“Gentlemen of the jury, if you are as heartily glad as I am that this is the last case at the Manchester Assizes, and that, after this, we shall be able to get away into pleasanter surroundings, you will not be long in doing substantial justice to the plaintiff.”
I shall never forget how strange the words sounded in the cold, grey light of the Court of Appeal, and how Lord Esher roared out an encore to Gully when he read them to the Court. We did not keep that verdict. Smyly, Q.C., led me, and Esher, in one of his wild humours, romped round the court with him in playful savagery. One gem of Grantham’s was in reference to Gully’s defence: “Then, gentlemen of the jury, Mr. Parry is told he should have sued the contractors instead of the trustees, and the contractors would have said ‘sue the foreman,’ and the foreman would have said ‘sue the hodman,’ and so it would have been like the house that Jack built.”
“Which house is that, Mr. Smyly?” said Lord Esher.
“Is it on either of the plans you have put in?” continued the Master of the Rolls, waving them about impatiently.
Bowen smiled like a benignant Cheshire cat.
“I am not certain,” continued Smyly, cautiously, “that the house in question is in any way connected with the case.”
“It must be,” said Esher, “or why did Mr. Justice Grantham tell the jury about it.”
I was tugging away at Smyly’s gown, and he turned round and asked what on earth the house that Jack built was all about.
“A nursery rhyme. Don’t you know it? This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt——’”