I'd left the house for only half an hour, to go to the bank, but as soon as I got home, I knew something was wrong. There was a motorbike on the drive and, as I got out of my car, I could hear its engine still running, but no one was around. I live alone, next to quite a busy road, but I hadn't been expecting anyone. There are lots of entrances to my house, and I checked to see if any were open. At the back, I found smashed windows.

This is the house I grew up in. I returned to it 16 years ago, from Belgium, after my husband died, wanting a secure home for our two daughters. It's surrounded by woodland but I've never been fazed by the isolation. Now, however, I was going to have to act alone. The thought didn't worry me. I'm in my 60s but I've never been fitter, and I've certainly never felt physically inferior to anyone, male or female. It just never occurred to me to get back in the car and drive away. Although there was nothing of great value in the house, the idea of someone entering uninvited incensed me – I wanted them gone.

So I quietly unlocked the front door, went inside and listened. I could hear an intruder in the top of the house, moving around noisily. I walked back outside and pushed the motorbike, which went down with a crash, the engine cutting out as it flooded. "That'll make your life more difficult," I thought, as I returned inside.

Making no attempt to be quiet this time, I went over to the mantelpiece and took down the rifle that hung above it. It's always been there – my parents were collectors. It was an ancient, harmless specimen, but I wanted to feel its weight as I stood downstairs and waited.

Someone appeared then, at the top of the stairs, wearing a motorcycle helmet. But he wasn't alone. There was a second helmeted man with him, carrying a rucksack. I hadn't expected two. Gripping the rifle tightly, I spoke clearly and calmly – saying that I'd called the police. It was a bluff – the council had dug up the landline for repairs, and I rarely get mobile coverage.

The first man came down the stairs and I swung the rifle as he closed in, bashing him around the legs. The second wasn't far behind – I grabbed at the rucksack as he drew level, but he pushed roughly past. Knowing they weren't likely to get far, I went back out of the front door, still carrying the rifle.

The two men picked up the motorbike; one was desperately trying to start the engine. He was shouting, "Push me! Push me!" at the other. I grabbed him and held on tight, then gave the other a whack with the rifle. He snatched the gun out of my hand and tossed it on to the floor. Realising they weren't going anywhere on the bike, they fled into the woods, taking the rucksack with them. Suddenly unsupported, the heavy machine collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the ground.

Several people drove by without stopping before a lorry slowed and came to a halt in front of the drive. I was still trapped beneath the bike, covered in mud and blood – my hands were bleeding and I'd wiped my forehead, so I looked pretty awful. The lorry driver was able to contact the police, who arrived within minutes. Their dogs sniffed out the thieves and their swag pretty quickly.

I started to shake a little afterwards – adrenaline, probably – and felt a sudden urge to talk to my daughters. They seemed unsurprised I'd behaved as I did; I've always believed in acting instinctively and would certainly have regretted it if I'd done nothing.

I was in court when my visitors were sentenced, and got to see them without their helmets. They were both in their 20s, and couldn't stop smiling and sniggering – I think they were embarrassed. One of them received a three-year custodial sentence, the other nine months. I feel sorry for them – seeing them, and hearing their defence, I could see they'd been let down by society and were living on its outskirts. Locking them up certainly won't help.

Both men admitted they were terrified when they saw the rifle, and I certainly don't think they meant me any harm. Thieves want to work unnoticed and it was unfortunate for them I came back when I did. The element of surprise gave me the upper hand.

• As told to Chris Broughton

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