(Occasional series of scanned pre-1992 articles. This was first published 1 September 1985.)
IN MY PARENTS’ house in Beechworth were two very comfortable lounge chairs. They stood — in so far as chairs stand — next to the open-hearth fire. The rest of the lounge and dining-room were filled with cold wooden chairs.
The lounge chairs, therefore, became the centre of attraction and distraction as we six child¬ren fought for a place to do our homework. In those grim, “ate¬-gravel-and-lived-in-shoebox” times, we had no television, and it was far to cold to do homework in our bedrooms.
At first, the law of the jungle applied. It was simply a case of whoever got the chair first after dinner kept it. It was a Hobbesian environment in which possession of a chair was nasty, brutish and short, and where a call of nature would inevitiably result in possession being lost.
Possession was nine-tenths of the law, you might say. But as an aside I must explain that the popu¬lar meaning of that expression is different from the legal one. Popu¬larly, whoever is in possession en¬joys the goods. Legally, possession is good title against the whole world except the true owner so that the law would uphold the rights of the possessor against anyone except the true owner even if the possessor could not himself prove true title.
Coming back to the chair, the law of the jungle did not last long. For a start, Mum was always en¬titled to one of the chairs after she had finished in the kitchen. (My father always retired to his study to work, or doze.) It became the rule that whoever was in possession of the chair nearest my mother’s desk had to surrender it when she wanted it.
The rule scarcely needed enforc¬ing, though the Eldest Son was always ready to apply brute strength to police the law. The value of possessing “Mum’s chair” was thus depressed and the other chair was at a premium.
Once ensconced, it would take a lot to move a kid. But, as in most households, each child had several jobs to do, usually in turns. One child would have to clean shoes, another chop wood, another get briquettes in, and so on. The trick was to do all your fostered jobs before getting the chair, thus ensur¬ing quiet enjoyment for the rest of the night.
It was also necessary to ensure you had gathered with you all the books and materials to do all of your homework. However, in-evitable strife broke out when a “job for Mum” arose in the course of the evening. Incidentally, they were always referred to as jobs “for Mum”, even though they obvious¬ly contributed to the well-being of everyone in the house.
A new rule developed: if you were sitting in the No I Chair and had to do a job for Mum, you were entitled to get the chair back after¬wards. Once again, the rule was enforced by the Eldest Son.
The Eldest Son, who had the brute strength and political will, usually had an advantage. On one occasion — when he had left a crucial maths book in his bedroom — he misused the job-for-Mum rule. He was sent to a neighbour’s house on some trifling business, but before leaving the house he detoured to his bedroom and picked up the maths book. On his return, the question became, was he entitled to the return of the chair?
It was not an academic question. He bodily removed the Youngest Son. A couple of days later, the Youngest Son left a homework book in his bedroom. A job for Mum arose. He volunteered. He left the chair. He picked up his homework book. He did the job. Was he entitled to the return of the chair? In a triumph of the rule of law over brute strength, the Eldest Son (who had quickly occupied the chair on the Youngest Son’s vacat¬ing it) gave way. He had set the precedent and felt bound to obey it.
Soon after, the rug was pulled from under the Eldest Son as the determinant of chair-possession policy. It began after he pinched some charcoal, saltpetre and sul¬phur from the science lab at school. He turned to his science book, which gave the proportions of the ingredients in gunpowder.
Alas, the book didn’t give full instructions on how to make it. So, Eldest Son improvised. He mixed the ingredients with water in a Milo tin and, incredibly, put the tin next to the open fire to dry. The carpet wasn’t too bad, but the two lounge chairs were a mess. It took several weeks for them to be re¬covered. While the chairs were recovering, we kids had to sit on hard chairs to do our homework. When the chairs came back the Eldest Son was banished from them for a commensurate time.
Later the rules became further refined, as we children, like in¬genious taxation lawyers, sought loopholes to retain possession.
The Second Daughter — having, once again, left a homework book in her bedroom, asked Mum if she would like a cup of coffee. She returned, with coffee and the homework book, and reclaimed her chair. Thus developed the “contrived-job-for-Mum” rule. You were only allowed to reclaim the chair if Mum had ordered the job. Claims for repossession would be lost if you had suggested the job in order to invoke the job-for -Mum rule as an artifice to reclaim the chair after getting a homework book, going to the loo, or what¬ever.
Another refinement arose when we kids made deals. Second Son might agree to get Second Daughter’s homework book or do a job if she relinquished the chair after an hour. This would enable Second Son and Daughter at least some quiet enjoyment and allow Second Soy to get the chair without the usual enormous fight.
We agreed — without a precedent establishing use of force — that these deals would be honoured. A chair-futures market developed. Chair time was balanced against the unpleasantness of the job and the extent of competition awaiting to snatch the chair upon it being vacated.
The rules developed with circumstance, and worked because we all obtained a benefit from a predictable and peaceful succession in chair possession. But as we grew up and left for jobs of university, competition for chairs was not so intense. The detailed rules lost efficacy through infre¬quency of being applied. As we grew up the need for detailed rules faded — unlike in the outside world where more and more child¬ish rats compete for finite wealth and adult decency cannot be relied upon, thus causing a need for greater and greater regulation Such is the way of the law.
CRISPIN HULL
This article first appeared in The Canberra Times on 1 September 1985. Scanned and posted on 11 April 2010.