Reasonable (?) Force

My late dad used to recount the occasion when, in his late teens or early twenties, living in Perth, Western Australia, he and his brother - a couple of years older than him - apprehended a would-be burglar. This was in about the early 1930s.

It was a frosty winter's morning - still dark - though being Perth, it was not too cold for Dad and his brother to sleep out on the verandah of their parents' home. They also had five sisters, asleep in the house besides their parents.

Both Dad and his brother were very fit. They played Australian Rules Football in a premier league. As it happened, Dad was temporarily lame, having recently suffered a corked thigh - seriously painful and somewhat debilitating. His brother, however, slightly shorter and lighter than Dad, was completely sound of limb, extremely lithe and agile.

Both young men were experienced pugilists - one-to-one fist fights were a common form of recreation amongst lads of their generation in WA.

When the incident happened, just before dawn, they awoke to the sound of someone slipping surreptitiously out the back door. The individual sped across the backyard - it was obviously not one of the household heading for the outside loo and it was sufficiently light to discern that the figure was a male stranger.

The intruder began to climb over the wrought iron fence at the border of the yard.

By now, both Dad and his brother were fully awake and understandably enraged by the intrusion, especially in view of the potential danger to their mother and sisters.

Dad could do little except hobble across the lawn in his pyjamas, shouting indignation, "roaring like a bull," he called it.

His uninjured brother, however, closed very quickly on the quarry.

"Theo took a running jump at this bloke," said Dad, "and landed square on the centre of his back with both feet and spread him all over the wrought iron fence. Imagine colliding with a wrought iron fence on a frosty morning!"

The melee didn't end there.

"Theo pinioned this chap's arms behind his back," Dad continued, "and shouted at me, "I'll hold him, you belt him!"

"But I was too kind," said Dad. Being an amateur boxer, he decided to observe the Marquis of Queensbury Rules and regard the caught felon as 'down for the count' - which he was, effectively, being still groggy from his violent impact with the aforesaid wrought iron fence.

The commotion was such that it had aroused the entire family household, along with those of the neighbours. The local police were duly summoned and the intruder marched off to the cells.

No mention was ever made of any 'criminals' rights' having been violated. Such did not exist in those days.

To the best of my knowledge, no-one ever attempted to burgle my dad's family home again. I guess word got around that it was not a viable project.

I think my dad's family's only other encounter with the law was when his dad, my grandfather, spent a night in gaol after his arrest for beating up two Perth detectives. The crime was probably alcohol related. My grandfather was a WW1 veteran who took to drink after his return from the Western Front. According to my dad, he consumed "a bottle of whisky a day."

As Solomon said, Proverbs 20:1, "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging; and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise."