Our car pulled up outside the Police Station which had a pair of Victorian style swing doors.
We took the prisoner by an arm apiece and ran him head first through the swing doors and he fell in a crouch on the stone-flagged floor whilst the driver and I stood back and said “Phew!”
Then a strange thing happened. The Sergeant Clerk whose office was along the corridor peeped out. He had achieved his promotion through office work, had never been seen on the streets in years and had never been known to have been involved in “rough stuff” in his 20-odd years service.
He came out of his office, sort of ran along the corridor and quite uncharacteristically put his boot in the recumbent prisoner and returned to his office.
Not knowing what to make of this we picked up the prisoner who still resisting was put in the cells, blood streaming down his face. This was Saturday. He was bailed next morning to appear the following Thursday at Court on a charge of drunk and disorderly.
I appeared at Court to give evidence. The prisoner looked as though he had done 15 rounds and lost with two one black eyes one closed completely and with bruises to face an arms.
He pleaded not guilty and said that he had been assaulted by the Police. In my evidence I described in detail the events in the pub but denied completely anything other than the most proper conduct after the arrest which the Magistrates accepted without question.
The prisoner was fined after being found guilty.
Policing in those days was physical. The uniform carried a lot of weight but when it came to the crunch, the fist was often mightier than the pen.