Robert Fowler’s
talk to the Friday Lunch Discussion Club about courage and bravery on the battlefield,
awakened a long forgotten memory.
It was 1957, not long after Wendy and I were married. I
was on duty at the Western Clinic, which served the suburbs west of the city of Adelaide. The police phoned. A man had climbed into a
large fig tree and was taking potshots at passers-by with a rifle. Could I talk to him, ask him to give up
his gun and come down from the tree? The
policeman who phoned didn’t know whether the man was drunk or deranged, just
that he was a poor marksman - he hadn’t hit anyone yet. Knowing this did nothing for my peace of mind as
I approached the fig tree, waving my stethoscope to identify myself as a
doctor. Somehow I persuaded him to hand
his rifle to me and come down out of the tree.
Inspection later showed that the rifle was harmless: he had already
fired his last bullet. But I didn’t know that at the time. As soon as the
shooter gave me his gun and set foot on the ground, the brave constabulary wrestled him flat on his face. I had to talk loudly to prevent them
from injuring him. They put him in their
paddy wagon and took him to the psychiatric hospital. For several days afterwards I was
shaking so much I had to use both hands to hold my mug of tea. I suppose that
would now be called post traumatic stress disorder. I had forgotten all about that event until Bob Fowler’s
talk reminded me.
Was I courageous? Was I brave? I
don’t think so. Stupid maybe.
In my five years at that clinic, I had several abrasive encounters with the police, and a few with warders at the Adelaide jail, which was in our 'parish,' who were unsympathetic to the notion of mental illness as a cause of bad behaviour. At least on that occasion they recognized that medical help rather than brute force was the best solution to the problem. They manipulated or morally blackmailed me, however: if I had declined their request to talk him out of the fig tree, they said they would have to shoot him.
In my five years at that clinic, I had several abrasive encounters with the police, and a few with warders at the Adelaide jail, which was in our 'parish,' who were unsympathetic to the notion of mental illness as a cause of bad behaviour. At least on that occasion they recognized that medical help rather than brute force was the best solution to the problem. They manipulated or morally blackmailed me, however: if I had declined their request to talk him out of the fig tree, they said they would have to shoot him.
I've had other
experiences requiring more courage than that episode. I'll say more about bravery and courage another time.
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