Police Life - Working Radar

Marconi Radar System

When I worked radar detecting speeding vehicles in the mid-70s, we used Marconi static radar equipment.

At left is a more modern version than we used. Ours was a grey box with four legs that sat on the side of the road and cast a radar beam at 45 degrees forward across the road. It had a round dial with speeds from zero to about 140 km/hr.

When we began our shift, we'd pick up a police vehicle, a 12 v battery (same as a car battery), the Marconi set, a spool with several hundred metres of dual-core cable, an office chair, and an audio box. It was fairly primitive.

When we chose a scene, we'd set everything up and then drive our police car through the radar beam at 60 and 80 km/hr to check that the radar was working correctly.

We'd roll out the dual-core cable to the place where we would stop offenders, and hook it up to the audio speaker.

Then we'd get to work. We'd hide the vehicle and a sergeant would operate the Marconi.

When a vehicle exceeded the speed limit by over 10 km, the sergeant would say something like, "74 on the green Mazda". We'd walk out onto the road and signal the driver to stop.

We'd then advise the driver we had detected a breach of the speed limit and issue a Traffic Offence Notice (TON).

It was a pretty ordinary job, but occasionally we'd get to chat with lovely young women, arrest drink drivers and people who abused us, and occasionally have a laugh at someone else's expense.

We worked with one sergeant who, on evening shifts, always brought a briefcase with him. He said it was his paperwork, but it weighed a tonne on the rare occasions we could actually pick it up - he was very defensive of his briefcase. Inside were three or four bottles of beer - 750 ml bottles.

While we wrote out TONs, he'd be sitting in the dark drinking beer.

Every few shifts, we'd see a vehicle approaching that was obviously doing well over the speed limit and we'd hear nothing on our audio. We'd press our audio button and ask, "Are you there serge?" No answer.

We'd leave it for a few minutes thinking our colleague may have taken a walk to urinate. We'd call again. Still no answer.

One of us would walk the 300 m back to the sergeant only to find him asleep with no evidence of the empty beer bottles which he would have thrown into the scrub. We'd wake him up and get back to work until he told us to pack up.

One day we tied a log to the audio cable after we'd told the sergeant on audio to wind in the cable. He wasn't impressed at having dragged a large log 300 m, but eventually saw the funny side.

Another day one of our teams tied a stray dog to the cable. It was pretty unhappy by the time it had been pulled 300 m by a force it didn't quite understand and then had to confront a pissed-off sergeant. 

When we worked one Christmas Day the serge told us he didn't want to write too many tickets just concentrate on really fast speeding. "After all, it was Christmas", he said.

There was very little traffic about, but one driver we had to pull up - 25 km over the speed limit. The sergeant told us to ask him hadn't he seen the radar set and give him a ticket for 10 km over which was less expensive. So we did that.

When we reported to the sergeant that he'd not seen the Marconi, the sergeant pulled it closer to the edge of the road. As expected, we never got to write another ticket for the day.

His strategy of kindness at Christmas worked well.

Next edition - lending a hand.

Robin

Even King Arthur had bad hair days

If you're suffering from lockdown syndrome, about to kick the cat or tell your partner to stop whining, and a bit down in the dumps, think of King Arthur to whom Merlin gave this advice:

I studied Timothy White while doing year 12 English what now seems a thousand years ago. This was one of my all-time favourite quotations.

Stay well and be happy.

Robin

Being "Vagged" under the "Vagrants, Gaming and Other Offences Act"

In the previous post I mentioned what happened with one habitual and invariable drunkard I encountered during my police training.

It was largely a waste of time and effort processing drunks, however, the principle was that we were keeping them safe if they weren't on the street where they could walk into the path of an oncoming vehicle or fall into a duck pond or something deeper. They'd sleep it off overnight and be back out on the streets around 11 am the following day looking for their first drink.

The VAG Act as the above act was referred to allowed police to arrest a vagrant, variously defined as a person who had no lawful means of support. The courts would usually sentence them to about 14 days detention.

Just before Christmas and Easter, we would round up the drunks we knew were as regular as clockwork and if they couldn't provide an address and had little money in their possession, we'd VAG them instead of charging them with drunkenness.

It meant that the homeless, sad souls whom we arrested would spend time in a warm or cool cell (depending on the season) and be fortunate to get a good Christmas or Easter Dinner and clean themselves up with a shower or two.

The break from alcohol no doubt also helped their overworked livers and kidneys and was a break from the usual rollercoaster ride of drunk - almost sober - drunk - almost sober that was their lifestyle.

I like to drink a beer or two, but I could never understand how anyone could simply drink themselves into a stupor day after day. They seemed mainly to consist of WWII veterans and later some much younger Vietnam Veterans who had given up on life but couldn't seem to end theirs. So sad.

Robin

Police Life - The Habitual Drunkard

Although I had several years of policing experience, after I completed my initial training at the Police Academy, I had to spend another six months on rotation through several police stations to continue training before being assigned to a permanent station.

Everyone in those days started at the bottom as a rookie, despite my being the only one of our course of 20 having prior police experience.

The first station I got transferred to was in an upmarket suburb south of Brisbane next to a huge shopping centre.

A Sergeant First Class was in charge. He was a tad humourless but didn't drink at work and ran a tight ship. After introducing me to other officers, he assigned me to the front desk on reception duties. Most of my time was spent writing stock permits, typing up driver's licence renewals, inspecting motor vehicle roadworthiness and engine numbers and, handling various public enquiries.

One day we received a call from the public to advise us a drunk person was sleeping on the seat at a bus stop. A senior constable who had over 10 years of service was assigned the task and he took me with him. We had known each other for a few weeks and got on quite well. I was always pleased to get out of the office.

The bus stop was only half a kilometre from the station. We parked in the bus zone and inspected the drunk male who was probably in his 60s. His accompanying bottle of happiness was a common brand called Masarla and it seemed that after about one-third of a bottle and he was happy enough to sleep. 

We arrested the drunk for the heinous offence of "drunk and incapable in a public place" under an Act assented to in the Thirties called, "The Vagrants, Gaming and Other Offences Act" and loaded the drunk into our patrol van.

We drove to the Police Watchhouse at South Brisbane and offloaded and processed our drunk knowing that he would appear before a magistrate the following morning and get a $1 fine and be released. We drove back to our station.

A couple of days passed and another call about a drunkard came. This time, a drunken male was lying on the footpath outside a small general store. The senior constable and I once again made the trip this time to the shop. Much to our surprise, it was the same man and another bottle of Marsala with about two-thirds remaining.

We did the long trip to the watchhouse and back and my colleague said to me, "If this prick turns up again, I'll take him out and shoot him."

Three or four days went by and yes, you guessed it, another call from a disgruntled driver who got out of her car to go into a shop and a drunken male had moved into the passenger seat. Could we please help?

Off we went. And again the Marsala drinking drunk sat leaning in front of us again. We removed him from the woman's car, much to her delight, and once again lifted the drunk into our patrol van.

I was driving and when I headed down the shortest route to the watchhouse, my senior colleague told me to take an alternative route and pointed in the direction.

In the 70s, the road we were taking headed to a seaside suburb and was like being in the country; hardly any housing or built-up areas. I asked my colleague why we were heading in this direction and he assured me he'd get rid of the drunk for good.

I started to panic inside. What did he mean? Surely his comment about shooting him was simply jest? I hoped so.

When we reached just past an intersection, he asked me to pull over to the side of the road. There were no people and no passing traffic. He asked me to help him lift the man out of the van and it took a lot of encouragement for me to do so. My heart rate must have been thumping as we laid the man on the ground well off the side of the road.

My thoughts were racing. Is he really going to shoot this guy? I would be implicated in a murder. I'd get goaled - who would look after my family? Oh my god, I had heard about the Queensland Police Force being a Hill Billy Outfit, but nothing like this had ever occurred to me.

I decided that if my colleague went to shoot the drunk, I'd have to shoot him first to save this person's life. I placed my hand near my shoulder holster and gripped the handle. I'd have to be quick. Pull out the weapon and perhaps do a lower abdomen shot so as to disable him but reduce risk of death. 

My colleague pulled out his 38 Calibre Smith and Wesson standard issue, swung it round his finger like a cowboy and slid it back in its holster. Fortunately, he didn't point it anywhere near the drunk, otherwise it may have ended in disaster for both of us.

I asked why we had left this guy on the side of the road and he told me that the intersection nearby was the outside limit of our patrol area and in another policing district. He got on the radio and advised Police Communications that a driver had told him a body was lying on the side of the road in the nearby police district.

The police from that district would have attended to our drunken friend and we never saw him again. Problem solved by my senior colleague. Ain't experience great?

Robin

PS: Next issue I'll discuss what we did with these people at Easter and Christmas

Police Life - Introduction

During my work life, I spent around 14 years in policing. I often say I was a police officer until I came good, however, I have great respect for police and the very difficult, often dangerous job they do.

I started my policing career in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) where I was a service policeman.

After discharge from the RAAF, I joined the Tasmania Police where I spent the next two years and only left because the woman of my life came from Queensland and didn't envisage living in Tasmania after we got married. When you have found a "keeper" you do what you can to keep her and to date, it's lasted 48 years. In retrospect, my choice of life-partner was an excellent one as my wife is almost perfect and I often wondered whether I was the less perfect in our relationship.

When we got married I joined the Queensland Police Force (QPF) (and spent about a decade).

The Tasmania Police during the short time I worked there was a slick, well-disciplined operation and later, I often regretted leaving. The QPF by comparison when I joined was a Keystone Cops outfit but Commissioner Ray Whitrod was doing his best to change it into a top-rate policing agency.

Large numbers of the senior staff had severe alcoholic problems and more than enough were subsequently incompetent or disinterested enough not to give a shit about much that happened. Levels of literacy among older officers was often below par.

Promotion by seniority meant that the incompetent and disinterested alcoholics only had to last the distance to get into the higher echelons. A certain recipe for failure that ensured a police force operating at minimal efficiency and effectiveness.

It didn't help that Queensland had a Bjelke Petersen government that had been in power for decades. Neither did it help that Commissioner Whitrod had not come from the ranks of the QPF and was resented by many of the long-term officers.

Despite considerable difficulties from both the government, the Police Union and some senior staff, Whitrod managed to make a considerable number of positive changes.

One of Commissioner Whitrod's innovations was to encourage a better educated police force by ensuring promotion from constable first class to senior constable after seven years instead of about 10. One had to have a Senior English pass and complete several subjects in a TAFE Police Arts and Science Course. 

At the bottom of the seniority ladder, I needed the job, liked my colleagues and had a wife and two young children to feed, clothe and house. As my first-born was hearing impaired, my wife, a registered nurse/midwife, didn't work so she could care for him, so finances were a balancing act for quite a few years on one salary.

We survived from one pay to the next and I worked as much overtime as I could while also studying for adult matriculation and later, a degree.

One of Commissioner Whitrod's innovations was to encourage a better educated police force by ensuring promotion from constable first class to senior constable after seven years instead of about 10. One had to have a Senior English pass and complete several subjects in a TAFE Police Arts and Science Course. 

I liked policing. I felt as though I was doing some good protecting and serving the Queensland community. I liked my colleagues and looked forward to going to work. The drunken senior sergeants and othes were just something one had to cope with.

Among the many personal skills and attributes police officer need are resilience to deal with stupid people and an excellent sense of humour.

In following posts I'll tell you about some of the interesting people I met and the humorous events that kept us sane while serving you, our community.

Robin

The Suppression of Free Speech Crisis

The suppression of free speech by woke organisations and the rabid Left is a concern that all of us who value freedom and democracy must address.

It's bad enough when opinions by the general public are deleted, supressed, or howled down. It's worse when reputable scientists and subject-matter experts have their accounts deleted or are threatened with violence, intimidation, or dismissal from their employment.

There are numerous cases of academics, such as Dr Peter Ridd, formerly of James Cook University in North Queensland being dismissed because his scientific opinion didn't fit a carefully designed global warming alarmist narrative. (HREF1)

Others, such as the most recently "deleted" account from no other than LinkedIn of Dr Robert Malone, who invented mRNA vaccine technology (HREF2). He apparently made comments not liked by Microsoft that owns LinkedIn.

It's alarming that if one doesn't follow the Mainstream Media (MSM) view of reality and that of the UN and its cohort, the IPCC, or the communist Left then one is considered a lier, denier or a person whose opinion or expertise is inappropriate.

A better approach by all the climate alarmists and believers in curtailing free speech should be to advise readers that the organisation doesn't agree with the stated opinions of the author. That way, we, the educated public could decide which version we believe.

This suppression of free speech should be a danger signal to everyone who supports democracy and freedom. The alternative is totalitarian dictatorship where groupthink and groupspeech must conform to a specific narrative.

Robin