THE SEAMY SIDE

Hokitika Guardian, 3 September 1926, Page 1

THE SEAMY SIDE

LONDON, July 20. One woman who settled herself comfortably against the sido of tho wit-ness-box before beginning her story, casually told the magistrate, Mr Frederick Metad, that she left her 1 husband some time ago because of Ins cruelty to her. Mr Mead bent bis brows on her. “Then why didn’t you come here before?” he asked sharply. A little smile crept into the woman’s face—the sort of smile which has a joke on its heels. “He was in. prison, sir,” she said.

“And what do you want now that you have come?” Mr Mead pursued. “Only my furniture, sir,” slie 'answered with another smile; and she began to describe it—“a really very nice bed, you know,, a chest of drawers which ” “Yes, yes! But how much is it worth?” (Mr Mead rapped out. “1 should say quite £30,” said the applicant, mentally piling up chairs, a sofa ■and tho “really very nice bed.” “Would you take less for it?” the magistrate inquired. The woman pursed her lips as though considering an offer of purchase, then slowly shook her head.

“Very well, then,” said Air Mead with a “no deal” air, “you will have to go to the county court for your furniture; we have no jurisdiction above £15.” Exit applicant very thoughtfully. Tho next woman beamed in a very friendly way through her spectacles, her smile making tho circuit of the court like a lighthouse beacon. Then, very cheerfully, she observed: “I’ve given him two chances, you know .sir,”—and tho beacon began to rovolvo again. Mr Mead’s eyebrows lifted. “Given whom chances?” lie demanded. * “Oh. my husband, sir,” said the cheerful one with a quizzical upward glance which plainly asked: “Isn’t it always husbands who are given chances?” Sho was almost merrily determined now, however, that hers should get no more. He apparently had been so ungrateful as to blacken her mouth and knock her teeth in. “Anything'else?” asked the magistrate. She saw liumoiy in the question. “Rather,” she laughed, “smacks me on tho face every day. sir.” A. policeman will have a talk with that graceless husband. ’» * * * * A. neatly-dressed pretty young girl who was a bride not very many months ago mentioned quite unemotionally that her husband had gone to live with his mother. “But why?” questioned tho magistrate. She shrugged her slender shoulders slightly. “He said that as we were always quarrelling it would be better for him to go away,” she explained. “Lie said he was sick of living with me.” It seemed that the husband had arrived at this decision when she left her home in the country to spend a week in London after an operation. When she returned he told her, she said, to go hack to the place she had come from. She sighed, and lifted appealing, rather puzzled eyes to the magistrate.

“Very well,” lie said, “take a summons lor desertion,” And away slie tripped.

She was followed in the witness-box by a very much more experienced wife —one, also, who had forgiven and lived to regret forgiving. Last year, she faltered, she left her husband because lie was cruel to her. “Ho has been cruel to me ever since I married him,” she said. A few days ago he came to her “mid cried to me to take him back.” Womanlike, .she gathered him to her heart. “And now,” she ended, ”1 find out that he is still carrying on with another woman, and. indeed, living with her.” The magistrate scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Docs he bring the other woman to your home?” he asked. Hilt this crowning indignity was not suffered bv tbe applicant. “Then” said Mr Mend, “I’m afraid T can do nothing for you. There is only one place for you to go to, and that is the Divorce Court.” -A * * * * Women to whom marriage brings more blows than caresses grow to nuike peculiarly fine distinctions in defining cruelty. A middle-aged woman of buxom proportions who complained that hci husband, crying out with mock jollity “Good-bye! I’m going—and you can keep tho kids,” had loft her, added that ho had beaten her as well. “How many times l«s he been cruel to you?” the magistrate asked. “Three times in six months,” was tho answer. “What? Only three times in six months?” Mr Mead echoed. “Yes. sir,” the applicant replied, “but lie’s always hitting me in the Air A lead’s eyes twinkled. “Well, is not that cruelty?” he said. “Take vonr summons. ***** ■pussy little womian, to the magistrate : I’ want a ■protection order. Air Mead: Don’t keep them. What’s tho matter? The Woman: Mv life is in danger from Air Alead: A policeman will he sent to talk to him. The Woman: Tliht’s no good—it s a woman.