Gina Field’s remarkable journey from being told security was “a man’s job” to becoming a pioneering female patrol officer and founder of Nepean Regional Security is a story of determination, resilience and breaking barriers. Nearly four decades on, Gina continues to lead from the front, building one of Australia’s most awarded security firms while inspiring women to back themselves and pursue the careers they love.
They said it was a man’s job but four decades later I’m still standing
Gina Field, 58, Sydney, NSW. I tightened my grip around the .44 Magnum strapped to my hip.
Inside one of Kings Cross’s busiest brothels, a heavily pregnant woman waited for her next customer.
A creepy bloke grinned at me. “I’ll give you $300 if you keep the gun on while you’re with me,” he propositioned. “Wrong girl,” I shot back.
It was 1989 and, aged 21, I was the only female mobile patrol security guard to work the notorious Cross. It may have been an unorthodox career choice, but I was exactly where I belonged. As a kid, I dreamed of joining the army but at a recruitment day an officer dismissed me.
“The army isn’t for you,” he said. “You’ll be everybody’s doormat.”
Disappointed, I went to work in a hardware store. One regular customer wore a security uniform.
“I’d love to become a security guard,” I told him. “Women don’t do security,” he mocked.
If there was one thing guaranteed to make me do something, it was somebody telling me I couldn’t. So, I enrolled in a course. Back then, it only required two days of training, including basic self-defence and firearms instruction.
At 19, I landed my first job with a security company. I was stationed at Sydney’s AMP Centre, Circular Quay, signing couriers in and out. There were no women’s uniforms, so I was given a pair of men’s trousers that were so tight across my hips I was terrified they’d split if I sat down.
For each 12-hour shift, I stood ramrod straight. At the end of the month, my boss called me into his office. “Congratulations,” he smiled. “You’re Employee of the Month.”
I had to laugh. The only reason I’d maintained my station was because I was terrified of ripping my pants! The company’s mobile patrol officers spent their nights driving all over Sydney, locking businesses, responding to alarms and checking buildings.
“I’d love to do that,” I told one of them. “It’s a man’s job,” he snapped.
I decided to prove him wrong. I found some patrol officers who let me secretly tag along on my nights off, learning every route, gate and alarm code. Then one Friday night I walked into the depot to find it in chaos.
“Everyone’s called in sick!” my manager exploded. “I know the North Sydney run,” I said.
He stared at me, confused. Taking a deep breath, I confessed that I’d been learning it for weeks.
“Grab a gun, but don’t put any bullets in it,” he barked. “Take the patrol car… and expect a written warning!”
Trying not to smile, I grabbed the keys and was alone behind the wheel. One mistake and I’d prove every bloke who’d doubted me right. By sunrise, I’d done the entire shift without missing a thing. Instead of being fired, I was made a permanent mobile patrol officer, the first female in NSW. Now, patrolling Kings Cross, every shift felt like stepping onto the set of a crime movie.
One car stereo shop got broken into every Sunday night so one week I parked around the corner and waited. When the alarm went off, I was there in under two minutes. I burst in just as the burglar scrambled across a rooftop and disappeared. “Damn,” I said. Then I spotted the backpack he’d left behind. Inside, his mum had sewn school name labels onto all his belongings.
The police couldn’t believe it. Neither could his mother when they knocked on her door. The young offender was quickly identified and cautioned. Eventually, I swapped patrolling for bouncing at pubs and clubs around western Sydney.
At one troublesome club, huge male bouncers guarded the entrance, but fights were still a regular occurrence. “Let’s replace the men on the door with women,” I told the female manager. She agreed.
Another female guard and I took over. When troublemakers swaggered towards us, they’d suddenly stop, think twice and quietly walk away. Nobody wanted to be remembered as the bloke who punched a woman – or got beaten by one. After that, the club went 19 months without a single fight.
In 1998, I started my own business, Nepean Regional Security. At first, I did all the bouncing and patrolling by myself. One night, I was pulled over for a random breath test. I passed, but the officer took a shine to me and kept chatting. “You’re holding up the cars!” his sergeant yelled. After that, we continued to cross paths at various security incidents. Our relationship blossomed and in 2006, Paul, 42, and I were married.
Running a 24/7 security business wasn’t always easy on our marriage, but he remained supportive. In 2007, I applied for a tender to provide security for Sydney’s former Olympic venues. At the interview they asked whether I’d managed major events before. “Of course,” I fibbed, winning the contract.
In just six weeks I bought vehicles, recruited staff and organised equipment in time for takeover on New Year’s Eve. As the clock struck midnight, I stood on the bridge proudly overlooking the Sydney International Regatta Centre. Against all odds, I’ve done it, I smiled to myself.
Today, I have 50 staff including Pauline, a powerhouse security guard aged 70. We’ve become one of Australia’s most awarded security firms. In 2026, I was named Penrith Local Woman of the Year and came second in the Women Changing the World Awards for Company of the Year.
People ask if I set out to be a trailblazer for women. But the truth is I didn’t. I simply wanted a job I loved. And after nearly four decades, I still love bouncing and patrolling.
It’s safe to say, the boys never saw this girl coming.”
