On watch as young cut loose in studentville

Campus Watch team member Garry McLennan is popular with the students. Mr McLennan poses with Ruby...
Campus Watch team member Garry McLennan is popular with the students. Mr McLennan poses with Ruby van Boheemen (19) in Castle St on Wednesday night. Photos by Gregor Richardson.
Revellers get warmed up to party in Castle St on Wednesday night.
Revellers get warmed up to party in Castle St on Wednesday night.
Revellers party at a flat on Dundas St on Wednesday night.
Revellers party at a flat on Dundas St on Wednesday night.
Campus Watch team member Simon Dixon tends to a vandalised tree in Castle St.
Campus Watch team member Simon Dixon tends to a vandalised tree in Castle St.
Revellers gather in Castle St on Wednesday night.
Revellers gather in Castle St on Wednesday night.

The student quarter forms the backbone of Dunedin - economically and socially. But a community of 20,000 packed like sardines has its drawbacks. ODT reporter Timothy Brown spends a night with those charged with policing ''studentville''.

It's a Wednesday night and Castle St, in North Dunedin, seethes and pulses shortly before midnight.

As the rest of Dunedin sleeps, dimly lit figures gather in clusters.

Music floats over from a nearby flat, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass as another bottle hits the asphalt.

There's no sign of violence but in a way these young adults are fighting for the twilight of youth.

The grizzled and disappointed lectures the current crop of students face from their elders tell them it will soon be too late.

The moment will pass, a future of nine-to-fives will arrive and nights on the street will fade to nostalgic memory.

Campus Watch team members Drew Hendry, a former policeman, and Garry McLennan, a Northern Irish expat, are the Otago Daily Times' tour guides through ''student wonderland''.

As they walk the beat on Castle St, the shadowy figures close in and become animated.

Offering assurances and ''pinky promises'', it's clear that students not only appreciate the services of Campus Watch's members, they seek to please them.

''We do a bit of pinky promising,'' Mr Hendry says, with a laugh, after a young woman offers her pinky as an assurance that it is a need for rest - and not alcohol - that has led her to prop herself against a kerb.

''It's as if some of them see us as their fathers in Dunedin.''

Mr Hendry has seen North Dunedin transition from a suburb with a university to the heart and soul of student living in New Zealand.

A few hardy permanent residents remain, scattered among the flats which provide the backdrop to a week-long party of late-teens and early-20-somethings.

''Quite a few locals live down here and they don't seem to mind,'' Mr Hendry says.

But they are never far from someone who has overimbibed and is ready to make a poor decision.

A bang and a crumpling of metal can be heard about a block away.

''Ah, who did that?'' Mr Hendry says.

University of Otago deputy proctor Andrew Ferguson, who is out with Mr Hendry and Mr McLennan, leads the charge down the street and finds a suddenly philosophical and repentent ''non-student''.

Following a conversation with Mr Ferguson, Mr Hendry and Mr McLennan, the young man - whose staggered, scrapping steps could be heard a block away a moment before - is upright and straight in gait.

Comforted by friends and head in hands, the young man says: ''I don't know. To be - I just don't know.''

Mr Ferguson explains: ''He did a bit of a commando roll over the top of [a car].''

It is these spur-of-the-moment, ill-conceived decisions which result in most students' visits to the proctor's office on Friday, Saturday and Sunday mornings.

''We don't see many [students] twice,'' Mr Ferguson says.

''The ones we do see twice we will probably see more than twice.''

And those troublemakers can act as the catalyst for disorder in New Zealand's only residential student community.

''It's the perfect storm, for good and bad,'' Mr Ferguson says, of the student quarter.

''It's the ideal place to be a student, but it has an inherent risk of antisocial behaviour.''

The proctor's office is responsible for dishing out punishment, from fines and community service to passing students further up the chain, for university and polytechnic students, and those living in the student quarter.

Campus Watch acts as the proctor's eyes on the street.

Any who overstep their mandate for fun are given the option - visit the proctor or the matter is referred to police, Mr Ferguson says.

Most, if not all, elect for the proctor.

''We would love nothing more than to deal with no-one for nothing,'' Mr Ferguson says, with a wry grin.

''But will that happen?''

He pauses for a moment: ''Who knows?''

Probably surprisingly to an outsider, it is not the youngest members of the student community causing issue for the proctor's office.

''There's very few, if any, first-year students living on Castle St or Hyde St,'' Mr Ferguson says.

''The colleges give exceptional pastoral care and we have very few problems with first-year students - second-years are our bread and butter.''

However, Mr Ferguson stresses that the young adults are good people and the sense of community only exists because they take care of each other.

''When we see them the next day, they are very apologetic for whatever it is they might have done,'' he says.

''They just get caught up in what's going on around them.''

The fun-loving and friendly attitude is personified by students' and Campus Watch's interactions.

''Garry,'' one student yells, as she runs to wrap her arms around Mr McLennan.

The Campus Watch team members are known by their first names and are minor celebrities in the student quarter.

''They are great people,'' Mr McLennan says, of the students.

''They treat me just like their daddy.''

And the goodwill is mutual.

''Campus Watch are really good,'' Castle St resident Isabelle Bennington (19) says.

''They came around with brooms the other day for us to clean up our party.''

Midnight is approaching and though the street is still alive, the playful mood is petering and bodies - tired by alcohol and the hour - are shuffling away.

''This was a really fun party,'' Miss Bennington says, checking her cellphone.

''But I'm off to bed in 40 minutes.''

She, like the proctor, has somewhere to be in the morning.

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