that there was a man in the car park – with enough emphasis on the word “man” to suggest that what they really meant was “potentially violent intruder”.

The lecturer was working alone in a remote office block. My supervisor and I attended and discovered an external bin store being held shut from the inside. On forcing it open, an agitated-looking gentleman jumped out. Under one arm he was clutching a box of Nike Jordans. In his free hand he was waving a used intravenous needle. 

That was my most recent encounter with a weapon: a topic given a lot of national airtime recently following a series of high-profile violent assaults in public.

Last month’s disturbing attack on rail staff and passengers in Cambridgeshire was met by calls by some for security on trains to be stepped up – even though train executives stated that improving security was .

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Even if there were security guards, could they be expected to tackle a man wielding a large knife unless they themselves were armed? And would that be appropriate?

That question is also very relevant to higher education given the stabbing of a 17-year-old boy on the campus of University College Birmingham. Luckily, however, a university  that the incident was “managed swiftly” by its unarmed staff. I say luckily in part because the boy’s injuries were but also because the various medical kits, body-worn cameras and notepads I have to carry mean I’m running out of pocket space on my protective vest.

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But as we guards hold no more powers than any other UK citizen, it may be worth other university staff reminding themselves when it’s appropriate to phone security – and when phoning the emergency services directly might make a life-saving difference.

Fortunately, the majority of the code reds that occur on campus are non-life-threatening and non-criminal. We’ve recently been responding to an increase in  suffered by students, for instance. The initial treatment for this is straightforward: get your work fleece under the casualty’s head to prevent convulsive injury, loosen any tight clothing and phone 999 if the episode lasts for longer than five minutes.

A voluntary fourth step involves giving thanks that the casualty is experiencing a manageable medical condition and that, as a guard, you’re not instead trying to guess which illicit substance they’ve consumed. All too often, it is the thrill-seekers who roll back onto campus at 7am who require the swiftest medical attention.

Sometimes when I’m patrolling the sports science block I’ll hear students talking about taking their own steps to protect against sudden violence, debating which is the most practical martial art to take up. Should they join the BJJ (Brazilian Ju-Jitsu) society and master grappling? The Krav Maga group for a quick takedown? Or should they sign up to the local boxing gym and focus on achieving a knockout?

I get in a similar muddle when deciding which first aid equipment to carry at the start of each shift. But the one item I always make sure to carry is plaster as these have been proving very useful recently – typically deployed when students misread the sizing when they ordered their new shoes. I replenish my plaster stock from a box of junior animal edition Elastoplast that I keep at home. This means that any 20-year-olds who run up to me with a blister, small bleed or eyebrow threading accident get a choice of either Chris the crocodile, Jenny the giraffe or Harold the heroic horse.

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But some incidents are much more serious and require a debate over whether to involve the authorities. In one such recent incident, a student had been sexually assaulted off campus. She’d come to us for advice on what to do next. We took details, reassuring her she was now safe and explained that she would be supported whether she decided to go to the police or not.

At the same time, a lecturer walking across the city got punched by a student with whom he’d previously disagreed and who was suffering from mental health issues. The victim set off his emergency alert app; once we’d ensured he was OK we wrote a report, which was passed up the line.

Both incidents tested my own preferred martial art: VJJ, or verbal ju-jitsu. Although I know how to look after myself physically and am not afraid to use reasonable force if required, I’d sooner talk things out than fight them out. Especially if I’ve got a crowd around me.

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Facing a single aggressor can be just as tricky, as my supervisor and I found while the intruder with the used needle tried to chase us around the car park. Once we decided he wasn’t listening, we phoned the police. They convinced the gentleman – with Tasers drawn – to drop the syringe.

The officers then peered inside the box of trainers he’d been carrying. The receipt and wrapping paper were still inside but, frustrated that he couldn’t make an arrest for trespass or threatening violence, one officer phoned the local sportswear outlet anyway. They confirmed that the intruder had indeed just bought his trainers there. 

Then the officer explained to the intruder that this was proof that he’d been in the city centre and, therefore, had breached his banning order. He was arrested and the receipt was taken as evidence – proof that paperwork can sometimes be the deadliest weapon of all.

George Bass is a security guard at a UK university. He is the author of , which will be published in May by Little, Brown.

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