Hundreds Of Met Officers Declared Their Freemason Membership

Let’s be honest, when you hear “Freemason,” your brain probably goes straight to a dusty basement, a secret handshake that feels like a confused worm, and old men in funny aprons. I know mine does. So, when news broke that hundreds of Metropolitan Police officers have officially declared their Freemason membership, it felt less like a scandal and more like discovering your friendly postman moonlights as a magician. It’s just... weirdly specific. You half-expect them to hand you a parking ticket and a tiny, cryptic coin.

Wait, My Mate Dave Is a Mason?

Imagine the scene at the station canteen. You’re gossiping about the dodgy kebab van, and your colleague Dave suddenly adjusts his tie and says, “Actually, I can’t discuss that—I have lodge tonight.” You’d choke on your tea. It’s like finding out your school teacher was a champion gamer on weekends. The whole thing feels hilariously out of step with a modern police force that deals with TikTok crimes and electric scooters.

These officers aren’t villains in a spy movie. They’re the same people who struggle with the new filing system. Now, they also have a secret fraternity where they probably grumble about traffic cones in a coded tongue. It’s honestly a bit adorable, if you ignore the conspiracy theories.

The big question everyone asks is, does this mean secret favors? Like, will a Masonic bobby let you off a speeding ticket if you know the secret grip? Probably not. Most Masons are just blokes who like charity dinners and bad jokes. It’s basically the Dad-Joke Club for aging bureaucrats.

The Handshake That Broke the Force

Think about the awkwardness. Two officers meet at a burglary. One gives the other a very specific look. The second officer thinks, “Is he having a stroke? Should I do the Heimlich?” Meanwhile, the first officer is just trying to establish lodge credentials. It’s the workplace equivalent of trying to use a secret password at a coffee shop that doesn’t exist.

You can almost hear the internal chat. “I’m not saying he got promoted because of his apron size, but... his apron is suspiciously large.” It’s the same energy as when your mate says his cousin can get you concert tickets. You smile, but you know it’s never that simple. Still, the scandal feels less “deep state” and more “deeply awkward staff party.”

Look, I’ve seen the documentaries. They have rituals with compasses and a giant book. But put it in a police context. Imagine Sergeant Smith, after a long shift, putting on a funny hat and reciting vows. Then he goes home to a packet of crisps and Antiques Roadshow. It’s all a bit silly, isn’t it?

Why Should We Care About the Apron Brigade?

Honestly, the biggest risk here isn’t corruption—it’s the sheer cringe factor. Imagine being arrested by a Mason. He handcuffs you, then whispers, “Don’t worry, brother, I’ll look after you.” You’d be too confused to be scared. It’s like being pulled over by your own weird uncle.

For most of us, the only thing we care about is if a police officer will actually show up when we call. I don't care if they’ve been “raised to the third degree” as long as they don’t put me on hold for an hour. It’s like finding out your plumber is also a knight. It’s interesting trivia, but I still need my leak fixed.

The real joke is that the force probably thought this declaration would clear the air. Instead, it just made everyone picture their local beat cop giving a presentation on “The Symbolism of the Trowel” at a community meeting. It’s not a threat; it’s a tactical cringe.

The Takeaway: It’s Just a Club for Grandads

So, hundreds of Met officers are Freemasons. Big deal. I bet a hundred more are members of a birdwatching society or a competitive ironing league. The human need for a secret group with a stupid name is universal. We all have our weird cliques. Your WhatsApp group for book club is basically a lodge with fewer aprons.

The only difference is that the Met’s lodge has a fancy name and a historic building. My lodge is called “The Living Room Couch” and runs on wine. So, let’s not panic. Let’s just laugh. Next time you see a police officer, give them a very serious nod, tap your nose twice, and see what happens.

If they tap back, well, now you’re in the club. If they just ask for your ID, you’ve had a lovely, confusing moment. And honestly, in this grim world, a little weirdness is good for the soul. Just don’t ask them about the secret handshake; they’re saving that for the pub.