10 June 1937

WHEN AMATEURS TAKE UP BURGLARY

Wife Who Stole £25 From Her Husband

In his memoirs, Ex-Inspector C. Le Lievre relates two rather surprising instances when amateurs took up burglary, but were not experienced enough to avoid the consequences of their actions.

In the first case—at Quorn—a report was made that a house had been broken into. The complainant, a blustering fellow, had apparently been celebrating the occasion and was excited. During his wife's temporary absence the previous afternoon, his house had been entered and banknotes amounting to £25 had been stolen from a chest of drawers in a bedroom, and the room and the chest of drawers had been ransacked.

When he was asked why he had not reported the matter before, he said that he had been away from home for a few days, and on his return that morning his wife had told him of the robbery. She had said that she had left the room in the same state as she had found it, so that he could show it to the police. He also said that he was determined to have the burglar arrested, even if he had to apply to the Commissioner of Police for half-a-dozen detectives from Adelaide. He was told that he was at perfect liberty to ask for the detectives, but that in the meantime the local constables would investigate the matter.

They went into the bedroom and the wife showed them exactly where she had left the money. The bed and bedding had been turned over, and the contents of the chest of drawers strewn on the floor. She told the constables that she had locked up the house and left everything secure when she had gone out the previous afternoon. She showed them one of the windows of the bedroom, and said that she was certain that the burglar must have got into the house that way. She particularly called their attention to indents in the framework of the window, where the burglar had prized back the catch by which it was fastened. She also stated that the window was open on her return.

The policemen asked to be left alone, and then they went over to the window and examined it closely. 'By Jove, sergeant, the burglar made those indents from inside the room,' said the junior.

'You have hit the nail right on the head,'' he was told. Then when the constable informed the sergeant that he had seen the complainant's wife at the races the previous afternoon putting £5 on a horse that had lost, the circumstantial evidence was complete. Shortly before the last race, the wife had been asked what luck she had had. She had said something about her luck being 'rotten,' and that 'dead certs,' as given to her, had run nowhere.

The man and his wife were then invited into the room again. 'Without a doubt this is a clear case of housebreaking, and the one who did it also stole the money,' the sergeant said. 'Now are you prepared to take a warrant out for the arrest of the offender, whoever it may be, and prosecute?' The husband said that he would take out a dozen warrants if necessary. The sergeant replied, 'Very well. Now just leave the room for a few minutes with the constable, as I want to get a little further information from your wife.' The man objected, and wanted to know why he could not remain with his wife. 'For the simple reason that you cannot give me the information I want from your wife,' he was told, as, resentfully, he left the room.

'You heard what your husband said?' the sergeant said to the wife. 'He will take out a warrant for the arrest of the person who broke into his house and stole that money. By the way, you were at the races yesterday, and I understand that you lost a good deal of money betting.'

She flared up at once. 'What has it to do with you what I do with my money?' she asked.

'It matters a good deal in this case.' she was told quietly. 'You are a clever woman, but in this case you have been outwitted. You lost your husband's money at the races, and made up this house-breaking story to account for the loss of it; but you were not clever enough, for you made those marks on the window and forced the catch from the inside.'

'How dare you say such a thing!' she demanded angrily. 'Well,' said the sergeant, 'I am going to give you five minutes, and if by that time you do not tell the truth. I am going to arrest you.' With that he took out his watch and walked towards the door.

'Don't go, sergeant, I'll tell you the truth,' she said, tearfully, and she told how horses that would be 'dead certs' had all lost, and she was afraid to tell her husband. 'Well,' the sergeant replied. 'You will have to tell your husband or I must.'

She wept bitterly, 'if I do he will kill me,' she said. 'Oh, no, he won't,' he assured her. 'I will see that he doesn't.' The husband was brought into the room, and they were left together The sergeant told them that he would be at the police station if required; but there was no further request for his services.

[See complete story at Memories of an Old Policeman 16 Oct 1925 ]

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At Nairne on another occasion there was a burglar who paid almost nightly visits to one resident or another and helped himself freely from their pantries. Bread, jam, pickles, meat and butter were all taken. At first the police believed that passing tramps were responsible for the thefts, but when one of the local storekeepers reported that his store had been entered and that a magazine rifle, an alarm clock, a rug, violin and several other articles had been stolen, the continuous thefts were regarded more seriously. There was no trace of any forcible entry. The windows were securely fastened, and the doors were locked as they had been left the previous night. All camps near the town were searched, but there was not a trace of any of the missing articles. But the thefts still continued.

The next night three parties were formed, and were stationed in various parts of the town until daybreak. The pimpernel, as he was now known, however, had broken through the cordon. The local baker had placed a roast leg of mutton intended for the next day's dinner in the meat safe. He had tied a bell to it, with a string leading to the room in which he slept. The string had been cut. and the leg of mutton stolen when he awakened in the morning. There was great excitement, and more volunteers came to take part in the night watch.

One imbibing resident, after a spree, wanted to become a member of the party. The pimpernel had been to his pantry a few nights previously, and he was naturally wroth, and anxious that he should be caught. He was, however, persuaded that it would be better if he stayed at his house, as he might catch the burglar there when he came a second time. He, therefore, armed himself with an old muzzle-loader, and sat in darkness in a chair in his kitchen, waiting for the burglar. When he awakened in the morning, he was still sitting in the chair, but instead of his gun being between his legs and resting on his shoulder, he found the kitchen broom there. The pantry, moreover, had been ransacked. One of his youngsters told his schoolmates, and soon everyone in Nairne knew what the wicked burglar had done to their father.

Shortly afterwards, however, the problem was solved. Someone saw a man looking out of one of the gratings at Dunn's flour mill, which had not been working for some time, but was used as a store for pollard and bran. The mill was surrounded, and the sergeant entered. On a shelf was the burglar's plant— the rifle, violin, rugs, clock and other articles. At the top of the mill someone was heard moving about. He was called upon to surrender, or he would be shot.

'Don't shoot! I give myself up, and I am glad I am caught. I have had three weeks of misery,' said the burglar, who proved to be the local baker's assistant, who had left the town suddenly a week of so previously. Because he delivered bread, he knew the layout of all the houses perfectly.

And what was his motive? The romance of 'Deadwood Dick' novels had proved too much for him, with the result that he had determined to become a dashing villain, robbing the rich and helping the poor. A lenient view was taken by the magistrate of his case, but he received a short term of imprisonment as a warning lest he should be tempted to act similarly in future. — C.V.H.

See complete article at Memories of an Old Policeman 26 Sep 1925

The Gift Horse

A mate and I were travelling through Western Queensland during a drought, and having lost one of our pack horses, we purchased another from a station near where we had camped, for the night. Just as I was about to lead the horse we had bought out of the yard, the manager asked me what, sort of a rider I was. I could ride a bit and told him so, wondering why he had asked; but he soon explained.

It appeared that there was a horse on the station that had thrown all and sundry, and the manager had made up his mind to shoot it, as he thought that it was a little mad. 'I don't like shooting a horse,' he said, 'so if he's any good to you, take him.' A horse was a horse, however, and as ours were fairly poor I thanked him and said that I would have it.

As soon as I saw the gift horse I thought that it certainly looked a bit mad, but, borrowing a bridle. I caught it and had no trouble in leading it along with the other horse to the camp. I could ride a bit. I'll admit, but my mate was a veritable sticking plaster, and would ride any outlaw at all for the sport of it. He did not know what fear was. He said that he would try the horse out in the station yard, and as I had to take the bridle back, I said that I would ask the manager for permission to use the yard. The request was readily granted, and the manager said that he would be there to see the horse get another win. But the horse did not do so. It stood quietly enough whilst being saddled; but as soon as my mate tried to get his foot in the stirrup iron the horse started to perform. But no weakling was handling it, and before the horse knew what was happening my mate had vaulted into the saddle and started to show who was boss. The horse was a real squib, and after it found that it could not unseat its rider, it tried to lay down; but it got a thorough belting for its pains. It reared and tried to bite my mate's leg, but a kick on the nose soon ended any more attempts at biting. My mate finished the performance by having the gate opened and galloping the horse out in the paddock.

As the horse was in fair condition my mate decided to ride it next day. And what a ride he had. That horse was mad all right, and although it did not buck much it did everything possible to get rid of its rider. Every day for a fortnight my mate rode the horse, but its manners did not change for the better. Finally my mate said that he would give the horse best, and suggested that we might find someone mug enough to buy it.

As we were making for the coast, we decided that we would take the horse along. By the time we reached the sugarcane growing areas the horse was in good condition, and on appearances should realise a couple of pounds; my mate reckoned that he had earned that for the time he had spent trying to tame the animal.

We had made a camp not far from a small township and, being undecided which way to go from there, we thought that we might as well see what was doing in the town. My mate's horse had developed a sore back so, not being anxious to ride one of our scarecrow looking pack horses, he decided to ride the horse we now called Madness. He took it for a preliminary spin, and had just arrived back preparatory to setting out for the township, when an Italian farmer walked over to our camp.

'You got horse for sale, Mister?'' he asked. You sell that horse?' And he pointed to Madness. Although we scented a deal, neither of us wished to take advantage of the Italian, and we told him that although we were quite willing to sell the horse we did not think that it would suit him. But for some unaccountable reason the Italian had taken a fancy to Madness and insisted on having a ride. We tried to persuade him against mounting, but he was adamant; and whilst we were deliberating he walked over to where the horse was tied, and prepared to mount.

Again we warned him, but saying, 'Me good horseman,' the Italian climbed into the saddle. I must admit that my heart beat a trifle fast as I noticed a great blucher boot prod the horse in the ribs as the Italian started to get into the saddle; but for some unknown reason the horse did not flinch. Both my mate and I were dumbfounded, as the Italian trotted the horse down the road without anything happening. When he rode back and dismounted and patted the horse on the neck, the Italian must have wondered at the surprised looks on both our faces. When he said that he would pay £3 for the horse it seemed like getting money from home.

Wonders seemingly follow like a run of good or bad luck, for late that afternoon, when I went up to the farm to get the money, I found the Italian and his wife in a netting yard where the horse was quietly eating out of a box. I was almost afraid to speak as I saw the Italian pat the horse on the rump; I expected to see it kick out any second, but it was behaving as though it had been quiet all its life.

We left next morning, but for weeks afterwards we secured all the daily papers we could get hold of, expecting and incidentally dreading to read of a tragedy associated with the horse. I am thankful to say that no death or accident was reported, and I am hoping, for the Italian's sake, that Madness has turned over a new leaf. He needed to. — N.Q.

Let Sleeping Rams Lie!

We who are Australians, by birth, often find it hard to enter fully into the feelings of the early pioneers when they first came to South Australia.

Jock, Mary and their little son, Tom, found that Australia differed greatly from Scotland. When Jock saw his first sleepy jack, or stumpy tail lizard, he called to his wife, 'Mary, come quickly and see the father of all snakes.'

Tom was still only a little laddie when he got a job minding the butcher's sheep. He was allowed neither horse nor dog. The country for miles was unfenced. The days dragged slowly by, and were so lonely to the poor laddie. His mother, to protect her laddie from the cold, had knitted him a warm woollen scarf, long enough to go twice round his neck, over his shoulders, and round his chest.

The loneliness, day after day, of minding the sheep told on Tom. He longed for excitement and got it. One day the old ram of the flock was having 40 winks. Tom saw his chance, and crept up and caught it. The ram had a fine pair of horns, and the lad thought that they would look well decorated with the scarf, which he soon did.

Then he let the ram loose, and it raced straight for the flock — a weird looking object with the ends of the scarf flying in the breeze. The sheep gave one look; then off they went, with the ram doing his best to catch up to them. How Tom did laugh! Truly he got excitement out of his lonely job. Could one picture a more humorous scene? Tom almost split his sides with laughter as he watched the ram, with the scarf on its horns, trying in vain to catch up to the flock.

Soon the flock broke up into little mobs, and the ram, when it tired of chasing one mob, tried another and then another. Tom soon realised that if something were not done, he would never get the flock together again. It was one thing to catch a ram while asleep, and another to catch it now that it was excited with that scarf on its horns. Tom gave chase, but it was only when the ram was utterly exhausted that it was caught, and the scarf, or rather what was left of it, removed from its horns. Tom spent the rest of the day trying to get his flock together again.

Meeting Tom in after years — he was then an old grandfather— he told me that some of the sheep were still missing, as they had never been found. 'But,' said Tom, 'the worst was when I got home.' Surely that old moral should read: — Let sleeping rams lie.' — 'Rising Sun.'