Trial An’ Error.

It were summat t’ four, when it dropped through the door,

but it could ‘ave been summat past three.

“What is it?” -- Sez Ma. - - “Search me,” - - answered Pa.

“If yer open the bugger you’ll see.”

Ma gave a loud “TUT!” Then she opened it up.

“It’s official,” she sez, - “From the Crown.”

“What? The Crown where I sup? - Where the Glee Club meets up?”
She sez. “No. -  The Crown Court up in town.”

Pa were in shock, “Quick, Ma,  make a fresh pot,

nice n’ strong – touch o’ milk – loads o’ sugar.

I’m worried.” Sez Pa. – “Don’t be soft.” Answered Ma,

you’re on’t Jury, Next Monday.  Daft bugger.”

“On’t Jury?” ‘E shouts, “What’s that all about?”

“Sat sittin’.” Sez Ma.  “For a trial.

Jus’ payin’ attention to evidence mentioned,

an’ tryin’ - not t’ look daft for a while.”

You’ll ‘ave guessed Pa were thick. - - A bit of a twit,

but, ‘e’d been like that all of ‘is life.

I’d once ‘eard ‘im remark, that ‘e thought Joan Of Arc,

were summat t’ do with Noah’s wife.

“Come with us,” sez Pa. “Bugger off!” muttered Ma.

“D’ yer think I’ve nowt better to do?”

 “But, I’ll be all on me own.” Pa said, with a groan,

“an’ yer know I can’t cope without you.”

Ma raised up ‘er voice. “ ‘Ave I got any choice?

Yer as thick as twelve bog seats, you are.

About as much use, as a basket o’ soup.”

Pa smiled, -- picked ‘is nose, -- an’ said. “Ta.”

So, they arrived there on time, ‘bout quarter past nine.

“Now listen,” sez Ma, “do yer best.”

She give ‘im one of ‘er looks. “An’ don’t show us up!

I’ll be sat over there with the press.”

The Judge straightened ‘is wig, as ‘e put out ‘is cig.

“Hey up,” ‘e sez, “court’s now in session.

An’ like it or not, that there bloke in the dock,

is charged with an act of aggression.”

The prosecution sez. “Aye, an’ I’ll tell yer for why,

‘ e shot a bloke, unprovoked, - through the ‘ead.

A murder yer see? - - Of the umpteenth degree,

an’ the victim? - - The poor bugger’s dead.”

“Now, the cause of the affray? - - That’s exhibit “A”,  

a COPY of the gun that we found.

I borrowed this off me daughter, cos it only shoots water.”

So Pa - fair enough, - thought ‘e’d drowned.

“Objection yer  ‘onor!” Shouts t’ defence bloke, - - O’Connor.

 “It’s ‘earsay an’ should be thrown out.

The accused wasn’t there, - ‘e were washin’ ‘is ‘air,

- - an’ even if ‘e was, - - ‘e did nowt.”

The Judge sez with a snigger. “But  ‘is print’s on the trigger,

are yer tellin’ us, - that ‘e didn’t pull it?”

 “It’s conjecture yer ‘onor,” - argued O’Connor.

“The deceased, ‘ad backed into the bullet.”

Pa’s brain were quite dazed, so ‘e gave Ma a wave,

an’ O’Connor saw Ma wavin’ back.

‘E were losin’ the case, so thought ‘e’d save face,

by askin’ ‘er round  for a chat.

‘E sez. “I’ve got this ‘ere plan for you an’ yer man,

If I give yer this thousand quid bung.

An’ the jury agrees, to manslaughter, yer see,

there’s less chance the poor sod’ll be ‘ung.”

Quick as lightnin’ were  Ma. “That won’t go very far.”

“All right then,”  ‘e sez. “How’s two grand?”

“Make it five,” sez Ma. “And I’ll sort it with Pa,

an’ make the daft sod understand.”

Well, they debated for days, an’ argued away,

all the jurors, - on points of the trial.

They all ‘ad a say, but Pa wouldn’t give way,

dug ‘is ‘eels in, ‘e did, - sort o’ style.

The Judge ‘ad it confirmed, -- “Manslaughter?” – ‘E squirmed.

“That’s life then,” ‘e sez. “No remission!

Jus’ bang ‘im in jail, -- yer can forget about bail,

cos bloody ‘angman’s just lost ‘is commission.”

Pa were over the Moon, ‘e could o’ popped a balloon,

when O’Connor paid up for ‘is bit.

‘E sez. “I’ve earned every pound, for talkin’ ‘em round,

cos the others all said. – “LET’S AQUIT!”

©  Stan Brown. (With thanks once again to Gary Hoggs magic fiddlin’ stick.)

  Hey up, you can watch this one here if you want.

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