Brief Tales From The Bench (14 page)

‘Mr Kiddington,’ I said, ‘you really shouldn’t talk like that.’

‘No, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘I shouldn’t talk like that. I really shouldn’t. Would your honour be kind enough to tell me if I do it again? It comes of not having two buttons on one sleeve and three on the other. That would have reminded me.’

‘Mr Benton,’ I said, ‘I really would like to know whether you agree that your client had to make a suit exactly in accordance with Mr Kiddington’s requirements. And by requirements I don’t mean his requirements after the suit was made, but the requirements he stated before the suit was made.’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Benton, ‘I do agree.’

‘Then, Mr Jones,’ I asked, ‘are Mr Kiddington’s legs of different size?’

‘Everyone’s legs are different in size,’ said Mr Jones.

‘You mean,’ I asked, ‘that one leg is longer or shorter than the other?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Then are all the trouser legs that you make for all your customers different in size from each other?’

‘No.’

‘Why not, if the legs are different in size?’

‘Because the difference is so small,’ said Mr Jones, ‘that we don’t take any notice of it in most cases. But the defendant said that in his case there was half an inch in it.’

‘Was there?’ I asked.

‘No,’ said Mr Jones.

‘But you made the trouser legs in his case half an inch different?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Then they didn’t fit properly?’

‘No, they didn’t.’

‘But I thought you said it was a perfect fit,’ I said.

‘A perfect fit in accordance with his requirements,’ said Mr Jones. ‘If he asks for two legs with different sizes, well then, I give him two legs with different sizes. He can have what he likes as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Did you undertake to make a suit to satisfy me?’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘I may have done,’ said Mr Jones.

‘Well, didn’t you know at the time,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘that I was, what you might call, an awkward customer?’

‘No, I certainly didn’t.’

‘But that’s how you would describe me now?’

‘I certainly would.’

‘And d’you agree, Mr Jones, an awkward customer may require awkward things?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Jones, ‘I certainly agree to that.’

‘Have you ever had any customers as awkward as me before?’ asked Mr Kiddington.

‘I certainly haven’t, and I don’t want any in the future either.’

‘That wasn’t a very kind thing to say, was it?’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘I haven’t come here to be kind,’ said Mr Jones, ‘I’ve come here for my money.’

‘What other special requirements, if any, did Mr Kiddington make, Mr Jones?’ I asked.

‘I must look in my book,’ said Mr Jones.

He looked in his book and then said: ‘He wanted one trouser leg with a turn-up, and one without. He wanted lining on one side of the coat only. The right. No, I mean the left.’

‘Well,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘which is it?’

‘The left.’

‘Are you sure it isn’t the right?’

‘Mr Jones,’ I asked, ‘when you heard these rather unusual requirements of Mr Kiddington, didn’t you think you were dealing with a rather unusual customer?’

‘Yes, I suppose I did.’

‘Didn’t you think it a little dangerous to accept an order from such an unusual customer? After all, if he’d made these very strange requirements, was it not at least possible that when you’d made the suit he would refuse to accept it on some unusual ground?’

‘I never thought about it, your honour,’ said Mr Jones. ‘I make suits to please my customers. If you want one leg ten inches shorter than the other, you can have it as far as I’m concerned.’

‘It might remind you not to walk in a puddle,’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘there’s not much point in my seeing the suit on Mr Kiddington until I know exactly what requirements were made by him when he gave the order for the suit.’

‘Perhaps Mr Jones would read them out, your honour,’ put in Mr Benton.

‘Apart from the things I’ve mentioned, your honour,’ said Mr Jones, ‘he wanted a circular hole in the back of the waistcoat.’

‘That,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘was to remind me to sit down, your honour.’

‘To sit down.’ I asked. ‘To sit down when?’

‘When I was tired, your honour.’

‘And there were to be two pockets in the waistcoat,’ went on Mr Jones, ‘but they were to be sewn up.’

‘Sewn up?’ I queried.

‘Yes, your honour.’

‘You mean,’ I said, ‘that you actually made the pockets and then sewed them up so that they could be of no use?’

‘Exactly, your honour.’

‘Mr Kiddington,’ I said, ‘I suppose that was to remind you not to put your hands in your pockets?’

‘My parents advised it, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘or one of them. My father or my mother. At this distance of time it’s a little difficult for me to remember. That’s one of my complaints against Mr Jones, your honour. If he’d put the button hole in the right place, I should have remembered.’

‘But you’re not wearing the suit he made for you.’

‘Exactly, your honour. If he’d made it properly, I shouldn’t have been here.’

‘Then,’ I said, ‘the question of remembering whether it was your father or your mother wouldn’t have arisen.’

‘Exactly, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington. ‘Now you can see why I’m so upset about it all.’

‘What is your next question?’ I asked.

‘Next question to you, your honour, or to the witness?’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘You’re not entitled to ask me questions,’ I said.

‘No one told me that before I came,’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘Well, I’m telling you now.’

‘Can I have it in writing, your honour?’

‘You can not.’

‘But they may ask me when I get home.’

‘I can’t help that.’

‘Would you come back with me and explain, your honour?’

‘Mr Benton,’ I said, ‘how long does this go on for?’

‘You should ask me that, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington. ‘How can he tell?’

‘All right,’ I said, ‘I do ask you, Mr Kiddington, how long will it go on for?’

‘Isn’t that a matter for you, your honour?’ said Mr Kiddington. ‘You’re in charge of the case, not me.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it,’ I said. ‘As I’m in charge of it, I must ask you to go on questioning Mr Jones.’

‘That’s what I’ve been waiting to do, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington. ‘Now, Mr Jones, why are you suing me? Tell me why.’

‘Because I want my money, of course.’

‘Why haven’t I paid you?’ asked Mr Kiddington.

‘You should know that,’ said Mr Jones.

‘You don’t think I’d get out of my just liabilities, do you?’ asked Mr Kiddington.

‘You’d be capable of getting out of anything.’

‘That’s a very unfriendly thing to say,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘do you really mean it?’

‘You’d feel unfriendly if someone didn’t pay his debts to you,’ said Mr Jones.

‘I wouldn’t if he had a good reason.’

‘Well, you haven’t a good reason.’

‘But I say I have.’

‘But I say you haven’t.’

‘Have.’

‘Haven’t.’

‘Have.’

‘Haven’t.’

‘Stop,’ I said, ‘both of you.’

‘I never said anything, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘You said “have”.’

‘No, your honour, he said “haven’t”.’

‘But before that you said “have”,’ I said.

‘Oh, before that. Before that I said a lot of things, your honour. So did you, your honour. So did Mr Benton. So did Mr Jones. So did the clerk, and so did I. But all that was before that, your honour.’

‘Have you anything further which you want to ask Mr Jones?’ I asked patiently.

‘Not if he’s rude to me,’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘Very well then,’ I said. ‘Mr Benton, is that the case for the plaintiff?’

‘It is, your honour,’ said Mr Benton.

‘Now, Mr Kiddington,’ I said, ‘would you like to go into the witness box and be sworn and to tell me your story on oath?’

‘I haven’t any story, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘I can tell you the truth if you’d like to know that.’

‘All right,’ I said, ‘come into the witness box, Mr Kiddington, and tell me the truth.’

The usher thereupon said to Mr Kiddington: ‘Take the book in your right hand and repeat the words on the card.’

‘I have the book in my right hand,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘and here it says: “Swear not at all. Let your communication be Yea, Yea, Nay, Nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.” Do you know the passage, your honour?’

‘Indeed I do,’ I said. ‘And if I were you Mr Kiddington, I’d read on a bit. “And if any man will sue thee at the law and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also.” What d’you say to that, Mr Kiddington?’

‘A hit, a hit, a very palpable hit, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington. ‘But what about psalm eighty-nine, your honour: “Justice and judgment are the habitation of thy throne”?’

‘If it is against your conscience to swear,’ I said, ‘you may affirm, Mr Kiddington.’

‘I tell you what I’ll do, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘I’ll promise to do my best to tell the truth.’

‘Mr Kiddington,’ I asked, ‘is that an affirmation binding on your conscience?’

‘Of course.’

‘Mr Benton, will you be satisfied with that?’ I asked.

‘Most certainly, your honour.’

‘Right, Mr Kiddington,’ I said. ‘Now tell me what you want to about this.’

‘What would you like me to say?’ asked Mr Kiddington.

‘Tell me your side of the case,’ I said.

‘How would you like me to put it?’ asked Mr Kiddington. ‘After all, you’re the judge. If I put it the wrong way, you’ll decide against me.’

‘Tell me why you won’t pay the plaintiff’s bill.’

‘But I’ve done that already.’

‘Tell me again.’

‘How many times?’

‘Once will do.’

‘I won’t pay his bill because I didn’t get what I ordered.’

‘What is wrong with the suit?’

‘It isn’t to my satisfaction.’

‘In what way?’

‘In every way. He said he’d make it to my satisfaction, and he hasn’t done so. If he’d made it to my satisfaction, I should have paid him. As he hasn’t made it to my satisfaction, I won’t pay him. Or in other words, I should have paid him if he’d made it to my satisfaction, but I won’t pay him as he hasn’t made it to my satisfaction. Am I doing all right, your honour?’

‘Tell me one thing with which you are not satisfied,’ I said.

‘One thing?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not satisfied with the suit,’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘But what doesn’t satisfy you about it? I gather he’s carried out your instructions about the buttons and the pockets, and the hole in the back of the waistcoat.’

‘No,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘he didn’t make the hole, but I could have made that myself. That’s not important. I’d have taken the suit without the hole. After all, I could have cut it out with a pair of scissors, and then I’d have had the bit of cloth as well. Oh no, don’t trouble about the hole, your honour. That needn’t trouble you at all. After all, if it doesn’t trouble me, it needn’t trouble you. I wouldn’t make a fuss about a little thing like a hole. After all, there are holes and holes. Some holes are terribly important. A well, for example. It’s no good having a bad hole if you’re digging for a well. It’s got to be dug properly. A hole in a wall. That’s got to be done properly too, or the wall might collapse. But the hole in the back of a waistcoat, that’s a horse of a very different colour. If I may call a hole a horse, your honour. Does anybody mind my calling a hole a horse? Or a horse a hole?’

‘Then what is it you complain about?’ I asked.

‘The whole thing, your honour, it’s just not me. If you’re a married man, your honour, you’ll understand what I mean. You’ll take your wife out to buy a dress, and you’ll show her something, and she’ll say, “That’s not me.” Well, this suit’s not me.’

‘But didn’t Mr Jones make it as you’d ordered it?’

‘Good gracious no, your honour,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘I’d have taken it if he’d done that.’

‘You’d better carry on, Mr Benton,’ I said.

‘Mr Kiddington,’ said Mr Benton, ‘you say you would have paid for the suit if it had been made as you’d ordered it?’

‘I said it several times,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘but I’ll say it again to please you, Mr Benton.’

‘Well, in what way was it not as you’d ordered?’

‘I’ve told you,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘it wasn’t me.’

‘Well, wasn’t that your fault?’ said Mr Benton. ‘You told Mr Jones what your requirements were, and if you didn’t like the result, that was your responsibility, wasn’t it?’

‘I didn’t make the suit,’ said Mr Kiddington.

‘No, but it was made according to your instructions. I suggest to you, Mr Kiddington, that you simply changed your mind about it.’

‘I never change my mind,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘once I’ve made it up.’

‘Perhaps you hadn’t made up your mind when you gave the order.’

‘If I hadn’t made up my mind, I wouldn’t have given the order.’

‘Ladies sometimes buy dresses and then don’t like them when they’ve got them,’ said Mr Benton.

‘It wasn’t a dress,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘it was a suit. And I’m not a lady. Mr Jones guaranteed that I should be satisfied with the suit when he’d made it. I am not satisfied. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Perhaps you’ve changed your mind about having a suit at all, Mr Kiddington?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Mr Kiddington. ‘I want a suit. Will your client make me one now?’

Mr Jones could not resist from interrupting from the back of the court: ‘I wouldn’t make you a suit if I hadn’t got any orders at all,’ he shouted.

‘Silence,’ said the usher.

‘You see,’ said Mr Kiddington, ‘he can’t do it. I never said it was easy to make me a suit. In point of fact it’s very difficult to make me a suit. That is to make a suit that satisfies me. You probably don’t believe it, but I’m a very difficult person to satisfy. Actually, I may be a very difficult person altogether. I don’t know what you think. I try to behave as well as I can in court, but I’ve been told that sometimes I’m rather a difficult proposition. Would you call me a difficult proposition, Mr Benton?’

‘I’m afraid you mustn’t ask me questions, Mr Kiddington,’ said Mr Benton.