THE SEAMY SIDE.

Waikato Times, Volume 99, Issue 16545, 14 July 1925, Page 8

THE SEAMY SIDE.

TALES TOLD TO MAGISTRATE.

MISS VERA WOOD AND A GENTLEMAN.

By R. E. Corder in London Daily Mail. There was an air of restlessness at Bow Street Police Court yesterday. Policemen waiting to give evidence argued intensively about Manna, Gross Bow, and Runnymede. Solicitors engaged in cases threw frequent and furtive glances at the clock, and from the passage where the prisoners wait came the murmur of innumerable bets. The experienced gaoler came into court chuckling over his list. "I've just asked a man on bail," he said, "what he had done, and he replied 'Conquistador each way.' " Sir Chartres Biron, the magistrate, listened patiently to a man who wanted to know what he should do about his landlady, who would not allow a man who worked for him to enter the house to get his tools. Say it again, slowly," requested Sir Chartres.

The applicant responded to the encore, and added that his fiindlady had also taken a violent dislike to him. "There must be something behind," decided the magistrate, instructing an officer to make inquiries.

In the best Bow Street manner "drunks" were disposed of at the rate of a man a minute, to the joy of waiting solicitors and witnesses. The procession was accelerated by the gaoler, who directed the flow of prisoners like a constabic controlling traffic. "Now, then, come along," he requested a deliberate prisoner, who had difficulty with his hat.

"I want me hat," replied the man, reaching into a corner of the dock. "Come on, get a move on," urged the gaoler. "You haven't got a monopoly of the dock; other people want to use it."

Racing to the witness-box, a young constabic glared at a languid-looking man lounging against the dock rails"He was very drunk," complained the constable, "and he would argue with me while I was on traffic duty. I told him to go away, but he kept on coming back to make speeches." Talk is money where a policeman is concerned, and the argument cost 10s. and 10s. Gd. costs.

An elderly man wearing white whiskers had been in the infirmary since he was arrested a week ago. "lie was drunk and shaking his stick at me, and I had to take him to the hospital because his leg gave way."

"His real name is Ryan," announced the gaoler. "He lias been corning here for tlie last 50 years. When in drink he is very violent, much too violent for his years."

"For goodness' sake, don't send me to prison," pleaded the old man. "I can't pay a fine, and I'll try Jo keep out of prison for the rest of my life." "Twenty shillings," ordered Sir Chartres.

"No money, no address," said the gaoler. "All right," exclaimed Ryan. "1 know the way."

"What name do you want to give this morning?" inquired the gaoler pleasantly of a smartly dressed woman who stood in the dock with a young girl. "I am Miss Vera Wood," she declared loftily, "and I have a gentleman friend who will speak for me."

The gentleman friend said he used to work at the docks, but at present he was out of work. Nobody could look less like a dock labourer, and the clerk put him through his paces.

"I have known Miss Vera Wood for a week." he said, "and I met her when coming out of a billiards hall. I saw her arrested, and thought it was because she swore at a detective." "The woman's real name is Violet Gray," said the gaoler. "She is an habitual drunkard, and she has got the other girl in her train. The man witness has also been convicted at other courts."

"I thought so," remarked the magistrate, fining the woman 40s. for soliciting, and binding over the girl companion.

Requested to drive from Denman Street to Charing Cross, George Henry Cooke, a taxicab driver, according to his fare, went all round Victoria and made him lose his train.

A constable intervened in the dispute, and found that Cooke, who descended from the cab and reclined heavily on his shoulder, was obviously drunk.

"He was very violent on the way to the police station," said the officer, "and kept on saying that his clock was ticking away his savings and his left leg was won key." "So it was wonkcy," declared Cooke. "I told the doctor so when ho drew a zigzag chalk line for me to walk over. I said 'Doctor, that line isn't straight, and besides I've got a wonkcy leg. I always turn it out, and it always goes inways.' " "I examined his leg, but could find nothing the matter with it," said the divisional surgeon, "and I walked along the chalk line myself to show him the way."

"But it wasn't a straight line, doctor," complained Cooke, who was sent to prison for a month in the second division.