peter.author

“Guilty, ma’am.”

“Mr Donaldson, as Council for the Defence, do you wish to make a submission to the court before I proceed with this case?”

Henry Donaldson, QC,  rose heavily from his seat in the Central Criminal Court, turned to look at his client in the dock and turned back to address Mrs Justice Laine, the presiding judge.

“Your honour, my client would like to address the Court on her own behalf.”

“From the dock, Mr Donaldson?”

“From the dock, ma’am.”

“Very irregular.  Mr Smith, as Council for the Prosecution, do you have any objection?  You won’t be able to cross examine the defendant if she remains in the dock, you know.”

James Smith, young, keen and ambitious and only doing a stint in the Crown Prosecution Service to increase his experience, practically sprang from his seat in his eagerness to show willing.

“I’m obliged, ma’am, but no, no objection.  She has after all already pleaded guilty.”

“Very well.  Mr Donaldson, please ask your client to proceed.”

Donaldson half rose, turned and nodded at his client.  He then sank back thankfully into his seat supporting his weight on the desk in front of him and reflecting that his knees, like his hearing and eyesight, were not what they once were.

Katherine Prenderghast rose from her seat in the dock and, gripping the wooden ledge in front of her firmly, turned to the judge.  Faltering at first but slowly growing more fluent, she addressed the court.

“Your honour, ah… ma’am, this all started a year ago last Christmas when we were staying with friends and playing some sort of word game.  I can’t remember the question exactly, something about what links a large woman with the warning that a ship should give when going backwards, but the answer was ‘ avast behind’".

“Very politically incorrect.  Please continue.”

“Thank you, ma’am.  My husband, William, for some reason found this very funny and repeated it several times.”

“To your annoyance?”

“To my annoyance, ma’am.  Anyway, it didn’t matter afterwards and he seemed to have other things to occupy his mind with work and so on.  He had forgotten it until June last year when he was made redundant from work.  This meant that he stayed in bed having a cup of tea whilst I got dressed, ready to go to work.  And every day, without fail, as I bent over to put on my panties, I would hear his voice behind me saying ‘avast behind, avast behind’ like a parrot and laughing inanely.”

“Every day?”

“Every day, ma’am, from June to October.  About 150 times, at least, I heard that stupid expression and that was only if he said it once.  He usually repeated it.”

“I see. Please carry on.”

“I asked him to stop but he wouldn’t.  He made some comment that there were other appropriate nautical phrases like ‘broad in the beam’ and scraping barnacles off one’s bottom.  And he laughed again.  He always laughed, that irritating chuckle.  I began to dread every morning.  As I began to get dressed, I could feel myself tensing up for that stupid remark and hoping he wouldn’t, just this once, say it.  But he always did.”

“Wives have a lot to put up with.  What happened then?”

“On the day of the, ah, the day in question, I had had enough.  When he said it yet again, I went down to the kitchen and picked up a sharp pair of scissors and brought them back upstairs.  Even then, he laughed.  I had them clutched in my hand and he laughed!  He said, ‘I presume you’re going to make a cutting remark’, and sniggered. That snigger was the last straw.  I raised the scissors and that’s all I remember until I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed with a very dead husband.”

“Hmm, quite understandable.  Any wife would feel the same.  Justice will not be served by penalising the real victim here.  Case dismissed!”

THE END