TALES TOLD TO THE MAGISTRATE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17915, 3 August 1926, Page 12

TALES TOLD TO THE MAGISTRATE.

LONDON PHILANDERER OF A STRANGE TYPE. (Special to the.“ Star,") _ LONDON, June 13. K. IS. Corder’s stories of the Seamy Side of life in London, culled from the police courts, are a daily feature of the “Daily Mail.” Here ib a typical picture from a day’s sitting : Eric the silent, Shirley the pliilanoerer, and Benjamin the philanthropist adorned the dock in turn at Westminster Police Court yesterdav. Each man is an expert in his own speciality, . and among them they provided a proI gramme more interesting than I have seen in the courts for many a day. Eric the silent is a shoemaker without a shirt. He lost the shirt at the same time that he lost his voice, and at the same place—at ten o’clock the previous night outside Chelsea Workhouse. * W ith loud shouts and violent gestures he summoned the porter, who told him to return when he was sober, whereupon Eric little by little added to his offences until, in a struggle with a couple of policemen, he lost his shirt and his liberty, and he was removed oil an ambulance to the police station, where he took a vow of silence. Shirtless and silent, Eric entered the dock, and when the clerk put the formal inquiry as to whether he was guilty or not guilty Eric impatiently tapped the floor of the dock with his right foot and said netver a word. Mr Gill, the most patient of magistrates, implored Eric to say something, but Eric resentfully tapped the floor with his left foot. Asked if he had any questions to put to one of the officers who arrested him, Eric pursed his lips and whistled. “lie said last night that he had a pension on account of his nerves,” said the constable. Eric drew a large envelope from his pocket and with a dignified gesture threw it on the solicitors’ bench. “He has a pension,” said Mr Gill, inspecting the documents in the envelope. Eric whistled righteously. ‘T think he had better be put back for a doctor’s report,” mused the magistrate. Eric, whistling on a shrill high note, marched out of the dock with his breast bared to all the winds of adversity. Shirley Page, the philanderer, arrived on a note of interrogation. “What does it mean?” he demanded, when charged with insulting behaviour. “The constable will explain,” replied Mr Gill politely; and the constable did at some length. He related how he and a colleague, both in plain clothes, had seen Shirley making advances towards women and girls at the omnibus, and tramway-car terminus in Yauxhall Bridge Road. Repulsed with heavy loss of prestige Shirley retired on Victoria Station, where he again failed to advance in the favour of two girls who left by train. Other women passengers requested Shirley to run away and play, so he returned to the scene of his first defeat, where he seized the arm of a girl who threw him off and boarded an omnibus. Arrested by the two officers, Shirley declared that it was a case of mistaken identity, and, as an after-thought, he remarked that the constables .were “dirty cads and rotten liars,” and he had a d good mind to hit them really hard. ‘“Now, you know what the charge means,” said Mr Gill courteously. “Oh. this is too much,” groaned Shirley, when one of the constables dcscrib ed how the man had thrown his stick on the pavement in a temper. “The officers behaved infernally rotten to me,” he declared. “You know you did” (turning to the nearest constable). “I told this fellow what I thought of him and he has it up against me. (Y'ou know you have. I know I cursed at you, but you can't blame me. You speak as if I were chasing every girl round Victoria.)” “So you were,” replied the constable stolid^*. “Don’t be absurd, my dear fellow. Do play the game. The girls were chasing me,” protested Shirley, who, turning to the magistrate, said: “I was going home by the tramway-car, and I was a good butt for the women. 3 would be a catch for them.” Mr Gill, who was not impressed by Shirley’s picture of himself as a shy Adonis pursued by the sirens of Vauxhall Bridge Road, put the penalty for philandering at 40s. Benjamin, the. miners’ friend, bought Is 6d worth of “miners’ lamp flags” from a woman flag seller at the Elephant and Castle, and, placing them in his hat, set out to sell them in Vauxhall Park. Two detectives whom he asked to buy a flag to help the miners demanded to see his permit which he could not produce. A political agent, who was the district organiser for South London of the miners’ flag day for the relief of their wives and children, said that Benjamin had no authority from him to collect, but he had met him before, and knew his family as members of the organisa--1 tion. Benjamin explained that he had been out of work for four years, and he spent much of his time at Vauxhall Park among a lot of old people like himself to whom it was his intention to distribute the flags without payment. Mr Gill thought there was a breach of the regulations governing street collections, but he discharged Benjamin, the friend of the miners. *