Sometimes the cases to be placed before the police magistrate were not
all that interesting, sometimes the newspaper reporters were simply bored and
yet still had space to fill for the next edition of their papers.
Such might have been the case on a Saturday morning, August 10, 1884 at
Hamilton Police Court when a reporter decided to describe in precise detail,
the scene he faced that morning:
“Two or three old soakers in the dock; a half dozen small boys about the
room; a crowd of curious, gaping spectators; two or three policemen; a couple
of reporters scribbling industriously at a dilapidated and rickety table, with
a faded and dirty green cloth cover, and above all, the figure of the magistrate;
his face calm and placid, surmounted with a crown of snow white hair.
“This is the average morning scene in the police court and you fill in
the cracks in the large square room with white-washed wall, with imitation oak
furnishings, a staring-faced clock on the wall, the floor covered with streams
of saliva made by industrious tobacco
chewers.
“Generally a woman or two sits on the far side looking at the proceedings
and wondering, as the majority of people do wonder, where they begin, where
they end.”1
1 “Police Court : Saturday, Aug. 9”
Hamilton Spectator. August 11,
1884.
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