"A'Monday. And that was the last time I ever clapped eyes on her, as Gawd is my witness."
At another inquest on a Hoxton girl, a young railwayman was called as witness. Having given his evidence, he suddenly rushed to the body, and bent over it, and cried loudly:—
"Oh, my dove, my dear! My little blossom's been plucked away!"
In a police-court maternity case, I heard the following from the mother of the deserted girl, who had lost her case; "Ah, God! an' shall this villain escape from his crime scot-free?" And in the early days of the war a bereaved woman created a scene at an evening service in a South London Church with this audible prayer: "Oh, Gawd, take away this Day of Judgment from the people, fer the sake of Thy Son Jesus. Amen."
Again, at Thames Police Court, during a case of theft against a boy of seventeen, the father was called, and admitted to turning his son from home when he was fifteen, because of his criminal ways.
"Yerce, I did send 'im orf. An' never shall 'is foot cross my threshold until 'e's mended 'is evil ways."
The same reversion to passionate language may be found in many of the unreported incidents of battle. I have heard of Cockneys, whose pals were killed at their side, and of their comment on the affair in the stress of the moment:—
"Old George! I loved old George better'n I loved anything in the world. I'd 'ave give my 'eart's blood fer George."
And the cry of a mother at the Old Bailey, when her son was sentenced to death:—
"Oh, take me. Take my old grey 'airs. Let me die in 'is stead."—