The Thin Wobbly Blue Line- Tales From a West Australian Cop Series Book 2

By Bob MacDonald

Take a peek inside this diary of a West Australian Police Officer who knows that it’s okay to laugh at yourself and the world around you. A natural storyteller, Bob MacDonald’s writing is refreshing and makes easy reading.

The author spent thirty years serving as a police officer; working his way through the ranks—from a raw recruit through to a commissioned officer attached to the Internal Investigation Branch of the Professional Standards Portfolio.

His duties included time with the United Nations Civilian Police blue beret peacekeepers, based on the island nation of Cyprus during the Greek/Turkish conflict, as well as extensive service in Australian outback locations; Papua New Guinea and North Solomon Islands.
The Thin Wobbly Blue Line, sixty-five chapters of anecdotal tales of events involving some of the author’s experiences in the West Australian Police Force. It is Book Two and a follow up to ‘Tales From a West Australian Cop.’

Members of the West Australian Police Force proudly point out – the thin blue line may have wobbled on occasions but never once did it collapse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob MacDonald
• Release date: Mar 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9780463754986

Bob MacDonald

Bob MacDonald is a retired West Australian Police officer of thirty years experience. Bob's last day at school was his 14th birthday - commencing work, the very next day, in a timber mill in his home town of Pemberton, West Australia. He later self-educated and enlisted in the West Australian police force, retiring as a superintendent in the Internal Investigations Branch of the Professional Standards portfolio. Since retirement Bob has been working at remote aboriginal communities in Central Australia, Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. He also did a tour of duty on the island nation of Cyprus with the United Nations Blue Beret Peacekeepers.

Book preview

1. Innocence Abused

After graduating from the West Australian Police Academy in July of 1967 I hounded the sergeant in charge of country postings, at Staff Office, in the hope of gaining a transfer to a rural station. My perseverance finally paid off, and I succeeded in obtaining a transfer to Geraldton – a large crayfishing port town on the mid-west coast. Conditions attached to my movement entailed me obtaining my own accommodation. This I achieved through a fellow academy graduate who had earlier received a transfer to the town. My house, an old fibro and iron construction set me back twelve dollars per week – a couple of dollars above the average rent for the region.

I settled in, with gusto, into my new work environment but it came as a surprise when the district superintendent called me into his office and told me to prepare to travel to Cue. The lone officer stationed at that town had booked off with some medical complaint and needed to go to Perth for treatment. I was to take over running the station during his absence – a period of eight weeks.

Only into my second year in the force I received the news with some trepidation and had no hesitation in letting the boss know my thoughts. He shrugged off what I had to say and tried to boost my confidence by telling me how much faith he had in me to do a good job. So, hardly having time to gather my wits I found myself on my way to Cue. To get there I needed to travel by means of my own private car and for the duration of the relief, I would receive ten cents for every kilometre travelled on police business. To top it off, my living away from home travelling allowance amounted to eleven dollars per day.

The distance to Cue is just over 420 kilometres and, at the time of my travel, more than 300 of those kilometres were unsealed and of the roughest corrugation, I’d every experienced anywhere in my travels.

I was settling in okay and getting to feel my way around when a woman, who resided just out of town, approached me on the street one day and told of a problem they were having with a man staying with them. This man, the brother of her husband, according to her, was sexually molesting her pre-school aged daughter. I escorted her to my office and sat her down, in the only other chair, bar mine, in the station, while I phoned the Geraldton CIB office.

But no, Geraldton CIB were not interested in taking over the inquiry - they were too busy. I think the two detectives based at that office must have been aware of the standard of the road they would need to traverse if they agreed to take on the investigation.

I’d never had any experience with interviewing sex victims of such a tender age but, as the detectives had shown little enthusiasm, I promised the mother I would help her out to the best of my ability. Arrangements were made for both the mother and father to bring the child into the police station the following day in order for me to speak with her.

Both mum and dad turned up, as arranged, with the little girl and I couldn’t help but be taken by the unkempt condition of the trio. The mother presented the best but would have benefitted from a good scrubbing in a hot bath. The father, unshaven and dishevelled, executed an exact image of a person I harshly classified as a ‘bush pig.’ The little girl looked like a neglected little waif from a B Grade Hollywood movie.

Because I only had two chairs in the one roomed police station, I sat the girl down on the spare seat and left mum and dad to fend for themselves. It took me some time to gain the girls confidence enough for her to speak freely to me. The father tired of fiddling his thumbs and not having anywhere to sit, left the office and took off downtown. The Murchison Club Hotel, only being a few hundred metres away, his likely destination.

The little girl warmed to having a chat to me about various things and I eventually managed to get her to talk about her ‘uncle.’ The girl’s age was three years, and though I can’t remember how many months, as well, she did not appear advanced in her development. The interview was slow and laborious with much toing and froing. I made notes of the conversation because a statement could not be obtained from a witness of such a tender age. What I did learn during the interview involved the uncle forcing the girl to perform oral sex on him. According to the girl, that practice occurred regularly when the mother was not around. From all accounts it had been going on for some time and, the girl, being of tender years, had not told either parent about it. Somehow the mother learnt, or suspected something and had been able to prompt the story from her daughter.

To my surprise, the mother also left the police station and left me alone talking to her daughter. She, too, went downtown – for what, I did not find out. Both parents looked after themselves but ignored their daughter when obtaining refreshments. I had some cordial in a borrowed camper refrigerator, in the storeroom, so gave the girl a cold drink – for which I received a gracious smile. I felt so sorry for the poor little tyke.

The mother returned to collect the girl – I never saw the father again that evening. After being assured the offending uncle no longer stayed at the house, I allowed the girl to be returned to the home. I advised them I would continue with the inquiry and get back to them sometime the following day.

A phone call early the next morning to the Perth office of the CIB needed to be carried out with caution as the manually operated local exchange provided the two female operators with all the town’s gossip by listening in to private conversations – especially when the police station was involved. Mobile phones, telex machines, computers and suchlike did not exist in those days. In fact, the station did not even have a typewriter on issue – everything required to be recorded in longhand.

Whether a Child Abuse Unit existed within the CIB those days, I did not know but I ended up speaking with a senior officer versed in such matters. Being both surprised and disappointed in the decision of the Geraldton CIB not to attend, he directed I take no further part in the investigation. He, taking my junior service into consideration, dispatched two officers, from Perth, to attend and complete the proceedings. The offending uncle was arrested and later received several years gaol for his actions.

I completed my term at Cue and returned to Geraldton to continue my duties as a patrol and inquiry officer but it wasn’t long before being summoned into the superintendent’s office again. The same officer at Cue would be absent again on some sort of leave and I had been called in to be told I would again be replacing him. The boss, Superintendent Bill Mason, saw the look on my face and, walking from behind his desk, placed his arm around my shoulders and told me of having no-one else he could trust, to send. That surely had to be one of the biggest bullshit stories to reach my ears for many a day.

Anyway, off I went again to Cue. I borrowed the same camper fridge and single gas burner stove from a shearer I’d befriended on my first visit. I slept on the same fold-up camp stretcher in the station storeroom and I used the same shower in the female lockup, as per my first visit.

I’d was aware of the French saying, déjà vu, but had always treated such an adage as a load of bulldust. My accommodation familiarities may have been overlooked by me when tying them in with the déjà vu but not what was to happen next. The mother of the little girl made another report advising her daughter was being sexually molested. But this time, she identified her husband and father of the child as being the offender.

The father, too, was arrested for sexually abusing the little girl in the same manner as his brother and also received a lengthy gaol term. At the time of my initial interviewing of the girl I wondered about the father’s behaviour on leaving the police station soon after I began speaking with his daughter. Again it may be my suspicious mind but after learning of this latest episode of abuse I formed the opinion his absence was to make sure he was out of sight and out of mind when the girl began telling her story.

Did the father develop the idea to abuse his daughter by forcing her to perform oral sex on him after become aware of his brother’s behaviour? Or had both men been jointly involved from the start? I never did learn the answer to that question but did receive satisfaction to hear that both men received lengthy gaol terms.

Another incident involving an underage girl took place in 1997 and during my time as an investigator at the Internal Investigation Branch (IIB). It all came about after an official complaint had been lodged at the office of the CIB Child Abuse Unit (CAU) and a serving police officer was implicated.

Though officers of the CAU had been allocated the file to carry out inquiries into the allegation, I, as an IIB investigator also needed to be involved because the nominated offender happened to be a serving police officer – a constable then attached to the City Central Station.

The CAU officers, a female and male detective, well trained in child abuse inquiries, teamed up with me to look into the allegation. The file contained details of what the constable had been accused of doing. The accusation described how the officer, whilst on duty and on patrol of the Perth CBD area, had located a young runaway schoolgirl. The girl, of aboriginal heritage, was a Ward of the State and subject of an official missing person lookout broadcast.

Rather than convey the girl back to the care centre, from which she had absconded, the constable drove her to a friend’s residence and lodged her there. The friend lived alone in a flat and it provided a safe haven for the constable to visit regularly, to have sex with the girl. Apart from committing an unprofessional act by not notifying authorities of the girl’s apprehension and failure to return her to the centre from where she’d fled – she was also underage.

In company with the two CAU detectives, I attended at the home of the constable. We possessed a search warrant as a back-up but did not have any idea what we were likely to find at his house. On arrival, though music could be heard blaring at near ear-drum shattering volume, we were unable to raise any response from inside. Not having any luck at the front of the house we decided on checking at the back. We gained access by means of a side gate and once in the rear yard, saw an aboveground swimming pool, surrounded by a solid Colorbond sheeting fence.

The three of us approached and peered over the fence and I don’t know who got the biggest shock – us three police officers or the constable and his wife. They were in the pool, stark naked and in the act of sexual intercourse – whilst on an inflatable pool mattress.

We identified ourselves and informed the constable we wished to see him forthwith. We left and waited at the front of the house to await his readiness to be interviewed. Shortly afterwards we received an invitation, from the wife, to enter the house. I expected both persons to show signs of embarrassment from being caught in such an awkward situation. But no, they both carried on so matter-of-factly it gave me a reason to study them closely and to my untrained eye I suspected both to be affected by drugs of some description.

The detectives were also looking sideways at the pair, so, rather than jump straight in with paedophile investigation questions, we executed the search warrant. And during the search of the house I had cause to wish the investigation file had been allocated to another officer of my branch. Bags of marijuana, smoking bongs, and other drug paraphernalia lay scattered about the house. A number of Main Roads Department and local council road signs were plastered on the walls and several items of unlawfully obtained property were located in various parts of the house.

The sundry property items scattered about were, according to the constable, pieces of official Found Property handed in at a police station by members of the public. The officer had stolen the property pieces by not recording or receipting the items. Every bit of illegal drug paraphernalia and stolen property I located was greeted with a curse because I could see the paperwork required of me to finalise events.

As we possessed sufficient evidence to take the constable away with us we did not conduct an interview with him at his house, with respect to the juvenile girl. While still at the house, the young daughter of his wife, and his step-daughter, arrived home from school. She appeared to be about the same age as the aboriginal State Ward girl – thirteen to fourteen years.

This young girl, without saying a word sized up the situation and recognised us to be police officers. She approached me and asked about her stepfather. She inquired what was to become of him and if had he been arrested. When I advised her the affirmative, she gave a satisfied smile and said, Good. Lock him up for good.

The constable was interviewed, via video recording, at the offices of the CAU and readily admitted to locating the young aboriginal absconder while a member of a police vehicle patrol. He also confessed to lodging her at the residence of a friend and performing various sex acts with her. In addition, he admitted to stealing property from police stations where he worked and claimed all the drug items seized belonged to him. He just would not shut up!

Later, when the video recording of his interview was viewed by the Deputy Police Commissioner, that officer stated his amazement at what and how the constable had readily admitted his part in the goings on. He directed he be immediately sacked. I received directions to seize his identification card, his accoutrements, and other official police issue items. I escorted him to his station and stood by while he removed personal items from his locker. At the time of doing so I feared of what I may discover in the locker – but to my surprise, no stolen property or illicit drugs were on hand.

Prior to the constable’s court appearance, the CAU detectives conducted a background check on him. They learnt that the constable had been the subject of a child abuse investigation in his native New Zealand a year or so previous to this current offence, here in West Australia. The detectives learnt that midway through the investigation the constable left New Zealand for Australia and police from that country did not continue with the investigation – out of sight, out of mind appeared to have been their way of writing off the file.

The circumstances surrounding the New Zealand investigation involved his stepdaughter as the aggrieved party. The female detective spoke with the girl and she confirmed the inquiry began after her complaint of being molested by her step-father and of his continued perverse behaviour towards her. She reiterated how pleased she was to see him locked up.

He received a lengthy gaol term of several years and it appears no background check had been carried out on him when he applied to join the West Australian Police Service. If the CAU could readily obtain details about him from the New Zealand police why not our recruiting section? I wondered if the failure to conduct the required check had anything to do with the constable’s father holding a senior public service position in the police service? Surely not – the West Australian Police Service should be above reproach and such a suggestion should be looked upon as baseless.

The aforementioned particular incident brings back memories of an event which took place when I was based at Geraldton (1968-1971). A colleague and I, while working the late shift, had been conducting a van patrol one night when we found a reason to check out a motor vehicle parked in an unusual and isolated location.

We established the two occupants to be the driver, a male person of about thirty to forty years of age and the passenger, a female of young teenage years. After establishing nothing untoward or illegal had taken place between the pair we took the girl aside, to escort her home. The man’s details were recorded for follow-up inquiries the next day. When questioning the girl we learnt she’d absconded from a care centre and was fifteen years of age.

She had been officially listed as an absconder so we headed off to deliver her back to her carer. We were patrolling in the police panel van so the girl, for convenience sake sat between my colleague and I, in the cab. We did not deem it appropriate to place her in the cage rear section of the vehicle. But as we drove from the scene, she bemoaned the timing of our arrival. She advised the thinking behind her absconding from the care centre and partnering up with the man in his car centred around her desire to engage in sexual intercourse. She stressed her disappointment at our intervention and wished we had not turned up for another hour or so.

After telling us of her feelings, she then asked us if we would take the place of the man, and be the supplier of the sexual relief she so desired. Yes, she was keen to have sex with both of us and she didn’t care who went first. From asking she turned to pleading and when she began groping me I called on my partner to stop the van. We removed her from the front cab and bundled her into the back for the remainder of the journey.

When conducting female escorts we are told to have an accompanying officer, where possible, for corroboration in the case of complaints by the female so escorted. In the Geraldton incident, had either I or my colleague been alone and the girl began acting that way we would have left ourselves wide open and had little defence to answer unsubstantiated allegations. I’m sure the girl we were conveying was genuine in her demand for sex, rather than trying to bring about a trouble making situation – but it gave me cause to be extra careful from then on.

2. The Cooler

I graduated from the West Australian Police Academy in 1967 and my first posting was to the City Central Station at East Perth. Actually, our place of learning had been a single classroom of the old Perth Girl’s School, located on Wellington Street. It wasn’t called an academy in those days but went by the unofficial name of ‘Police School.’

Each of the twenty-nine graduates received a posting to either Central, Fremantle or Victoria Quay. Though Central has never been looked upon with much favouritism by rank-and-file members, it was considered a cut above either Fremantle or Victoria Quay. Being a junior constable I often copped the inevitable task of cell duties officer at the lockup.

In those days the lockup boasted a holding room, known as ‘the cooler.’ Set apart from the other cells this place of containment was completely enclosed. It had padded walls, a drainage grill in the centre of the floor and an extra strong exhaust fan fitted to the ceiling. It had been purposefully built to house unruly and uncontrollable prisoners. Those deemed worthy of a visit to the cooler would be placed in the cell and a bucket of cold water thrown over them (I only ever witnessed males being dealt with in this manner). Once those formalities had been completed,the fan would then be turned on and the light extinguished.

I can remember vying with other lockup staff to be the person having the fun of throwing the water over the unfortunate detainee. Ten to fifteen minutes under those conditions was all that was generally needed to cool the ardour of most to grace the cell. After the accepted time of incarceration, the dark and chilled interior of the cooler always had the desired effect. Many an inmate, while one minute trying to punch or kick every police officer in sight, soon became meek, mild and apologetic

But all good things must come to an end sometimes and that means of correction was later deemed to be too inhumane and a breach of the prisoners’ rights. Instead of the cooler, unruly or uncontrollable detainees were housed in the lockup’s single padded cell. That arrangement may have satisfied the bosses who did not have to deal with fractious inmates but it only added to the stress and burden of the often inadequate numbered and overworked lockup staff. Instead of being subdued and brought back to earth by a short stint in the cooler, disorderly prisoners sometimes continued in the same unchecked manner for hours on end.

The padded cell did have it uses at times – especially when crazed druggies were lodged in the lockup for one reason or another. We simply threw them in that cell and slammed the door. They could rant, rave and bang their heads against the wall till the cows came home. No-one died.

Nowadays lockup staff need to monitor them 24/7, provide medication, escort them to hospital and remain with them for however long. They need to compile computer records of their every movement for the information of the numerous government funded watchdog agencies. They are constantly under CCTV surveillance and open to spot checks by departmental bosses and government officials.

That working arrangement goes part way to providing an explanation as to why the general duties uniformed police officer is now seldom seen patrolling the streets protecting members of the public – they are too busy caring for the criminals.

To be rostered for lockup duties generally made for an interesting eight hours of duty. Friday and Saturday nights were always the busiest periods with regular admissions of arrested persons from the city’s entertainment areas. Drunkenness, disorderly conduct and assault offences topped the list. Many of the detainees had resisted arrest when apprehended and most continued with that behaviour once lodged in the lockup.

I can recall an event that took place on one of those busy nights and it involved me helping out a colleague with an unruly prisoner. A young man of about twenty years of age took it upon himself to violently resist our efforts to lodge him in a cell. It took the two of us to bodily carry the struggling man into one of the holding cells. And, in accordance with the usual practice, we dumped him on the mattress pad and scurried to exit the chamber before he could get to his feet and continue his attack on us.

We both managed to get clear of the cell and my partner slammed the heavy steel barred door just as the detainee made a lunge at him. The door clanged shut and the top joint of one of his fingers dropped to the floor at our feet. When the prisoner had reached out towards us, one of his hands had been caught between the door and the supporting jamb. How only one finger had been caught was a cause for wonder. One thing for certain – it would certainly have brought a tear or two to his eyes.

Being spat at was a common occurrence and in the early days, that action would certainly earn the offending detainee an extended period in the cooler. On two occasions I was squirted with breast milk by nursing mothers. The first instance took place when a buxom young woman bared one of her boobs and squirted me across the lockup charge room counter. I backed away but could only distance myself from her to a distance of about three metres. That distance was not enough and she continued squirting me with her milk.

I was somewhat unworldly at that age and it amazed me to see the distance she achieved with her squirting. Other lockup staff at the time looked upon the incident as being very humorous and did nothing to stop the woman and her actions. But when she bared her other breast and turned her attention towards them they were soon jolted from their bout of inactivity.

On another occasion, a female detainee stripped off her top to be completely naked from the waist upwards. She then took a breast in each hand and began spraying randomly about the charge room. Officers were running into each other in their attempts to get clear of the milk being sprayed around the room. She too demonstrated a sound degree of accuracy with her aim and also achieved a distance of about three metres.

I suppose about ninety odd percent of assaults on officers by lockup inmates were committed by males. But when a female became implicated in an assault or altercation the incident, more than not, surpassed that of their male counterparts with the level of crudity displayed. One such happening occurred at the City Central lockup and it involved a female prisoner throwing the contents of a toilet bucket over a female constable.

The inmate was charged with assaulting the officer and when the case was heard in the East Perth CPS the following day, the presiding magistrate dealt leniently with the offender. The justice, when summing up and handing down his decision made the comment that he considered the assault to be part and parcel of what was to be expected in the life of a police officer. He handed down a penalty equivalent to nothing more than a light slap on the wrist. Needless to say that magistrate was no longer looked upon with any respect by police officers.

Some years later and for a period of twelve months I held the position of Lockup Keeper and Reserve Constable at the Geraldton Station. That posting ensured I had daily dealings with prisoners – both sentenced and un-sentenced. Whilst at that centre I encountered the most foul-mouthed, vulgar woman that I had the misfortune to meet in my thirty-year career. She said things and committed acts of crudity that, on reflection, still makes me shudder and cringe with disgust. But on one occasion she did give me a reason to smile. During one of her tirades, she told me that all police officers were, ‘lower than a snake’s arsehole.’ Until that stage, I’d never heard that saying said before and was quite taken with it.

Apart from the direct, or attempted assaults, lockup staff also had to deal with the often repugnant behaviour of inmates who ‘booby trapped’ their cells doors. The doors were of heavy metal frames fitted with perpendicular steel bars. It was common practice for lockup staff when closing the doors, to grab hold of one of the bars, by hand. Some inmates, who had become accustomed to the goings on inside the lockup would spit or spread faeces on the bars. This was done for the sole purpose of causing the utmost distress and calamity to any officer having the misfortune to be trapped by the filthy action. I was caught once at Leonora and once at Fitzroy Crossing . Both times it involved me grabbing the cell door by the bars and ending up with one of my hands covered in phlegm. I soon learnt to close the doors by hooking the large cell door key behind the door frame and pulling it closed in that manner.

While at Kalgoorlie a lockup inmate wrenched a metal washbasin from an exercise yard wall and used the heavy steel frame in an endeavour to assault me. I had been unaware that the prisoner possessed the improvised weapon when I entered the cells area. This person lunged at me and tried to strike me across the head. I was lucky enough to dodge the blow and then be able to overpower and disarm him. Had he been successful in striking me I would have most likely received a serious injury. I can remember ‘speaking rather sternly’ (for want of a better terminology!) to that detainee after his attempt to crown me.

Lockup detainees have tried to head-butt me. They’ve tried to kick me in the groin. I’ve had prisoners spit direct into my face. And apart from the breast milk squirting and spitting, I have lost count of the number who have punched or attempted to punch me. Police officers, being human, will from time to time react to being assaulted or degraded. Their reaction may be to retaliate in a similar manner – thus leaving themselves open to a charge of assault.

Nowadays, when I hear or read of the bleatings from someone of the numerous government sponsored ‘human rights’ groups or watchdog panels, while baying for the blood of a police officer, I scoff with contempt.

They, while seated in their air-conditioned offices, are always too happy to pass judgement and condemnation on police after only hearing one side of the story. Weak senior police personnel and weaker politicians kowtow to the politically correct brigade rather than show support to police officers working at the coal face.

There is an old idiom, to the effect: ‘You can’t really understand another person’s experience until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.’

And that saying epitomises most of the senior police hierarchy. Most gained their positions through their academic qualifications rather than an actual policing background. Very few, to coin a common police phrase, ‘had ever faced an angry man’ but instead, were well versed in off-hand managerial roles.

3. Red Over Black

On my retirement from the West Australian Police Force, I was employed on a part-time basis with AusAid, Aboriginal Business Development