This post is an excerpt from A Time to Keep (1934):
The administration of justice in Tain was a homely affair. Both at the Sheriff Court and the Police Court, over which a bailie presided, were held in the Council Chamber, in what was a moveable dock. One morning in the Sheriff Court a young man was to be tried for having traveled on the Highland Railway from Dingwall to Tain without a ticket. The sheriff took his seat and addressed the accused:
“Panel at the bar, do you plead guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty, my lord.”
Up jumped Mr. J.A. Macdonald, the solicitor appearing for the railway company, and addressed the accused: “How dare you plead not guilty? Didn’t you tell me last night you were going to plead guilty?”
“Sit down, Mr. Macdonald,” called the sheriff, “sit down, sir; I’ve never heard of such a thing. The panel is entitled to plead guilty of not guilty, as he pleases. I am surprised at you, Mr. Macdonald.”
“I beg your lordship’s pardon, but it’s right to tell your lordship that understanding this lad would plead guilty I did not prepare a case. I’ll have to ask for an adjournment, and that means that your lordship will have to come back to Tain next week.”
The sheriff pondered, and addressed the accused: “You’ve heard what I said, and you can please yourself. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty, my lord.”
Again the sheriff pondered before pronouncing sentence. “This is a most serious offence. You plead guilty to defrauding the railway company. This kind of conduct has got the cease. You are liable to be sent to prison for three months. See that this never happens again. You are fined ten shillings and costs.”
In the Police Court it was much the same. On the bench was Bailie Wallace, tall, white-bearded, aged eighty, and senior partner in Wallace & Frazer, a firm of large iron-mongers in the town.
The bailie’s shop was opposite the court-house, and he was seated at his ledger when a policeman entered. “Could ye come over to the court-house, Bailie, for a minute? We’ve got a case.”
“Tut, tut: you see I’m busy. Can you not get one of the others?”
“No, no, Bailie, you’re the only one.”
“Well, well,” and the bailie carefully removed his spectacles, put them in their case, took his silk top-hat from its peg, and walked across the street.
In the dock was Jeannagh, an old crofter with a face like a witch. She was charged with stealing a sheep. She had not killed the sheep, but it was found in an outhouse on her croft. She pleaded guilty, and the bailie addressed her.
“You’ve pled guilty to stealing a sheep, a crime for which no more than one hundred years ago you would have been hanged.”
“Ay, Bailie, and wouldna that have been a fine disgrace to the town of Tain?”
“Hold your tongue, woman, you’re fined half a crown.”
“Then ye can pay it yersel’, Bailie.”
“I’ll do no such thing. There’s an account of two and sixpence against you on our books for two years for a new broom.”
In the dock stood Davy.
“Well, Davy, what’s it this time?”
“Drunk and disorderly,” answered the gaoler.
“Tut, tut,” said the bailie. “This will never do. Ye’ll be fined half a crown or a day in prison.”
“All richt, Bailie, an’ ye can pay the fine yersel’,” said Davy.
“You dirty trouster,” shouted the bailie, “how many times have I paid your fines! If you can’t afford to pay your fines, you’ve no business to get drunk.”
A lecture on temperance followed, but towards the end of his remarks the bailie thrust his hand into his trouser-pocket, pulled out half a crown, placed it on the bench, took his hat, and walked back to his shop. It may be that it was out of consideration for his own pocket that the bailie seldom fined anyone more than half a crown. He died and the age of a hundred.
In every county in Scotland there is a Procurator-Fiscal – an officer of the Crown – whose duties include those of an English Coroner and Director of Public Prosecutions. Yet there is a difference. In cases of suicide there is no publicity. An ordinary notice of death appears in the papers, and a tragedy is hidden from the world. How much better than the English system where the ghouls of the Press seize on the details that concern none by the one who died and those who knew him. There is no danger in the Scottish system. If the Fiscal be in doubt he sends all the evidence he has collected to the Lord Advocate, who decides whether a change of murder shall arise.
In a camp in Scotland during the War I found a young English office under open arrest, and very dejected. Without a permit he had hired a car and taken a girl for a long drive. They had stopped at a hotel for lunch, left the car outside, and were questioned by the police. To the police he told a lie – that he was looking for the site of a proposed rifle range. The police telephoned his Commanding Officer, who denied the story. Thus the officer was under open arrest, could not leave the camp, and was to prosecuted by the police for a breach for the Defence of the Realm Act.
The lad was troubled abotu the girl, whom I knew also, He liked her, and I did not. Young, very pretty, but hard, selfish and untruthful, she was engaged to a rich man. If her name appeared in this prosecution the engagement might be endangered. I told him that I was indifferent to the girl’s fate, that he had made a fool of himself, but that I would try to stop the prosecution. That afternoon I entered the office of the Procurator-Fiscal concerned. He did not know me, but had known my father.
“Well, Doctor, are you in trouble?”
“No, Fiscal, I’m not, but a friend of mine is.” And I told him the whole story, the truth and nothing but the truth.
“Ay, the papers of the at case are lying on my desk. You see it is my business to stand between the police and the lieges. The police don’t like me, and I don’t like unnecessary prosecutions. This case would be under the Defence of the Realm Act. Now see here, that young man had no right to tell a lie. That is not what is expected of an officer, and you say he’s an Englishman. Now if your friend will write me an apology to-night – mind you, a real apology – showing me he’s ashamed of telling a lie – well, so far as I’m concerned that’s the last he’ll hear of it. I think a sincere apology would meet the case.” It was a proper apology, because I tore up the first two attempts. As the police did not prsecute he was released from open arrest. In England, even if the Home Secretary had been my fag at school, I could not have stopped a police prosecution against myself of anyone else.
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