To the Daughters of PC Lorne Castle: A Personal Letter from the Founder of ESN Report

To the three daughters of PC Lorne Castle,

You may be too young now to fully understand the storm your family has been caught in, but one day, you will grow older. One day, you might ask questions. And when that time comes, I hope you find this letter. I hope it tells you everything you need to know about your dad.

I served in the police, too. Not in Dorset, but in East London. I spent nine years on a 999 response team with the Metropolitan Police. Your dad and I may never have met, but we wore the same uniform. We swore the same oath. We stood shoulder to shoulder, separated only by geography.

And I want you to know this: if I’d ever found myself in danger, your dad is exactly the kind of officer I’d have wanted beside me. During my time in the Met, I was stabbed in the leg. I had colleagues who were disembowelled by attackers armed with machetes.

I had moments when I thought I would never see my family and friends again. Anyone who has served in the emergency services, on the front line, will be able to relate to these feelings.

I was on duty on the day of the 7/7 terror attacks when evil cowards targeted innocent people across London. I was part of the so-called bomb car that day (c/s '80'), responding to reports of suspect packages in East London during the hours that followed.

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In those moments, when the instinct of most is to run away, police officers and their colleagues in the emergency services run toward the danger. And your dad is exactly the kind of man I would have trusted with my life. He’s the sort of officer I would have picked out of the team on parade without hesitation. The kind I would have wanted in the car next to me as we raced on blue lights into the darkness. Into the unknown. Towards the danger, not away from it. Because officers like him don’t hesitate. They hold the Thin Blue Line. And they do it not for medals or praise, but because it is the right thing to do.

From what I’ve learned about your dad over the last few days since this story broke, and from everything I’ve heard while reporting on what happened to him, including messages from people who’ve worked alongside him, one thing is clear—your dad really is a hero. That word gets used lightly these days, but it fits him in every way. He has saved lives. He pulled people from fast-flowing rivers, including an elderly woman in freezing water. He protected the public from armed and violent individuals. He helped young people find better paths when they were headed down the wrong one.

He did the job with courage, with compassion, and with pride.

It has been six years since I founded ESN Report. I set it up to be a voice for my former colleagues and their families—those who serve in the emergency services and far too often go unheard. In those six years, I’ve watched with growing concern as violent crime rises and public decency declines. But even with all that, I have never seen a former Chief Inspector step forward like this. To see the very person who trained your dad publicly defend him, without hesitation, speaks volumes. It confirms what we already know; your father was, and is, one of the best.

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But, in my opinion, your dad was failed.

He was failed by a system that is supposed to protect people like him. A system that many of us in the emergency services community no longer recognise. He was punished not for breaking the law, not for abuse of power, but for losing his cool in a moment of danger while arresting a knife-carrying teenager who had allegedly assaulted an elderly man and a child. He was dismissed for not showing “courtesy and respect” to someone who posed a real threat.

The truth is, most of us lose our cool at some point, because we’re human. The longer we serve, the more those blue lights take us into people’s darkest hours. Over time, the job gets into your head. It shapes the way you see the world. When you witness the aftermath of yet another stabbing, another broken family, another life ruined by someone who respects no one and nothing, it chips away at something deep inside. And in those moments, your reactions aren’t always textbook—they’re human.

The arrest was lawful. The most serious allegations against your dad were not proven. And yet, he was thrown out of policing. That decision has left many of us not just angry, but ashamed. Ashamed of what policing has become. Ashamed that one of the good ones was discarded so casually by the very institution he served with honour.

But here is what I want you to remember.

Your dad’s name will be remembered not for how his career ended, but for how he lived it. The outpouring of support your family has received is unlike anything I’ve seen in the last few years. Nearly £30,000 has been raised in less than 24 hours by people who believe in your father. By people who want you to know that your dad stood for something better. That he still does.

What happened to your dad reminds me of another moment that stayed with me. A few years ago, a group of TSG (Met Pol) officers were involved in a stop and search that went viral. The footage was taken out of context and amplified by some sections of the mainstream media. Public pressure mounted, and before the facts had even settled, they were removed from their job.

Just like your dad, they were used as sacrificial lambs to appease a very loud, very vocal, but ultimately very small minority in this country who, for reasons of their own, simply do not like the police.

But the public saw through it. The vast majority of law-abiding people in this country stood behind those officers. They made their voices heard, and eventually, those officers were given their jobs back. Whether they choose to return or not is another matter—but the principle stood. Justice was done. And just like in that case, the way your dad has been treated is not just unfair; it is something the country won’t forget. Because the truth has a way of breaking through, no matter how long it takes.

One day, you may have children of your own. And when they ask about their grandfather and his service protecting the public, I hope you tell them he was strong, brave, selfless, and kind. That he stood up when it mattered. That he gave everything for the thin blue line to protect others. And that those who knew him, worked alongside him, and wore the same uniform are proud to say they once carried the same warrant card in their pocket.

Because we are.

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Your dad is a good man. A real police officer. A man defined by courage, integrity, and quiet strength. No dismissal board, no headline written by someone who has never served and never will serve, and no uniform stripped away by a broken system can ever erase that.

Right now, all of us are watching the crowdfunding campaign rise hour by hour.

But it’s not just about money. It’s a symbol. A message. One that says your dad is not alone. That he is supported not only by the emergency services family, but by the vast majority of law-abiding, hard-working British people who are proud of what he stood for. People who see through the anti-police headlines written by anti-police activists and recognise real integrity when they see it.

And when the campaign is over, I truly hope that you, your mum, your dad and your sisters are able to go away somewhere together. I hope you get to spend a couple of quiet, happy weeks simply enjoying each other’s company, away from all of this.

You’ve all been through something no family of someone who risks their life to protect the public should ever have to face.

And it all started because your dad did what good officers do. He stepped up when no one else could. He stayed on past the end of his shift and responded to a 999 call when no one else was available. He went to help members of the public who were scared and needed the police. And for doing that, for showing strength in the face of danger but not showing enough courtesy and respect to the individual (allegedly) responsible for that danger, he was thrown out of the job he gave everything to.

One day, if you ever find yourself in a position of leadership and wonder what it means to lead well, look to your dad. Follow his example, not the example of those who turned their backs on him. Your dad stood up when it counted. He showed courage. That is what real leadership looks like. That is who he is. And that is the man we all stand behind.

With respect and solidarity,

A former constable

Founder and editor of ESN Report