‘No, sister.’
‘That will be all right then,’ Miss Zelda smiled. ‘It’s only when our customers are in the red, Mrs Mahana, that we cannot advance credit. You understand.’
She was firm and businesslike. She took the ledger book and entered, ‘One blazer, £21; one trousers, £6, comes to £27 exactly —’ She wet the end of a pencil and began to inscribe the amounts.
Scott coughed. ‘No, sister,’ he said, ‘the blazer is £15.’
Miss Zelda glared at him. ‘It says clearly in the stock book that —’
‘It’s my department, sister,’ Scott reminded her. ‘We have overcharged Mrs Mahana by £6.’
Miss Zelda rubbed out her pencilled amounts and changed them.
‘I wish you would run your department more efficiently, Scott. What will our customers think, eh, Mrs Mahana?’
Chapter 39
From the moment I boarded the school bus at Patutahi for our day out in Gisborne, Haromi and Andrew kidded me mercilessly about my new mocker — not that they had any reason to worry about my eclipsing their style. They had scored the visit to D.J. Barry’s.
‘Why tempt Fate?’ Andrew was intent on rubbing salt into the wound as I fumed about having to go to the courthouse.
‘And I’m the only Maori with the group going there,’ I groaned.
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shit happens,’ he said.
Miss Dalrymple was a stickler for being on time. We dropped the other classes off on the way to the courthouse — the bus was getting whiter and whiter — and at five to ten we were pulling up outside.
‘Should you be addressed by the judge, you must refer to him as “Your Honour”,’ Miss Dalrymple said. ‘This is the title by which he is known. Everyone else may be addressed as either “Sir” or “Madam”. Our guide while we are at the courthouse is Clerk Simpson and he may be addressed as “Sir”.’ On she went — blah blah blah yackety yack. Slowly I was aware that she was looking directly at me –
‘No Maori is to be spoken.’
Jeez, can’t a guy even breathe?
‘I am very pleased to welcome you,’ Clerk Simpson said as we assembled outside the bus. ‘Court is in session right now, but there is so much else to see. I think we shall start in the chambers, shall we?’
We followed him dutifully around the side of the building. Just then two policemen came out with a young man handcuffed between them. He was about nineteen, and Maori. Our eyes connected. I knew him immediately. He’d been Haromi’s date on Christmas Eve.
‘Oh dear,’ Clerk Simpson said. ‘I’m sorry about that, girls and boys.’
We watched as he was pushed across the front lawn. I heard Miss Dalrymple clucking away when Clerk Simpson told her, ‘The boy has just been sentenced to jail for assault. He swore at his employer.’ As the police van sped away, the young man’s mother came running from the courthouse screaming his name.
‘Mihaere! Mihaere!’
The chambers were cool and comfortable, gentlemanly and tastefully decorated. Photographs, diplomas and plaques adorned the walls, reminding me of the drawing room at the homestead. The judge came away from the courtroom to greet us.
‘Judge Forbes,’ Miss Dalrymple explained to us, ‘has a short break before the court reconvenes. We are very lucky to have him say hello to us. Please thank him for taking the time.’
Thank you Judge Forbes Judge Forbes Forbes orbes orbes es.
His eyes twinkled.
‘Well, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘thank you for coming to see me on the right side of the bench.’
Ho ho ho, what a funny fellow.
Judge Forbes proceeded to tell us how important he was, why justice was important and why the judicial system in New Zealand was the best in the world.
‘Does anybody know why?’ he asked.
‘Because it is based on the Westminster system,’ said Bobbie Brown, who had been primed to respond.
‘And the Westminster system,’ Angela Simpson continued, ‘is practised throughout the British Commonwealth.’
‘Very good,’ Judge Forbes answered. He beamed at Miss Dalrymple. ‘We may have the makings of two fine lawyers here, what?’
Haw haw haw, jolly boating weather and all that.
Just to show how busy and important he was, Judge Forbes asked Clerk Simpson to show us the schedule of cases he had dealt with during the month.
‘Well,’ he ended, ‘I must read up on the next case. I understand you will be sitting in on my court?’
‘Yes, Your Honour,’ Miss Dalrymple answered. ‘But we will be quiet, won’t we, boys and girls?’
Yes Miss Dalrymple Dalrymple rymple pimple imple.
The judge swept out of the lobby, Miss Dalrymple bobbing as he went past. Clerk Simpson guided us to Judge Forbes’ schedule. One by one we filed past and oohed and aahed at the number of cases on his plate.
Judge Forbes
Presiding Judge
9 am
White v. Hakopa
10.30 am
Crown v. Wharepapa
1 pm
Crown v. Karaitiana
2 pm
Williamson v. Heke
On and on and on. Page after page after page of cases involving being drunk and disorderly, murder, intent to obstruct justice, manslaughter, casting offensive matter in public, grievous assault, car stealing, domestic dispute, indecent behaviour, theft, petty larceny, land dispute, attempt to defraud, and so on.
‘Simeon?’ Miss Dalrymple interrupted. ‘Don’t take up all the time. Let someone else look.’
I stepped to one side. The rest of the class had their turn. When we had become suitably impressed Clerk Simpson said, ‘Well then, let’s go into the public gallery, shall we?’
We filed into Courtroom No. 1.
This was the place of judgment. Here in this large quiet room panelled with polished wood and hushed with the weight of legal process, people were put on display, like deers’ antlers, their futures determined with a stroke of the gavel. Over there, higher than anybody else, was where the judge sat. In front of him sat the recording clerk. To the right and left were the prosecuting lawyer and the lawyer for the defence. At right a small corridor led to the room where the defendant waited to be called for trial. In front were the seats for the public.
‘Not a word,’ Miss Dalrymple hissed.
The public gallery was packed. I knew just about all the people there. All of them stared straight ahead, down a narrow funnel of vision, as if afraid to see who was sitting left and right. That suited me fine. I hunched down, hoping I wouldn’t be seen either. I felt as if I was on the wrong side.
The session that morning seemed to be one where the defendants had already pleaded guilty and were being processed for sentencing.
‘How do you plead?’
‘The defendant pleads guilty, Your Honour.’
‘Fined £100.’
The judge lifted his gavel, and bang. A pair of antlers on the wall.
‘How do you plead?’
‘The defendant pleads guilty, Your Honour.’
‘Term of imprisonment, one year.’
Bang, the gavel again. Another pair of antlers.
‘How do you plead?’
‘The defendant pleads guilty, Your Honour.’
This time the judge paused and looked gravely down at the defendant. ‘Your crime is a particularly heinous one in our society, young man. Assault on another person with intention to commit grievous harm must carry with it the maximum penalty available to the law. Five years imprisonment.’