Known to the Police

by Thomas Holmes

What can the magistrate do under such circumstances but discharge the prisoner?—and "Another unfounded charge by the police" is duly advertised by the Press.

I believe this to be the secret of so much contradictory evidence, and this new physiological factor must be taken into account when weighing evidence, or much discredit will fall upon the police, when they have but honestly done their duty. It ought no longer to avail a prisoner who proves sobriety at one o'clock, sobriety at three o'clock, to contend that he could not possibly have been drunk at two o'clock. I have seen so much of drunkenness that I believe two hours a sufficient length of time to allow many men to get drunk and to get sober too.

I must not enter on an inquiry as to why this change has come about; I merely content myself with stating a fact, that must be recognized, and which is as worthy of consideration by sociologists and politicians as it is by judges and magistrates.

This facility of getting drunk means danger, for passions are readily excited, and delusions readily arise, and are most tenaciously held in brains so easily disturbed by drink. All sorts of things are possible, from silly antics to frenzy and murder; but, as I have said, the varying stages pass so quickly that only onlookers can realize the truth: for the victim of this facility is nearly always sure that the evidence given against him is absolutely false.

But prisoners generally have changed: I am not sure that the change is for the better. Time was when prisoners had character, grit, pluck, and personality, but now these qualities are not often met with. Formerly a good number of the vagabonds were interesting vagabonds, and were possessed of some redeeming features: they seemed to have a keen sense of humour; but to-day this feature cannot often be seen.

Prisoners have put on a kind of veneer, for both youthful offenders and offenders of older growth are better dressed.

They are cleaner, too, in person, for which I suppose one ought to be thankful—even though, to a large extent, rags and tatters were picturesque compared with the styles of dress now too often seen. Loss of the picturesque has, I am afraid, been accompanied by loss of individuality, and the processions that pass through London police-courts now are not so striking as formerly. They are devoid of strong personality, and the mass of people in many respects resembles a flock of sheep. They have no desire to do wrong, but they constantly go wrong; they have no particular wish to do evil, but they have little inclination for good. In a word, weakness, not wickedness, is their great characteristic.

But weakness is often more mischievous and disastrous in its consequences than wickedness.

In the young offenders this lack of grit is combined with an absence of moral principles, and though the majority of them appear to know right from wrong, they certainly act as if they possess little moral consciousness.

Again I content myself with merely stating a fact, for I must not be led into philosophic inquiry or speculation as to the causes of this loss of grit, though I hope to say something upon the subject later on.