The Noon Lady of Towitta (16 page)

On the night before the trial began, I was taken to a small room next to the sheriff's office where my lawyer, Mr Anthony Foster from Kapunda, was waiting to speak with me. With him he had another lawyer, the smartest in town I was assured. Mr Josiah Symon came forward to greet me when I entered the room. He asked me to sit and he told me about himself and what he expected of me the next morning in court. He gushed with confidence.

‘You are fortunate, Miss Schippan. Your lawyer, Mr Foster, went to great lengths to retain me for you. Eighty pounds has been raised in and around Sedan and Angaston by a local farmer, Abraham Shannon, to pay the legal costs.'

Of course I knew this name because he was once the local district council chairman and had a large farm, but I'd never met him. I was surprised that someone not close to me had done so much to help my case.

After ten minutes, Mr Symon assured me that the case was based on circumstantial evidence and explained to me what this meant. He assured me that I had nothing to worry about and that I would soon be a free woman. After discussion between the lawyers, but in front of me, they said their goodbyes and left.

I had a troubled night. During the meeting the lawyers had discussed the murder as though I wasn't there. They talked about the large amounts of blood, the dust and the lack of evidence. Yet the reality of it all made my stomach lurch, especially when they discussed the possible but unknown differences between animal and human blood. This played on my mind after they had gone and the ensuing nightmare was one of the worst. In the deeper level dream I was in court where I was found not guilty and acquitted. Feeling relief I woke from the first dream to find myself in the condemned cell prior to being taken to the hanging tower. Just as the rope was put round my neck and I screamed with fear as the trapdoor opened with a thud, I really did wake up, still screaming and sticky with sweat.

The warden who rushed into my cell believed this time it was something more than just a nightmare. She put the lamp to my face and then put it down to take hold of my body. She was trying to calm me and wake me, and she showed sympathy for the first time. Usually it was a rattle on the door yelling, ‘For Heaven's sake, Schippan, keep quiet.'

Through my hysteria I tried to tell her what had happened. ‘It's the night terrors. Oh it was awful. I felt the hangman's noose around my neck. I can still feel the tightening rope on my skin. I know now what it will feel like.'

The warder agreed, ‘Yes, I'm afraid that could happen to you, Schippan, but I hope for your sake it won't come to that. Now try to sleep and not think of such horrible thoughts. There are still some hours to dawn.'

I was too terrified to go back to sleep. Around dawn I was taken from my cell and prepared for the ordeal of the day. I was allowed to dress in my own clothes, which had been beautifully laundered and steam pressed by the women in the gaol. My clothes looked better than I could remember them on the farm, where they were limp and dusty and smelt of old soap. They seemed like new clothes and they lifted my spirits somewhat after the terrors of the night before.

One of the women helped me do my hair and touch up my face. I know that since being confined in prison, my dress that had been loose was somewhat tighter and my once pale and pasty face had gained a bloom. I thought that this had to do with being away from Father and the unexpected pleasant companionship of other women while in a prison. One of the women said, ‘We all heard you last night, Mary. It was bloodcurdling and even frightened us hard-core women, I can tell you. It sounded as though you were being murdered.'

At nine o'clock Mr Farrell, the keeper from the gaol, led me out to the sallyport where I was placed in the back of a black cab with a woman warden. He sat in the front and we were driven to the Supreme Court. As I arrived in Victoria Square, I could see from behind the thick curtains of the cab, hundreds of people around the front of the building. Minutes before I arrived, the courtroom was opened to the public and there was a mad scramble by the crowds to grab a seat. It was hard to believe people were there just to see what happened to me.

I was ushered through the back entrance and into the courtroom where I was told to sit in the dock. As I walked in with my warder I felt all eyes on me and I felt my body flush with acute embarrassment at being put on show like a prize animal. I was thankful for the heavy black veil I was allowed to wear. It helped me in my efforts to distance myself from the events around me, as Mr Symon had instructed me. I was watching someone else's show. When an elderly and sombre judge strode past me in his red robes, we all stood until he took his seat.

Mr Symon took his seat alongside the other lawyers acting on my behalf, Mr Solomon and Mr Foster. I had been told beforehand to watch out for the two crown solicitors, Mr Stuart and Mr Sinclair. They presented a steely and determined union that would have disheartened the most hardened criminal. With thanks for Mr Symon's advice, I willed myself to appear calmer than I really felt and not to feel bullied by them with their knowing looks and cutting remarks.

In his opening address, Mr Symon spoke about how he came to be acting on my behalf. He told the court that Mr Foster had contacted him earlier the day before about the case, and it was only last night, around six thirty, when he was waiting for his train to Manoah, his home in the Adelaide Hills, that he had been handed the brief. He had then followed Foster out of the station to visit me in gaol. Mr Symon said that as my life totally depended on a good defence, it was only fair that the court should be adjourned until at least this afternoon, so he could catch up with all the facts surrounding the case.

There was much muttering and loud sighs of disappointment over this, which prompted a booming, ‘Silence in court!' Even Judge Way sighed so heavily that everyone in the court could hear and then he gave Mr Symon a stern look, but responded, ‘Till the afternoon is not enough, perhaps it is best that we adjourn until tomorrow morning, same time as now.'

With that he rose, picking up a large book he had been writing in during Mr Symon's opening address, and hurried out in his flowing robes. We followed him. I was driven back to prison and some of the women clapped and cheered when I appeared back so soon, making jokes about the quick verdict. ‘That was quick, they must have found you guilty. So tomorrow, Mary Schippan, you'll be hanged by the neck until you are dead.' And they laughed heartily.

The warden instructed me to change my clothes for the prison garb and I was put to work in the laundry with the other women. I was told again, in case I objected, that as a prisoner on remand I wasn't required to work. I told her that as I would be the only prisoner not working and would be left on my own, I would be happy to share their work with them. I was grateful for the noisy but cheerful company.

I thought I was too frightened to sleep that night but due to the lack of it the night before, I slept unusually soundly, free of nightmares. The next morning we followed the same procedure as the day before and when I arrived there were huge crowds again outside the court building and filling Victoria Square. Most of them were women, some armed with lunch bags and babies. The ordeal seemed worse than yesterday, perhaps because I had thought the trial would last only one day, and now there were several police holding back the crowds that heckled and jostled, excited about a woman being put on trial for murder.

The court session began punctually at ten o'clock and I was reminded once more that I had been formally charged with murder. Then I raised my eyes and saw Mother and Father. I had not given them any thought, but seeing my mother obviously suffering jolted my composure. Then there was a procession of witnesses giving evidence.

Practically everyone I knew had come to court to give some account of me. First, my family were called to the stand, followed by Detective Priest. This was followed by friends and neighbours such as little Violet Henke, Mrs Matschoss, Ferdinand Henke, Alby Lambert the district constable, his mother and the journalist from the
Register,
Rodney Cockburn. This went on till the middle of the afternoon. Then Gustave was called to the stand to a hum of expectation, and as the noise grew louder the judge had to call, ‘Silence in court!' There was a deadly silence when Gustave was asked if he knew the Schippan family and then how well he knew me.

‘I know the Schippan family. I had been keeping company with Mary for about twelve months. I remember being at Schippan's farm on the Sunday before New Year's Day. I came that afternoon and only Mary was home for Mr and Mrs Schippan were away over the hills and Bertha was out playing.'

‘How long did you stay?' he was asked.

‘I stayed until late evening, until after Bertha had gone to bed.'

‘Were you intimate with Miss Schippan?'

‘I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean.' Gustave looked around the court as if baffled.

‘I'll ask you again. Did anything improper take place between you and Miss Schippan?'

Gustave found this probing question difficult to answer for he took what seemed to be a very long minute before he answered. He glanced at me and I shuddered in acute embarrassment. I'd never known him to lie and he certainly couldn't now that he was on oath. He was to be damned if he lied and damned if he told the truth. Everyone in the courtroom seemed to be holding their breath and no one moved. A hatpin dropping would have been heard while we waited for his reply.

When he answered, ‘Yes,' the courtroom erupted into disorder and the judge banged his gavel shouting, ‘Silence in court,' as comments from around the courtroom of ‘Shame, shame on you' and disapproving ‘tut tuts' could be clearly heard. All eyes turned to me before they turned back to Gustave.

His description of the details of our courting activities, such as what we did in the barn and on the sofa in the kitchen in the dark, jolted me. All the time he was answering questions I only once caught him looking at me. He must have known I was staring right back at him from behind the veil, for he nervously played with the hat he held in his hands. After his ordeal he was ushered out of the courtroom.

When the courtroom was finally cleared for the day, my parents had to find their way through the crowds. The warden told me that people were everywhere, hanging on to railings, blocking the path, and climbing on stationary tramcars to catch a glimpse of Mother being supported by Father, or of me, the alleged murderess.

It seemed the crowd of women who were pestering the police were causing a real nuisance by heckling and making loud comments. It surprised me that there were far more women interested in my plight, women who stayed till the bitter end when the court was adjourned at ten o'clock that night. I wondered if they would all be back in the morning. It was difficult for me to know whether they wanted me to be found innocent or whether they were just interested in seeing in the flesh the next woman in South Australia to be hanged.

23

Sister Kathleen didn't want me to stop but she had to go. ‘Mary, I've chores to do but I'll be back tomorrow. One would never know that all this could happen to one woman. You keep saying I am the first one to hear your story. If I am, I feel privileged.'

The next day Sister Kathleen brought me apples and we moved our chairs out under the verandah and watched the rain, cosy under blankets and shawls as I continued my story.

Gustave was involved in a dramatic incident. Next morning the female warder told me that there were well over 2000 people standing in front of the courthouse, waiting for the day's court session to start. She then told me what had happened to poor Gustave after he left the courtroom just before dusk the day before. He was identified as my sweetheart by someone in the crowd, and they became menacing. At first he was greeted with an ominous stare. Then as he headed down King William Street to stay with relatives of the Schwanefeldts in Carrington Street, he was followed by an angry pack of boys, men and some women who increased their pace as he increased his. Stones and other flying objects began hitting him and he took off his hat and ran for his life, the mob tearing after him yelling, ‘Get him. Get him.'

Luckily for Gustave, Detective Priest was outside the court building and saw what was happening. He apparently snatched a bicycle from a nearby constable, telling him he would be back shortly, and pedalled after Gustave blowing his whistle for all he was worth while weaving his way between Gustave's assailants. As he overtook the mob and caught up with Gustave he shouted, ‘Quick, for God's sake, son, hop on.' Gustave, white with fear, took no persuading and hopped onto the crossbar of Detective Priest's bicycle. They sped off at great speed leaving the angry and disappointed mob behind screaming for his blood.

Just as the warder was finishing the saga of Gustave's escape and telling me that he was now referred to in the newspapers as my ‘pretty lover', the judge strode in and we were called to stand. And we were back to questioning and expert opinions for another day. Witnesses were called one after the other. When Mother was called to the witness stand and asked about our family life and how Father treated us, she lied about his character. When she said, ‘He hasn't punished them since they have grown up,' I raged inside as I thought of how we had suffered at his hand and it took all my efforts not to shout out and deny her statements.

When asked about Gustave, Mother said, ‘My husband did not object to a well-meaning young man coming to see our daughter.' Of Gustave's behaviour she remarked, ‘My husband is a good-tempered man unless anyone fell out with him, then he would get cross.' What an understatement, I thought. When was he not cross? And for Father, ‘getting cross' usually meant a physical attack. I was in a rage about how Mother whitewashed Father's character.

The courtroom trial was unlike the more casual inquest two months earlier. It was formal and each point was covered in a great more detail. The men of the law were like mannequins in their wigs and gowns, while the male jury members were unsmiling, severe and a little frightening. Mr Symon worked very hard for me but I couldn't help thinking that most of his pleasure came from taking the stand and being cocky while he twisted everyone's words. Of course, I thought he was wonderful; after all he was my lifesaver. At times I would see the old judge groan or sigh as Mr Symon made some smart remark or other. Then he turned to the judge and spoke of the newspapers: ‘I think we should do all that is possible to allay the public curiosity and not whet it.'