THE CASE AGAINST FRANCES HOPKINS

By Bob French

Margaret Simpson, a 38-year-old clerk of Barkingside Magistrates Court stared at the door behind the Bench waiting for it to open. When she saw it move, she stood, cleared her throat; and in a crisp sharp voice said “All rise. Justice Henrietta McDonald presiding”

          Whilst the public were noisily taking their seats, Margret Simpson turned to the bench and went through the motions of informing the judge, who she was dealing with today. The judge, who never heard a thing due to the noise of those trying to be seated in the public gallery, nodded her thanks. As she glanced up she noticed that the public galleries and some of the isle seats were packed with females and made a note to find out why there were no males.

          After Mr. Frances Hopkins confirmed his name and address, the judge nodded, then looked up and glanced down at the barrister who was prosecuting Mr. Hopkins.

          “Where is Miss Newton?”

          The young-looking barrister coughed and in a rather timid voice apologized and said “she was called away suddenly.”

          She then nodded to Mr. Jones, who was defending Hopkins. He had impressed her having been appointed to the Bar a year or so ago and was doing rather well.

          The barrister for the prosecution stood, held his lapels as they did on television and began laying out his case against Hopkins.

          Justice McDonald interrupted him and leant forward.

          “Sorry, forgive me, but I didn’t catch your name?

          “I do beg your pardon Your worship. William Thornton, I was appointed to your chambers last week your worship”

          She stared down at Mr. Thornton and made a mental note to have a stern word with her chambers.  “Please carry on.”

          After ten minutes, the judge interrupted Mr. Thornton.  “I would be grateful if you would get to the point of the case or we shall be here untill lunch time.”

          “Sorry your worship.  Mr. Hopkins is being charged with…… He paused and looked down at his notes which were scattered across his desk. “Um, Ah, Theft your worship.”

          “Go on.”

          Thornton didn’t understand the judge’s question.  He was now panicking.  His mind was racing.  Did she mean that I should start my case or explain the case against Hopkins? 

          It was then that she realized that before her was a young man who should not be in the court room and was going to make sure that his first case would be remembered by many of those who practiced law.

          Before he could come to a decision, the judge banged her gavel.

          “Mr. Thornton please sort out your briefing notes, then take a deep breath and begin please. Now what is he being charged with?”

          James Thornton had read Law and gained a first at Oxford and had been granted a two-year apprenticeship, but as he was the ‘new boy,’ he was given menial tasks such as filing and diary keeping.  His father, Sir Wentworth Buckingham Thornton, a prominent Old Baily trial judge had pulled a few strings and once James had completed his apprenticeship, his father applied for his son to be admitted to the Bar Standards Board.  Of course, his application was approved without question and young James Thornton was admitted to the Bar. This upset many of those who had been practicing law for years.

          James had a secret?  He had spent all his teen years swatting for exams, and then when he went up to Oxford, where most students lost their virginity, James hid himself in the college library.  In short, he was afraid, no petrified of females, not older ladies, but those in their twenties who thought nothing of their promiscuous behaviour.  Their confidence and over bearing attitude frightened him.  He looked at his notes again, then took a deep breath. 

          “He is charged with the theft of, he paused, ‘dames sous les vetements’.”  The court room suddenly fell silent.  The judge looked up and stared at Thornton, who was now wishing he was a thousand miles away.

          “Mr. Thornton, in English if you please.”  She waited for a minute or two then realizing as she studied his face that he was blushing.  She smiled as she understood now why Miss Newton had suddenly made herself unavailable for today’s case.

          “For the sake of clarity and understanding, I am to believe that Mr. Hopkins is being charged with stealing ladies underclothes.  Is that right Mr. Hopkins?”

          Hopkins stared at the judge, then down at his barrister, who had sat down and was trying to hide himself amid his case files, then back up to the judge.  “Naa, sorry luv. It was Knickers!”

          The public galleries burst in to laughter; some were shouting abuse at Hopkins until the judge used her gavel to gain control.

          “I beg your pardon Mr. Hopkins”

          “Knickers. I wus caught wiv a suitcase full of knickers.  But them was me own property see.”   

          The Judge banged her gavel once more, then looked down at Mr. Thornton. “Are you ready to continue your opening statement?”

          He thanked her, then stood. “Members of the jury. The only crime Mr. Hopkins is guilty of is to have been caught with a suitcase full of… he paused………knickers.”   As those in the public gallery started to titter he sat down.

          Mr. Jones stood, glanced down at his notes then began:

          “Do you plead guilty to the charge of theft, in that on the morning of the 12^th of May 1998, you were seen selling these…. garments, out of a suitcase at Shepherds Bush market?”

          “No I don’t! The knickers I was selling on that day were me own collection.”

          “But you were seen by a Miss Davenport, Mrs. Luke and Mr. Smith.  In Miss Luke’s statement she states that she recognized her… underwear.

          Suddenly from the public gallery a woman stood up and shouted.

          “Come on Frankie, last week you tried to sell me, me own knickers, and Joseys at number 23.”

          The judge could see that the two young barristers were out of their depth and decided to intervene. “Mr. Hopkins. Do you make it a habit of stealing ladies underwear?”

          “Yes me lady.” 

          “And how many pairs of knickers do you have at present?”

          “Depends your honour.  If thems in good nick, I keep them for a couple of weeks, then gives em back.”

          “Why do you steal them in the first place?”

          “Some people saves stamps, cigarette cards or coins.  I collect knickers. Sometimes I gets lucky and find a pair from Paris, so I takes a photo of em, then I washes them un pops em them back through their letter boxes.”

          So you only steal from houses that are close to you?”

          “That’s right. School Road, Orchard Road and Oval Road North, yer honour.  They are all in one place and have a back alley, so I can pop in and out before anyone sees me.”

          The judge looked up into the public gallery.  “Is this correct”.  Do you get your underwear back from Mr. Hopkins?”

          Those in the public gallery erupted with some cheering and some demanding that he had not returned their knickers.”

          “Mr. Hopkins.  Do you keep an address of where you steal these garments from?”

          “Yes your honour.”

          “So, let me see.” She smiled to herself as she looked down at the personal information of the two barristers. “How about 21 Orchard Road?”

          Mr. Hopkins pulled out a scruffy little note book, flipped over a few pages, then looked up.  “One pair ov em belongs to Mrs. Black yer honour.”

          The judge looked up into the public gallery. “Is Mrs. Black here?”

          An elegant woman in a smart brown overcoat raised her hand.

          “Would you please stand.”

After some shuffling of chairs, the woman stood.

          “Thank you Mrs. Black.  Can you describe your missing underwear.”

          “Yes Miss.  They were red lace with butterflies on them, from Woolies.”

          This brought some cheesy comments from those around her, but she ignored them.

          The judge looked down at Mr. Hopkins. “Is Mrs. Black’s description correct?”

          “Yes yer honour.”

          “One last try shall we?  Mr. Hopkins do you have underwear from say number 19 School Road.

          After a minute or two thumbing through his book, Mr. Hopkins looked up at the judge and grinned.

          “I haves a couple o’ pairs from that address yer honour.”

          “Could you describe them please and tell me who they belong to.”

          These are special My lady. Real posh. Designer label from New York.  Ang on a mo, as he flicked through his little book, he grinned up at the judge.

          “They belong to a Mr. Thornton.” Suddenly the whole court room was in hysterics. The public gallery was standing and pointing at James Thornton.

          It took a good ten minutes before the judge could bring order to the court room.

          “We are here today to try Mr. Hopkins for stealing your underwear.  What Mr. Thornton wears is of no interest in this case.”  The judge looks down at Hopkins.

          “What happens when you cannot return the garments to their rightful owner?”

          Hopkins shrugged his shoulder.  “It’s rare that I don’t hand em back, but if I can’t, I pops alf a nicker through their letter box yer honour.

          Everyone in the court cheered and laughed at Hopkins’s reply except the

Judge, who gave up using her gavel.  When silence was achieved, she asked Hopkins to stand.

          “Frances Hopkins, you have been found guilty of petty theft, have you anything to say?”

          “Only that I am sorry yer honour, but I didn’t intend stealing only borrowing, honest.”

          Justice Henrietta McDonald stared at Hopkins for a while, then seemed to come to her senses and smile. “Firstly, you are to choose another hobby, one that does not involve stealing.  Secondly, I am giving you a custodial sentence of 6 months, subject to you returning every single garment you have stolen, and lastly, I appoint Mrs. Black, if she does not mind, to report to me in six months-time with a record showing that you have returned every pair of knickers.  Those items you cannot return, I order you to pay, she paused then chose to speak in his language, a nicker, to compensate those whose knickers were not returned. Do you understand?” 

          He nodded.  Then suddenly the court room erupted into cheers and chaos. No one heard Hopkins’s reply or the judge closing the case against him.

Copyright Bob French