The fight on the bridge
After the pubs closed, confident and arrogant, and drunk too, Dad walked up the village with his father and a few friends and relatives. The village was packed, as it was on most Saturday nights.
Mr Burns the chippy across the road from the Police Station was full and doing a roaring trade, but not for long. Mr Burns used to sell fish which he'd caught with his own line on the beach.
The locals were all outside, waiting for a grandstand view of the long-awaited confrontation. It was whispered that Now Thomas was on the look-out for Constable JEJ.
It didn't take long for word to get around, so even people who weren't usually out at 10.30pm made sure they didn't miss anything. Most, of course, were there to cheer my Dad on, but inevitably some people hoped he would get a good hiding.
There were many, many of my family there waiting, watching and hoping for a good show. I'm sure they weren't disappointed! My poor, silly father once again in trouble.
JEJ was one of three policemen in the village at that time and had boxed in the Army. Dad was about five foot eleven tall, very muscular and as strong as an ox. When he'd been drinking he had no fear at all. He was as stubborn as a mule and game for anything.
There was one problem, however, he'd been drinking and his coordination wasn't as good as it might have been. The place to be for young men in those days was on the village bridge. That is where JEJ stood.
My Dad, being Dad, goaded him into a fight; both men had fought in the war and fancied themselves. Even a policeman, at the end of the day, is only a man.
According to various tales about this fight, it wasn't one to be missed. I have seen my Dad fight a few times over the years and one thing I can tell you is that he threw a good punch. He wouldn't give up until he was well and truly beaten, or until his opponent was on the floor.
In this fight on the bridge he fought like a tiger, said Uncle Ned. He wouldn't give in - he even tried to throw the policeman over the side of the bridge.
Fists were flying and the policeman was connecting more often than Dad. My father's face was a hell of a mess, with blood everywhere. He couldn't open his eyes, but still he wouldn't give in. He kept going back for more of the same. The crowd by this time was going wild, shouting and screaming, betting on the outcome.
Read another extract from Margaret's book