The Jew had been a buyer at Smithfields for a kosher butcher. After working seven years for the same employer he suddenly misappropriated £28, went up to Edinburgh—I don’t know why Edinburgh—and had a «good time» with tarts, and came back and surrendered himself when the money was gone. £16 of the money had been repaid, and the rest was to be repaid by monthly instalments. He had a wife and a number of children. He told us, what interested me, that his employer would probably get into trouble at the synagogue for prosecuting him. It appears that the Jews have arbitration courts of their own, & a Jew is not supposed to prosecute another Jew, at least in a breach of trust case like this, without first submitting it to the arbitration court.
One remark made by these men struck me—I heard it from almost every prisoner who was up for a serious offence. It was, «It’s not the prison I mind, it’s losing my job.» This is, I believe, symptomatic of the dwindling power of the law compared with that of the capitalist.
They kept us waiting several hours. It was very uncomfortable in the cell, for there was not room for all of us to sit down on the plank bed, and it was beastly cold in spite of the number of us. Several of the men used the W.C., which was disgusting in so small a cell, especially as the plug did not work. The publican distributed his cigarettes generously, the constable in the passage supplying lights. From time to time an extraordinary clanking noise came from the cell next door, where a youth who had stabbed his «tart» in the stomach—she was likely to recover, we heard—was locked up alone. Goodness knows what was happening, but it sounded as though he were chained to the wall. At about ten they gave us each a mug of tea—this, it appeared, not provided by the authorities but by the police court missionaries—and shortly afterwards shepherded us along to a sort of large waiting room where the prisoners awaited trial.
There were perhaps fifty prisoners here, men of every type, but on the whole much more smartly dressed than one would expect. They were strolling up and down with their hats on, shivering with the cold. I saw here a thing which interested me greatly. When I was being taken to my cell I had seen two dirty-looking ruffians, much dirtier than myself and presumably drunks or obstruction cases, being put into another cell in the row. Here, in the waiting room, these two were at work with note-books in their hands, interrogating prisoners. It appeared that they were «splits,» and were put into the cells disguised as prisoners, to pick up any information that was going—for there is complete freemasonry between prisoners, and they talk without reserve in front of one another. It was a dingy trick, I thought.
All the while the prisoners were being taken by ones & twos along a corridor to the court. Presently a sergeant shouted «Come on the drunks!» and four or five of us filed along the corridor and stood waiting at the entrance of the court. A young constable on duty there advised me—
«Take your cap off when you go in, plead guilty and don’t give back answers. Got any previous convictions?»
«No.»
«Six bob you’ll get. Going to pay it?»
«I can’t, I’ve only twopence.»
«Ah well, it don’t matter. Lucky for you Mr. Brown isn’t on the bench this morning. Teetotaller he is. He don’t half give it to the drunks. Coo!»
The drunk cases were dealt with so rapidly that I had not even time to notice what the court was like. I only had a vague impression of a raised platform with a coat of arms over it, clerks sitting at tables below, and a railing. We filed past the railing like people passing through a turnstile, & the proceedings in each case sounded like this—
«Edward-Burton-drunk-and-incapable-Drunk?-Yes-Six-shillings-move-on-NEXT!»
All this in the space of about five seconds. At the other side of the court we reached a room where a sergeant was sitting at a desk with a ledger.
«Six shillings?» he said.
«Yes.»
«Going to pay it?»
«I can’t.»
«All right, back you go to your cell.»
And they took me back and locked me in the cell from which I had come, about ten minutes after I had left it.
The publican had also been brought back, his case having been postponed, and the Belgian youth, who, like me, could not pay his fine. The Jew was gone, whether released or sentenced we did not know. Throughout the day prisoners were coming and going, some waiting trial, some until the Black Maria was available to take them off to prison. It was cold, and the nasty faecal stench in the cell became unbearable. They gave us our dinner at about two o’clock—it consisted of a mug of tea and two slices of bread and marg. for each man. Apparently this was the regulation meal. One could, if one had friends outside get food sent in, but it struck me as damnably unfair that a penniless man must face his trial with only bread and marg. in his belly; also unshaven—I, at this time, had had no chance of shaving for over forty-eight hours—which is likely to prejudice the magistrates against him.
Among the prisoners who were put temporarily in the cell were two friends or partners named apparently Snouter and Charlie, who had been arrested for some street offence—obstruction with a barrow, I dare say. Snouter was a thin, red-faced, malignant-looking man, and Charlie a short, powerful, jolly man. Their conversation was rather interesting.
Charlie: «Cripes, it ain’t ‘alf fucking cold in ‘ere. Lucky for us ole Brown ain’t on to-day. Give you a month as soon as look at yer.»
Snouter (bored, and singing):
«Tap, tap, tapetty tap,
I’m a perfect devil at that;
Tapping ’em ‘ere, tapping ’em there,
I bin tapping ’em everywhere—»
Charlie: «Oh, fuck off with yer tapping! Scrumping’s what yer want this time of year. All them rows of turkeys in the winders, like rows of fucking soldiers with no clo’es on—don’t it make yer fucking mouth water to look at ’em. Bet yer a tanner I ‘ave one of ’em afore tonight.»
Snouter: «What’s ‘a good? Can’t cook the bugger over the kip-‘ouse fire, can you?»
Charlie: «Oo wants to cook it? I know where I can flog (sell) it for a bob or two, though.»
Snouter: «‘Sno good. Chantin’s the game this time of year. Carols. Fair twist their ‘earts round, I can, when I get on the mournful. Old tarts weep their fucking eyes out when they ‘ear me. I won’t ‘alf give them a doing this Christmas. I’ll kip indoors if I ‘ave to cut it out of their bowels.»
Charlie: «Ah, I can sling you a bit of a carol. ‘Ymns, too. (He begins singing in a good bass voice)—
«Jesu, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly—»
The constable on duty (looking through the grille): «Nah then, in ‘ere, nah then! What yer think this is? Baptist prayer meeting?»
Charlie (in a low voice as the constable disappears): «Fuck off, pisspot. (He hums)—
«While the gathering waters roll,
While the tempest still is ‘igh!
You won’t find many in the ‘ymnal as I can’t sling you. Sung bass in the choir my last two years in Dartmoor, I did.»
Snouter: «Ah? Wassit like in Dartmoor now? D’you get jam now?»
Charlie: «Not jam. Gets cheese, though, twice a week.»
Snouter: «Ah? ‘Ow long was you doing?»
Charlie: «Four year.»
Snouter: «Four years without cunt—Cripes! Fellers inside’d go ‘alf mad if they saw a pair of legs (a woman), eh?»
Charlie: «Ah well, in Dartmoor we used to fuck old women down on the allotments. Take ’em under the ‘edge in the mist. Spud-grabbers they was—ole trots seventy year old. Forty of us was caught and went through ‘ell for it. Bread and water, chains—everythink. I took my Bible oath as I wouldn’t get no more stretches after that.»
Snouter: «Yes, you! ‘Ow come you got in the stir lars’ time then?»
Charlie: «You wouldn’t ‘ardly believe it, boy. I was narked—narked by my own sister! Yes, my own fucking sister. My sister’s a cow if ever there was one. She got married to a religious maniac, and ‘e’s so fucking religious that she’s got fifteen kids now. Well, it was ‘im put ‘er up to narking me. But I got it back on ’em I can tell you. What do you think I done first thing, when I come out of the stir? I bought a ‘ammer, and I went round to my sister’s ‘ouse and smashed ‘er piano to fucking matchwood. I did. ‘There,’ I says, ‘that’s what you get for narking me! You mare,’ I says» etc. etc. etc.
This kind of conversation
