In a London Police Court.

Evening Post, Volume LXIX, Issue 59, 11 March 1905, Page 10

In a London Police Court.

Mr. Plowdrn arrivos at tho Marylebone I'olico Court soon after half-past 10; a shrewd-looking man, dusky-skin-ned, with thin iron-grey hair easily tumbled, a short grey nioustacho, dark eyeo, and nn nquilinc nose. Tho Court stands as ho enters. It is not a dramatic cntianco, slow and majestic, with tho rustling of rubos and tho haughty cries of deep-bowing lackeys going on betoro. Tho Magistrate does everything with, a rush; ho pushes, open tho door, moves swiftly to his scat, and has thrust his pinco-noz on to ilie end of his nose, looked over hit papers, and opened tho register bofore the Court has seated itself. "First applicant," he Bays briskly, resting his fiun in tho cup of his hand, and looking with corrugated brow to tho witnessbox. There is a whispering and shuffling of foot. Tho day's work has begun. Tho Policn Court is a snua.ro chamber, with a lofty coiling and glass-fitted roof. Tho walls aro a light grey, with a dado of groon tilos, celled With pal 6 blue, the three 'thll doors aro yellow, tho benches aro yellow, the witness-box and its wooden canopy are yellow, and tho Magistrate's bonch, with its high sound-ing-board, is also yollow. Hore and there- about the Court aro claict-coloured curtains, adding a mouvnfn! note of colour. Standard gas brackets risu from tho yellow bonchos. Tho long dock, facing tho bonch is of iron — two iron rails, supported by a few cross-pieces of thin iron, with tin numbors at tho top to distinguish many prisoners standing side by sido. THE APPLICANTS. The, public is not yet admitted. A tow witnesses aro scattered about tho Court; an oflicor and a Sergeant of the Guards and a Private of Artillery, among black coats and tho blue uniforms of police. In a long queue winding from tho back of tho Court to tho witness-box aro tho applicants for summonses and advico. Thoy follow each othor into the box in rapid succession. "Well, what do you want?" "If you please, sir, I want a summons against me bruvvor." "Why?" "It was liko this,, your Worship " "Why do you want a summons? "Lust Saturday nigliL about half -past " "Why do you j want a summons? — answer tho question!" "Ho stabbed mo, your Worship.'* "Stabbed you! What with?" "A knife." "Where?" "Well, ho (lidri't eggsactly stab me, your Worship And so on. The' majority of the cases aro family feuds, domestic brawls. Mothers want to summon their sons, wives thoir husbands, sisters their brothers, nephews thoir aunts, fathers their daughters. It is a gloomy work listening to these tales of sordid and petty wranglings, sad work watching tho procession of illclothod, black-oyca, heaa-bandagedj armslung humanity moving up lugubriously to tho witness-box. One is filled with a kind of heart-sick contempt for tho race, a nausea soizes upon tho soul ; one feels that we arc, indeed, but little children woak, not born to any high estate.. Think of this bruised and shabby, this ill-smelling and desperately ignorant procossioa passing before tho great White Throne! Can wo think o? it? Koprqsentativcs of civilisation. Inheritors ,of near two thousand years of Christianity. • v Mr.'PJowden on tho edge of his chair leans across his desk, with its green bottle of lavender salts and its dusty pincushion, stabbing the blotting-paper with a quill pen as he listens to these pitiful creatures, lie hurried them on with their tales.^chastens thouj for pettiness, rebukes them for quarrelling and drunkenness, and as oftou as possible persuades them to go homo and think no more about it. It is ljke a farmer flogging pigs out of clover back into their styes. IN THE DOCK. The last applicant leaves tho Court scratching lug heud, and tho doors are openod'to the public. A mob of shabby, low-browed people surge into the benches at the kick, and a woman is passed by the po'.ico from a side-door into the iron docu. Almost nt the same moment a constable is in the witness-box, kissing ti grimy copy of the Gospol of Love. The evil of Yesterday faces the punishment of To-day. Cofttcrniongers, labourers, gentlemen, cabmen, mechanics, soldiers, ifldi<«, anil Mnf><)nleiifs — v little representative congregation of Londoners— iilo into tho Court, hike their places in tho dock, and listen to tho tale of their evil ways. Drunk and disorderly ; drunk and disorderly! Gentleman, womun, and labourer. In every case the name of a public-house is mentioned. Stabbing, striking, and kicking; using IHthy language; stealing jewellery ; wife-beating and desertion — in every case a public-house. THE WOMEN. Tho number of women made me sad Such women, too! Undersized, twisted, ,and flat-cheated, with dirty, bilious-col*

oured faces and grimy luCnds. All in black — battered crepe buteuiid long greasy black dolmans, the bare arms, lifted up to rest along the iion rail of the clock, Little yellow-faced, half-starved, stunted, and deformed women — British matrons, molheiK of an Imperial race, snivelling behind the iron r.iil. finch a bhu:k, mournful procession. Only one bla/.e of colour all through the day, and that at the end, wliL*n .i poor Magdalen stood there in a lut of flaming scarlet. All of the (.;»>es tilled one with disgust, but somo of thrin lit up menacingly, us though mill a magic flash, the sulnneigecl lile lived by tliu dregs of the city. A hiigo labourer .stands in the duck, tiquaiejawed, close-cropped, and grim. A batleiud woman in faded mourning cums looks of (Mitieaty at him from tho wit-ness-box. "If you please, your Woihlnp," fche cries, mumbling with lips knocked out of the likeness of a mouth, "I've thought butter of it ; I don't want to charge him, your Worship; he's never stood in mich a place before, and I'm sorry, before Uihvcl 1 am, for ever having brouuht lunr to it." "Wait a minute, now ! lla.s ho ever knocked you about before?" "Well, your Worship, not regular he h.i.sn't ;' now and then, when he's had a drop of drink— you know; but 1 don't if.li to charge him, your Worship, he's a good husband when he'» sober — -" "But he broke your mouth to pieces!" "Ho didn't mean my lip, your Worship; it was me mother's sister standing at tho back of me, and — " Loud laughter drowned- the rest of the sentence and a baby cried. But think 'of it! Going back after this to "married life !" '1 he little miserable, misshapen woman and the huge square-juwed labourer ! Their future ! ' WHY THEY JEST. A blubbering boy charged with stealing; the mother ' in the witness-box. "What sort of a boy is he?" "lie's a good hoy, sir, when he's at home; but when ho goe* out into, the streets, for a little recreation, us you might say, ho mixes himself up with bad companions." "But why don't you look after him? You're hU mother! It's yuur business to bring him up as a clean-minded, honest citizen ; don't you know that?" And then the meek answer out of London's mi»ery : "if you ploiieo, sir, me husband's at home iv bed, dying, and I have to go out and work all day for tho fam'ly." Wuat answer is there to that? Then a dear old latly with snow-white hair — an old lady who ought to have been at home by tho fire with a nice warm shawl over her shoulders and her feet on a stool. She is charged with begging. "If you let me off, your Worship," she pleaded, "I'll go to a lady who'll give mo work, and, failing that," I'll go into the workhouse. I will, really." Work or the workhouse, at eighty! As many us a hundred of such cases, polished off between eleven and half-p.ist one, then cases for which summonses have been granted all through the afternoon till half-p.st four or five. Afterwards Mr. Plowden goes home and reads books about the eternal destiny of our mighty race. You understand yyby these Magistrate* jest at their work? It is said that Mr. llowdon is tho only man who has been ablo to "keep on" for any number of years without a nervous breakdown.— llarold Begbie, in the Daily Mail.