Pictures and Problems from London Police Courts. Holmes Thomas K.

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СКАЧАТЬ that atmosphere, have listened to the various sounds in major and in minor keys. All the social problems of the day were in that room, all the vices and sorrows of life were personified in it.

      This is no exaggerated picture, not in the least is it overdrawn; I do not wish to give fuller particulars, I dare not if I would. No publisher would publish, no printer would print, an exactly faithful account of a prisoners’ waiting-room of even twelve years ago. ‘Rescue them,’ said my employers, ‘and the last day of every month a small cheque shall be your reward.’ ‘How am I to do it?’ ‘Here’s a temperance pledge-book; take pledges.’ ‘But there are others.’ ‘Give them tracts.’ ‘But there are the hungry and homeless to feed.’ ‘Give them tracts.’ ‘There are the poor wantons.’ ‘Take them to rescue homes, and let them work out their own salvation at the wash-tubs.’

      Verily, if temperance pledges, tracts, and wash-tubs could save humanity, we had had the millennium long ago. Good, religious and well-meaning people talk very serenely, and with rare unction, about engaging in ‘rescue work.’ I doubt much if they know what they talk about. Have they ever thrown themselves into the very existence of a drink or vice-possessed man or woman? Have they ever stood in front of such a one, and said, ‘Hold! You shall not go to destruction’? Have they ever taken women possessed of an unclean spirit into their own homes to try what human sympathy and timely help would do for such? If not, let them do it, and I venture to say they will hold their peace or speak with less assurance. I was afraid of my work that first day; neither did I require the phrenologist to tell me that I had made a mistake.

      But there are other parts of the police court to explore. Come to the cells. Down the corridor, past the gaoler’s office, turn to the right. There they are, all in a row. It is afternoon, and they are pretty full. The prisoners have been reeled off by the magistrate, and some are going to prison and some are hoping for the coming of friends to bring the money for their fines. The prisoners’ van has not yet arrived, so we have time to see the prisoners. Come along. Do you feel bad already? You see the little trap-doors about 9 inches square in the doors of the cells; they are open, lying at a right angle outward. Put your face to one and look in. Ah! now you have got the full flavour of a London police court. One gulp is enough. How would you like to swallow some of that every day? You shudder. What! not for a small cheque once a month?

      Look again; it won’t be so bad next time. You look and hold your breath; while you gaze you get used to the semi-darkness and find you are looking into a woman’s cell, for they do divide the sexes after they have been before the magistrate. There is Kate in the corner, but her blucher boots are gone; the gaoler has taken them away because of her persistent kicking at the door. There is the festering piece of humanity in the other corner. There is the young girl who has stolen. There is the mother with her babe, for her fine has not yet been paid; and there are others in that low, square, dark cell, with its sanitary arrangements in the corner, and no female attendant on the premises. Shall we look into the men’s cells? No? You have had enough? So have I. And here comes ‘Black Maria.’ A door at the bottom of the cell-passage is opened, and there stands the prisoners’ van with its steps let down, its back-door open, and its cupboards unfastened, yawning like the grave for their prey. The gaoler hands a list of prisoners to the sergeant in charge of the van, the cell doors one by one are unlocked, from their cells to their cupboards the prisoners go, the cupboard-doors are fastened, the back-door is locked, the whip cracks, and away with its human freight of vice, misery and despair goes the prisoners’ van. And I was there to save them! I went into Kennington Park, sat down, and cried like a child. Thus ended my first day in a London police court.

      Kind reader, do not say I am talking cant; strictly religious friend, do not say I am impious: but that night I was ‘a man of sorrow, and acquainted with grief’—ay, and for days and months afterwards, for my sleep broke from me; and I wonder how many times in the small hours of the morning my wife has said to me: ‘Now, you are not asleep. You are bothering your head again.’ Why, they were looking at me, mowing and gibing at me, mocking at me, with outstretched hands appealing to me—the people whom I was paid to save and didn’t! If I dozed a little, I then began to talk nonsense, and my wife declares that I repeated ‘Hosey-tosey! Hosey-tosey!’ hundreds of times. I wouldn’t like to go again through my first year’s experience.

      What a pitiful position mine was! No friends in London; to go day after day to meet with abject poverty, hopeless misery, and unspeakable sorrows; to have a full heart and empty hands. I have said many a time to myself: ‘Thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep.’ It was deep—too deep. I wonder how it is that folk undoubtedly good think that poor humanity can be warmed, fed, and comforted with tracts, or be saved with goody stories. Poor humanity doesn’t much care for advice gratis, though some folk seem sent into the world on purpose to bestow it. Just about my darkest days in my police court experience a well-known lady invited me to her house to meet a famous religious philanthropist. She wished me to tell him about my work. This gentleman gave very large sums in aid of revivals, etc. I could not tell him of the souls I had saved, or of very much good I had done. But I told him of my opportunities, of the humanity that I loved, of the wants of the poor, of their temptations and sufferings, and of their patience and self-denial. I think I was just getting a bit eloquent, when he burst in, and, in a knockdown manner, said: ‘Do you give them Christ?’ I am afraid that I was vexed, for I replied: ‘Sir, I cannot carry Christ in parcels and distribute Him. I can only do as I think He would have done.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘I give them myself.’ That closed the interview, for neither lady nor gentleman wanted to hear more. I am sure they would agree with the phrenologist.

      Yes, I had to give them myself, for I had nothing else to give them in those days. And no one can say that I spared myself; but it meant something, for it nearly proved too much for me.

CHAPTER III

       A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

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      But a great change came over London police courts about eleven years ago. The description I have given of one court held true of them all at that particular time. If my memory serves me correctly, to Mr. Justice Wills belongs the credit of applying in the House of Lords for a Commission to inquire into the condition of things in London police courts. This brought about a blessed result, for everything that can be done for the comfort, refinement, and decency of the prisoners is now done at all our courts.

      The moral atmosphere is vastly improved, but the physical is improved beyond knowledge. A matron to attend to the girls and women is now appointed, and paid by the State, at every court. Not only are there separate prisoners’ waiting-rooms for the sexes, but each prisoner, male or female, has a separate compartment if they like to avail themselves of it. Young girls are no longer placed among the older and gross women, and, beyond having to stand in the dock to answer the charge, make but little acquaintance with the police court proper unless they are of that age, and the charge is of such description, that their detention in the cells is absolutely necessary. Male prisoners can no longer bandy words and exchange obscenities with female prisoners. The cell-walls can no longer be covered with ribald or filthy writing, for the walls are built of white glazed tiles, on which writing is impossible. No longer do the prisoners sit in darkness and stew in filthy air, for the cells are lofty, light, and well ventilated. No longer are seven or eight prisoners crowded into one cell, for the number of cells is largely increased, while the size of each cell is lessened. There is no longer any necessity for the prisoners to be continually shouting for the gaoler, or to hammer their cell-door with their boots, for an electric bell in each cell gives them all the opportunity of communicating directly and at once with him. The tone of the police, too, is wonderfully raised, whilst the magistrates are not only humane, but also human, and in touch with the various agencies for the assistance of prisoners.

      Everything is changed for the СКАЧАТЬ