Hardcastle's Soldiers (29 page)

Inside the courtroom, there was a sudden rustle of activity as the red-robed judge – who enjoyed the splendid title of the Common Serjeant of London – entered, and took his place on the bench. The usher intoned the time-honoured catechism for the commencement of the proceedings, including such obscure words as ‘oyer and terminer and general gaol delivery', the meaning of which, and the reason for, were lost on the accused, the public high in the gallery, and even on some of the junior barristers in the well of the court.

The clerk rose and read the counts of the indictments against Nash and Utting. ‘Adrian Nash, you are charged with the murders of Herbert Somers on Wednesday the eleventh of July at Victoria in the County of Middlesex, of Ivy Huggins on Wednesday the eleventh, or Thursday the twelfth, of July at Kingston upon Thames in the County of Surrey, each in the year of Our Lord one thousand, nine hundred and seventeen. Against the Peace. How say you? Guilty or not guilty?'

‘Not guilty, sir,' said Nash, straining to make his voice heard.

And so it went on. Utting pleaded not guilty to conspiracy to rob, and the prisoners were told to sit down.

Once the jury had been empanelled, Sir Robert Winter – a distinguished King's Counsel – rose from the front bench, and took a sip of water. ‘My Lord, I appear for the prosecution in this case, and my learned friend Sir Richard Strong appears for the defence.' Winter spoke in a strong and confident voice.

Those formal introductions made, Winter began to outline the case against both the accused. He made great play of the fact that Nash held the King's Commission, but had got himself into debt, a situation, he suggested, entirely of his own making, and had sought to resolve those debts by the murder of an innocent bank clerk.

Winter took another sip of water. And then, he continued, not satisfied with that, Nash decided to spend some of his ill-gotten gains on the services of a prostitute, but, for reasons that will be made clear later in the trial, he murdered her.

As for Utting, he said, almost contemptuously, he was merely an opportunist who saw what he thought was a safe way to obtain money without any risk to himself. But in that he was mistaken.

One by one, a string of prosecution witnesses entered the box: Dr Bernard Spilsbury, DDI Hardcastle, DDI Fitnam, DS Marriott and DI Charles Collins among them. Over the next days, each was examined in chief, cross-examined and, in one or two cases, re-examined.

At the beginning of the third week, Sir Richard Strong – a KC of equal eminence as his opponent – opened the case for the defence, such as it was; his vast experience, and an examination of the evidence, had already told him that he had little chance of success. After taking a pinch of snuff, something he was to do at intervals throughout the trial, he suggested to the jury of twelve stern-looking gentlemen landowners that Adrian Nash was a weak-willed young man who had been misled by other, more mature, men to spend more than he was worth. The outcome of this was that he saw fit to devise a way in which to settle his debts.

Failure to do so, continued counsel, was to risk the dishonour of being cashiered from the army. However, what began as a robbery, resulted in the death of the cashier Herbert Somers who, not unnaturally, had resisted, and paid for that resistance with his life.

Sir Richard Strong then drew the attention of the jury to the fact that it was within their power to bring in a verdict of manslaughter should they believe that there was no intention to murder. But Strong knew that it was a legal nicety, and would be made meaningless by the death of Ivy Huggins, which did not warrant a verdict of manslaughter.

After this untenable plea, Sir Richard began to call the first of a precious few witnesses, none of whom was of any real help to his case. But he wisely decided not to call either Nash or Utting to testify in his own defence.

It was to no avail. At the end of the fourth week, the jury returned a guilty verdict in respect of all the counts on each of the indictments against both the accused.

The Common Serjeant donned the black cap, and peered closely at Nash. ‘Adrian Nash, you have been found guilty of the crimes of murder, most heinous crimes. Without regard to anything but your own self-interest, you wilfully murdered Herbert Somers, a man going about his lawful occasions and, as if that were not sufficient, you then went on to murder a defenceless prostitute. The sentence of this court is that you shall be taken from this place to the place from whence you came, and thence to a place of lawful execution. After three Sundays have elapsed you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead.'

The judge's chaplain intoned a few pointless words beseeching the Almighty to have mercy on the prisoner's soul, and it was over.

The judge looked at Nash again. ‘Take him down,' he said.

The near-collapsing and sobbing figure of Adrian Nash was half-carried down the steps from the dock by two stalwart prison warders. Within the hour he was in the condemned cell at Wormwood Scrubs prison.

That done, the judge turned his attention to Jack Utting, but wasted few words on him. ‘You are a man of previous good character,' he said, ‘and for that reason I am inclined to treat you more leniently than otherwise I would have done. You are sentenced to ten years penal servitude for conspiracy to rob. Take him down.'

Immediately after Nash had been removed to the cells beneath the courtroom, and unbeknown to Hardcastle, a small drama was played out there. Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Frobisher appeared in Nash's cell.

‘Adrian Nash,' he said, ‘I am serving you with a notice stating that you are hereby cashiered from the army.' Somewhat pointlessly, but as a military requirement, he added, ‘You may appeal if you wish.'

‘Serve the buggers right,' said Hardcastle, as he led the way across the road to the Magpie and Stump public house where, with uncharacteristic generosity, he bought beer for Arthur Fitnam, Charlie Collins and Charles Marriott.

It was a cold, dank morning in December when the hangman entered the condemned cell. With a speed born of years of experience, he quickly pinioned Nash's arms. In less than a minute, the condemned man was hustled through a door, and on to the trap. His legs were secured, and a hood placed over his head. Seconds later Adrian Nash was consigned to oblivion.

At five minutes to eight that same morning, in a small villa in Eddystone Road, Brockley, Reginald and Rose Simmons – they had changed their name from Nash, and moved house – had been sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. As the long-case clock in the hall struck eight o'clock, Rose burst into tears.

The thick fog had lasted all night, and refused to lift even in the face of a watery sun. But the miserable weather had not prevented the usual crowd of ghoulish sightseers, their coat collars turned up, from gathering at the gates of Wormwood Scrubs prison.

At ten minutes past eight, a warder appeared and placed a black-framed notice on the wicket gate. It announced that penalty of death by hanging had been carried out on one Adrian Nash. According to the law.

It was fast approaching Christmas. Holding a newspaper, Marriott tapped on the DDI's door and entered.

‘What is it, Marriott?' asked Hardcastle.

‘I wondered if you'd seen this report in the paper about the bomb that fell in Acre Lane yesterday morning, sir.'

‘Acre Lane in Clapham?' Hardcastle took off his spectacles and paid attention. ‘What about it? Sit down and read it.'

Marriott took a seat, and turned to the page containing the report. ‘It's only a short piece, sir. “At a quarter past ten yesterday morning,”' he read, ‘“German raiders launched an attack on South London. A house in Acre Lane, Clapham received a direct hit resulting in the death of the two occupants, a Mr William Utting and his daughter Cora.” Then there's a piece about Jack Utting's part in the Victoria Station murder, sir.'

‘He was the chap who lost an arm at the Somme, wasn't he?' asked Hardcastle, as he stood up.

‘That's him, sir, and his leg was badly damaged at the same time.'

‘Looks as though Fritz was determined to get him, doesn't it, Marriott?' Hardcastle took out his watch, glanced at it, and dropped it back into his waistcoat pocket. ‘I think I fancy a pint,' he said. ‘If you're buying, Marriott.'

ACK EMMA: signallers' code for a.m. (
cf
PIP EMMA.)

ALL MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN: nonsense.

APM: assistant provost marshal (a lieutenant colonel of the military police).

BAILEY, the: Central Criminal Court, Old Bailey, London.

BEAK: a magistrate.

BEF: British Expeditionary Force in France and Flanders.

BLIGHTY ONE: a battle wound that necessitated repatriation to the UK.

BOCHE: derogatory term for Germans, particularly soldiers.

BOOZER: a public house.

BRIEF, a: a warrant
or
a police warrant card
or
a lawyer.

CHOKEY: a prison (
ex
Hindi).

CID: Criminal Investigation Department.

CIGS: Chief of the Imperial General Staff.

COPPER: a policeman.

CRIMED: military slang for receiving punishment.

DABS: fingerprints.

DDI: Divisional Detective Inspector.

DRUM: a dwelling house.

DUTCH UNCLE, to talk to like a: to talk to in a kindly fashion.

EARWIGGING: listening.

EIGHT O'CLOCK WALK, to take the: to be hanged.

FEEL THE COLLAR, to: to make an arrest.

FIVE-AND-NINE ON THE BRIGHTON LINE: the fare from London to Brighton was five shillings and ninepence, so ‘Brighton Line' was a popular call for ‘59' in housey-housey (qv).

FLEET STREET: former centre of the newspaper industry

FOURPENNY CANNON, a: a steak and kidney pie.

GAMP: an umbrella (from Sarah Gamp in Dickens's
Martin Chuzzlewit
).

GUNNERS, The: the Royal Horse Artillery, the Royal Garrison Artillery and the Royal Field Artillery.

HAND AMBULANCE: a two-wheeled barrow used for conveying drunkards to the police station, and occasionally for removing dead bodies.

HAWKING THE MUTTON: leading a life of prostitution.

HOUSEY-HOUSEY: army term for lotto, bingo or tombola.

JILDI
: quickly (
ex
Hindi).

KC: King's Counsel: a senior barrister.

KNOCK OFF to: to arrest.

LAY-DOWN, a: a remand in custody.

LINEN DRAPERS: newspapers (rhyming slang).

MC: Military Cross.

NCO: non-commissioned officer.

NICK: a police station
or
prison
or
to arrest
or
to steal.

PIP EMMA: signallers' code for p.m. (
cf
ACK EMMA.)

POT AND PAN, OLD: father (rhyming slang: old man).

PROVOST, the: military police.

QUEER STREET, in: in serious difficulty; short of money.

REDCAPS: The Corps of Military Police.

ROZZER: a policeman.

RP: regimental police, not to be confused with the Corps of Military Police.

RSM: regimental sergeant major (a senior warrant officer).

SAM BROWNE: a military officer's belt with shoulder strap.

SAUSAGE AND MASH: cash (rhyming slang).

SCRIMSHANKER: one who evades duty or work.

SILK, a: a King's Counsel, from the silk gowns they wear.

SKIP
or
SKIPPER: an informal police alternative to sergeant.

SMOKE, The: London.

SPROG: a child.

STONEY: broke.

STRETCH, a: one year's imprisonment.

SWADDY: a soldier.

TEA LEAF: a thief (rhyming slang).

THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND: drunk.

TITFER: a hat (rhyming slang: tit for tat).

TOBY: a police area.

TOD (SLOAN), on one's: on one's own (rhyming slang).

TOM: a prostitute.

TOPPED: murdered or hanged.

TWO-AND-EIGHT, in a: in a state (rhyming slang).

WALLAH: someone employed in a specific office (
ex
Hindi).

WAR OFFICE: Department of State overseeing the army.

WIPERS: Army slang for Ypres in Belgium.