Brief Tales From The Bench (5 page)

Mr Chilton did not say anything for a moment, and then: ‘When I said that you were the nastiest little boy I’d ever seen,’ he said, ‘it was an understatement. Now go to hell. You know the way, I see.’

I was told that later that evening David approached his father.

‘I’m sorry the case is going against you, father,’ he said, ‘what’ll it cost?’

‘I don’t so much mind the money, David,’ said his father, ‘but it’s losing to that self-satisfied, mealy-mouthed scoundrel of a schoolmaster that troubles me. I hate the thought of it.’

‘Would you like to win the case, father?’ asked David.

‘Of course I would. I’d give a good deal to win it.’

‘How much? £50?’

‘More.’

‘I’ll settle for £50,’ said David.

‘What d’you mean?’ said his father.

‘If you win the case,’ said David, ‘will you give me £50.’

‘All right,’ said his father, ‘I will. I’d much rather give you £50 for nothing than pay a penny to that so-and-so.’

‘Done, father,’ said David, ‘Can I have it in fivers?’

‘I only hope you get it.’

‘I’ll get it all right, father. You have it ready to give me as soon as the judge gives judgment for you.’

And, when next day came round, to the Major-General’s surprise, as well as to mine, Mr Chilton withdrew the case and agreed to pay the defendant’s costs.

‘I’ve never been so pleased to pay out on a wager, my boy,’ said his father as he gave the £50 to David. ‘And you got it by fair means this time, no false pretences, no blackmail, nothing. All fair and above board, you’ve earned it.’

‘Yes, I think I’ve earned it, father,’ said David.

‘And now, my boy,’ said his father, ‘have you had any more thought about what you’re going to do?’

‘I think,’ said David, ‘I’d like to follow in grandfather’s footsteps.’

‘But he was a bishop,’ said his father.

‘That’s right,’ said David.

I remembered then that Mr Chilton had said that some of his worst boys had become pillars of the Church.

The offence of perjury strikes at the root of justice. But, in my opinion, many lawyers and laymen do not treat it seriously enough. A man charged with a crime is pretty well given a free licence to commit as much perjury as he likes in his attempts to be acquitted of the crime with which he’s charged. The amount of perjury committed in criminal trials is tremendous. Every day men and women are swearing what they know to be false. But prosecutions after a conviction or an acquittal of a man who has committed perjury in the witness box are extremely rare. I do not pretend that the problem in the case of criminal trials is an easy one. Up to seventy years ago an accused person was not allowed to give evidence at all. That is obviously highly unsatisfactory. But now we seem to have gone to the other extreme. The reason why prisoners were not allowed to give evidence before 1898 was ecclesiastical in origin. It was feared that they might perjure their immortal souls in their efforts to escape conviction. It is not easy to find the solution which will at the same time give prisoners the right to give evidence on oath, and nevertheless make them less inclined to break that oath.

But, while the solution in criminal trials is admittedly very difficult to find, that is no reason at all why in civil cases, where no man’s liberty is involved, the danger of a man being charged with perjury should not be much greater. I have had a number of cases where one side or the other was committing plain and provable perjury, but no proceedings for perjury were taken.

The present story is a good example of a case where one side swore black, and the other side swore white, and the answer was not grey. In other words, deliberate perjury was being committed, but by whom? That was the question.

The story started with a dispute between two motorists. I will call them Morris and Riley. They nearly had a collision and this was entirely due to the fault of Morris. Mr Riley was very angry and ran up to Morris’ car, and, in spite of the apologies which Morris tendered profusely, proceeded to assault him. In consequence, Mr Morris sued Mr Riley for assault. And in those proceedings he not only claimed damages for the injuries to himself, but for breaking a gold watch. He said that when he put up his hands to prevent Mr Riley’s blows landing on his face, they struck the watch and broke it.

After the case had been opened by counsel, Mr Morris gave his evidence and told me what had happened. Apart from one matter, his story was not seriously disputed by the defendant. But it was that one matter which made the case of more than usual interest.

After Mr Morris had been cross-examined for a few minutes by Mr Faulkner, counsel for Mr Riley, he was asked this question: ‘Now, Mr Morris, you’re claiming the cost of a new watch from my client, aren’t you?’

‘Not the cost of a new one,’ said Mr Morris, ‘the value of the old.’

‘If you please,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘the value of the old. And you say that the watch which you produced ten minutes ago is the watch which my client damaged?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Will you look at it, please,’ said Mr Faulkner. ‘Hand it to him please, usher.’

The usher duly took it to the witness, who looked at it.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Morris, ‘I have it in front of me.’

‘Look at it, please,’ said Mr Faulkner.

‘I am looking at it.’

‘Do you say on oath,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘that that is your watch?’

‘I’ve already said it on oath.’

‘I want to be sure,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘that there’s no mistake. Is that the watch which Mr Riley damaged when he struck you?’

At that stage I intervened to ask: ‘Mr Faulkner, your client then admits the assault?’

‘Certainly, your honour,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘but not the damage.’

‘You mean,’ I asked, ‘that you say that this is not the watch which was damaged?’

‘Precisely,’ said Mr Faulkner.

‘It is his face, I suppose?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘I admit the face, and that my client struck it. I also admit that my client would have struck it a second time, but Mr Morris’ hand got in the way.’

‘Was there a watch on it?’ I asked.

‘My client has no idea,’ said Mr Faulkner. ‘All we say is that, whether or not the plaintiff had a watch, it is not this one.’

‘Very strange,’ I said, ‘if it isn’t.’

‘Stranger things have happened in this court,’ said Mr Faulkner, who, it will be gathered, was not an advocate who was frightened to express himself.

‘Give me an example,’ I suggested.

‘Oh, your honour,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘I hadn’t any particular event in mind. But very strange things do happen in the courts from time to time. Let me think. Yes, your honour. I once cross-examined a witness who turned out to have exactly the same name and address as I had.’

‘As you had?’ I asked.

‘Yes, your honour. As I had. He was Jeremy Faulkner, and he lived at eighteen Greenfield Gardens, and so do I.’

‘It wasn’t you, I suppose?’ I asked.

‘The towns were different, your honour, but it was a very odd coincidence.’

‘And what precisely has this got to do with the case?’ I asked.

‘Your honour, you asked for an example of something strange. It was the first I could think of.’

‘Quite right, Mr Faulkner,’ I said. ‘I apologise. Now let’s get on. Mr Morris, d’you say you had a wristwatch on when you were assaulted?’

‘I do, your honour.’

‘And that this was the watch?’

‘Yes, your honour.’

‘No doubt about it?’

‘None at all, your honour.’

‘Very well then, pray continue, Mr Faulkner.’

‘I suggest to you, Mr Morris,’ went on Mr Faulkner, ‘that you are deliberately telling a lie.’

‘Can you tell a lie by mistake, Mr Faulkner?’ I asked. ‘You can tell an untruth by accident, but a lie is surely a deliberate untruth, isn’t it?’

‘I plead guilty to a pleonasm,’ said Mr Faulkner. ‘Now, Mr Morris, when you say that this is the watch which was damaged by my client, you’re telling a lie, aren’t you?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘I suggest to you, Mr Morris, that you acquired this watch three days ago, from the landlord of the Barclay Arms, Trenton.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mr Morris.

‘Let Mr Carr stand up, please,’ said Mr Faulkner, and a man stood up in the back of the court. ‘D’you see that gentleman?’ went on Mr Faulkner.

‘I do.’

‘Have you seen him before?’

‘I have.’

‘He’s the landlord of the Barclay Arms, isn’t he?’

‘I know. I often have a drink there.’

At that stage, Mr Carr spoke up from the back of the court:

‘Look,’ he shouted, ‘I don’t want to get involved in this. I–’

But the usher broke in with: ‘Silence in court.’

‘Mr Faulkner,’ I asked, ‘are you calling that gentleman as a witness?’

‘I am, your honour.’

‘Well, would you please tell him to keep quiet until his turn comes.’

‘I don’t want my turn to come,’ shouted Mr Carr.

‘Silence in court,’ said the usher.

‘Keep quiet, sir,’ I said.

‘Why should I be mixed up in their affairs?’ shouted Mr Carr.

I asked Mr Carr to come forward, and he did so.

‘Now, Mr Carr, you are the landlord of the Barclay Arms?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘I am, and I want to get back there.’

‘I dare say you do, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘but, if you’re a witness, I’m afraid you’ll have to remain.’

‘It isn’t fair,’ said Mr Carr. ‘There’s a lot to do to get ready for opening, and I’ve only got a young boy who knows nothing about it to help me.’

‘I’m extremely sorry,’ I said.

‘Some people think pubs run themselves,’ went on Mr Carr. ‘Well, they don’t. There’s a hell of a lot of work to do, or we’d go bust in no time.’

‘You’re not in your public house now, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘and you’re not to talk like that. I know it’s inconvenient for people sometimes, but the courts couldn’t be carried on unless witnesses could be compelled to attend.’

‘I quite understand that, your honour,’ said Mr Carr, ‘in a case of importance. Murder or something. But this petty squabble shouldn’t involve other people. If they were sensible, it could be settled over a pint.’

‘That could well be, Mr Carr,’ I said, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t discuss the matter any more. Kindly sit down and keep quiet.’

So the disgruntled Mr Carr went back to his seat in the court, and Mr Faulkner continued to question Mr Morris.

‘Mr Morris,’ he asked, ‘did you not buy this watch from Mr Carr for £4 three nights ago?’

‘Nonsense, why should I?’

‘You’re not supposed to ask me questions,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘but I don’t mind answering that one. If my client didn’t damage any watch of yours, you might want to increase the damages by pretending that he did. I suggest that’s what you’ve done.’

‘If I never speak another word,’ said Mr Morris loudly, ‘I tell you that he broke my watch when he lashed out at me. It’s absolutely true, your honour.’

He said it very convincingly. I said as much, and added: ‘I take it you want to pursue this point, Mr Faulkner, and to continue to keep Mr Carr from his public house?’

‘I’m afraid so, your honour,’ said Mr Faulkner.

‘Now, Mr Morris,’ he went on, ‘will you kindly look at someone else. Will Mr Briggs stand up, please. D’you know him by sight?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘He also goes to the Barclay Arms.’

‘I don’t know everyone who goes there.’

‘I don’t suggest you do, but he remembers you.’

‘What am I supposed to say to that?’

‘He’s going to say that he provided the watch which the landlord sold to you, and that this is the watch.’

‘I’m on oath,’ said Mr Morris.

‘I know you are,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘and so will he be. Do you still deny it?’

‘Of course I do. It’s all a put-up job to get out of paying for what was quite a valuable watch.’

Eventually Mr Morris’ cross-examination was concluded, and in due course Mr Carr and Mr Briggs gave evidence. Mr Carr did so most unwillingly, but, if ever there was a voluntary witness, it was Mr Briggs. He obviously enjoyed himself from beginning to end.

‘You are Edward Briggs,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘and you live at seven, Maryland Buildings, E6?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you, Mr Briggs?’

‘Yes.’

‘What d’you mean by “yes”?’

‘I was told I had to say “yes” or “no”, and “yes” sounded more like.’

‘Well,’ I put in, ‘you don’t have just to say “yes” or “no”, Mr Briggs, answer the questions as you like.’

‘Oh, that’s different,’ said Mr Briggs.

‘So long as you tell the truth,’ I added.

‘The truth, eh, my lord? That’s asking a bit.’

‘I know,’ I said, ‘but you must do your best.’

‘OK my lord, what’s the question?

‘What do you do for a living?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

‘Sell fings.’

‘Such as?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What d’you sell?’

‘What do I sell? Logs and dogs.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Granted.’

‘
What do you sell?
’

‘Told yer. Logs and dogs.’

‘Logs and dogs?’

‘Logs
and
dogs.’

‘That’s an odd combination,’ said Mr Faulkner.

‘What’s that?’ said Mr Briggs.

‘Logs and dogs.’

‘Logs and dogs,’ repeated Mr Briggs.

‘What’s wrong with selling logs and dogs, Mr Faulkner?’ I asked.

‘Oh nothing, your honour,’ he said, ‘except they don’t seem to go together.’

‘Look,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I sell logs, see. And sometimes I pick up a dog or two cheap, see. So I sell ’em. That’s logs and dogs, ain’t it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘it’s logs and dogs.’

‘Well that’s me then,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘Logs and dogs.’

‘Have you seen Mr Morris before?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘In the boozer.’

‘You mean the Barclay Arms?’ I put in.

‘Yes.’

‘When did you last see him before today?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

‘In the boozer?’

‘All right, Mr Briggs,’ I said, ‘in the boozer.’

‘Didn’t see you there, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs.

‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ I said.

‘Perhaps it’s the wig?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not the wig.’

‘There’s nothing wrong in going to a boozer, is there?’ said Mr Briggs.

‘Nothing at all,’ I said.

‘Then why don’t you go, my lord?’ asked Mr Briggs.

‘Mr Faulkner,’ I said, ‘shall we get on with the case?’

‘Mr Briggs,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘when did you last see Mr Morris in the Barclay Arms?’

‘A couple of nights ago,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘Call me a liar, it was three, or I’m a Dutchman. Cor, I am a Dutchman, it was four.’

‘Well, whenever it was,’ said Mr Faulkner, ‘what happened?’

‘Well,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘I was downing my pint quiet like, when I heard him say something funny to Mr Carr.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said he wanted to buy a gold watch.’

‘What was funny about that?’

‘He said he wanted one that didn’t go,’ said Mr Briggs.

‘He wanted to buy a gold watch that didn’t go?’ I asked.

‘That’s right, my lord.’

‘So what did you do?’ asked Mr Faulkner.

‘I listened,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I thought I might do a bit of business.’

‘Why?’ I asked, ‘Had you a gold watch that didn’t go?’

‘Oh, no, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs. ‘I’ve nothing gold about me. But I thought I might pick one up.’

‘How,’ I asked, ‘pick one up? Among the logs and dogs?’

‘That’s right, my lord.’

‘You mean,’ I asked, ‘that you thought you might find a watch among the logs and dogs?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes, my lord.’

‘Explain, please,’ I said.

‘Well, my lord,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘it’s like this. I sell logs and dogs. Now ’ow can I do that if I don’t buy them? I can’t, see. So I
buy
logs and dogs.’

‘We all know that by now,’ I said, ‘but where does the watch come in?’

‘Well,’ said Mr Briggs, ‘blokes what sell dogs may sell other things too.’

‘Such as?’ said Mr Faulkner.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Briggs.