The Noon Lady of Towitta (17 page)

Justice Way agreed to this and then reminded the jury, ‘Do not to be influenced by anything you hear outside the courtroom but listen to the facts and interpret them carefully. Your verdict will determine the course of a woman's life.'

Following this sobering statement, the witnesses and Dr Ramsay Smith, the state coroner, were requested to be absent from the court during the medical evidence given by the doctor. For some reason Mr Symon did not want the famous Dr Ramsay Smith to stay in the courtroom, and this caused a row. The old judge shouted at him with disgust, ‘In my forty years experience, and twenty-six of those on the bench, I cannot ever remember one expert ever being excluded from court during the giving of another's expert evidence.'

But Mr Symon insisted, as calm as a pickled dill cucumber, ‘My impression, Your Worship, is that it has been done, although for the moment I cannot put my finger on a specific case, but it was a very high opinion.'

The red-faced judge cut in, ‘Can you point to a case? I am inclined to allow Dr Ramsay Smith to remain while Dr Steel relates the facts he saw. When the latter deals with questions of opinion or theories
then
Dr Smith might retire.'

At this insistence by the judge, Mr Symon became quite passionate. He demanded, ‘It is impossible for me to do justice to my instructions in the cross-examination of Dr Ramsay Smith if he is allowed to remain while Dr Steel gives evidence as the latter's opinions are mixed up with his statements of facts.' At this point, Mr Symon put Justice Way on the spot when he drew His Honour's attention to Phipson's Law of Evidence.

The judge looked like he was going to explode. He seemed uncertain about the rights and wrongs of Mr Symon's demands, but he wasn't going to be browbeaten by this uppity lawyer. He adjourned the court for ten minutes while he hurried out to consult with a court official, I was told. For a few precious minutes we were allowed to relax a little and the courtroom erupted into noisy chatter which grew into a din. When the judge re-appeared a hush immediately swept over the courtroom and everyone settled once more to concentrate on proceedings.

The judge sat down and staring straight at Mr Symon as if daring him to challenge his decision, bellowed, ‘Very well, this is what will happen. Dr Ramsay Smith can stay to listen to the other medical experts unless there is a question of theory or opinion, and then he will have to leave the courtroom. In the meantime I have made the decision that medical experts can hear the evidence of other experts.' As it happened, Dr Smith stayed in the courtroom for the rest of the day.

When Dr Steel gave evidence he caused a stir as he spoke of the problems of the red dust of the Towitta district. Holding a little of it in the palm of his hand, he said it gave a stain that resembled blood, quite a problem with so much stained clothing found at the murder scene. This confusion between traces of red dust and human and animal blood caused much discussion in the courtroom.

Then when giving an account of the stab wounds to Bertha's body he stated, ‘In my opinion the cuts were made by a right-handed person from behind.'

The judge cut in, reminding Dr Steel, ‘So it is only your opinion that the cuts were made by a right-handed person.' I wondered what the judge knew, what other evidence had he seen to make this statement. Dr Smith took the stand and gave a detailed account of what I was supposed to be wearing at the time of the murder and how many blood spots and smears covered the clothes. He showed no shred of sympathy for my plight, rather he was condemning of me and his account credible to everyone listening. His most damning evidence concerned his observation after digging up Bertha's body twelve days after her burial. ‘I extracted fine fair hairs from under Bertha's fingernails that match perfectly those from Mary's head. So was Bertha fighting Mary for her life?'

This statement caused quite a stir in the courtroom. The police and other expert evidence against me looked grim. I didn't see how I could be found innocent when dozens of specimens of blood-stained clothing, hair, brushes, knives, cloths, rags, knives and bowls were shown to prove the case against me, one after the other.

When all the evidence had been presented I was again asked how I pleaded. I could feel every eye burning into me when, as directed by Mr Symon, I stated in a quiet and girlish voice, ‘I am not guilty, sir.' There was an immediate reaction from the court as if they were saying, ‘There, I told you so.'

During the summing-up the lawyer for the prosecution, Mr Stuart, proceeded to instruct the jury, ‘First, are you satisfied that there was death by violence, and if so does the evidence point to any particular party? As this is circumstantial evidence it is very important, if at all possible, to find a motive and the opportunity when considering the conduct of the person accused.'

To those watching I remained composed and confident, but my body became uncomfortably hot when he said, ‘Now, I do not press too strongly on the motive of jealousy. Consider the possibility of another motive. Might the father, an exceedingly good and kind man when his children were behaving properly, treat Mary very severely if Bertha had passed on information she had discovered during the night? I put it to you members of the jury, what would you do in her situation?'

Mr Stuart presented my possible motives, my jealousy over Bertha and my fear of Father, and I was thankful for the veil to hide behind. This man had reached deep into my thoughts and was probing into my soul. Naturally, his convincing plea to the jury alarmed me and in my mind I could see the looming hangman's rope. Just as I pictured myself falling through the trapdoor Mr Symon took the stand and the mood swung in the opposite direction. My dark feelings of impending doom lifted and I could sense instead the heady joy of freedom. He must have known, as surely as I knew, that he held my life in his hands. The point he reiterated, was that there was not sufficient proof of guilt: ‘I cannot believe she could have held this ghastly secret in her soul without its getting out somehow. How could she, even if the deed were the outcome of some momentary passion or some temporary and inconceivable madness, have restrained herself from showing some sign? Have any of you detected a sign?'

Not a sound could be heard in the court as Mr Symon pleaded, ‘If you, as honest men putting your hands on your hearts can say, without doubt or hesitation, that her guilt seems reasonable, then that is your verdict. But I take the liberty of cautioning you against drawing inferences. A horrible crime has been committed and it has excited our minds. Bloodstained clothes and articles have been produced, all calculated to unsettle our reason and distract our judgement. It would be no wonder, and I should not blame you, if you were disposed to come to a hasty inference on the subject. You will recollect how Macbeth smeared the sleeping grooms with blood and the evidence in this case is exactly similar in character and in degree.' His summing-up seemed utterly convincing; I could not have done the dreadful deed.

I felt confident until it was the judge's turn, but I wanted to swoon when he said, ‘The question which you have to consider is whether the deceased died by the hand of the prisoner, or by some other person's. The answer to that question depends on whether you believe the prisoner's statement of what happened on the night. If you do, she is entitled to an acquittal. If you do not believe her and you think she has concocted some mysterious man to take the blame, there is ample evidence in the state of her clothing to justify this conclusion and compel you to find a verdict of guilty.'

I was amazed at how my mood could fluctuate from doom to relief and doom again in the space of minutes. Now my state of mind was such that I wanted to give way altogether and cry in fear, but I kept telling myself, ‘Hang on, hang on, Mary. All will be known soon enough.' I was escorted from the courtroom as the jury retired for an agonising two hours to consider their verdict. I was told this was hardly any time at all considering the barbarity of the crime but I, of course, was on a knife edge and every minute seemed an eternity. The warden leaned forward to tell me that there was a crowd of about 3000 people outside also waiting anxiously for the verdict.

It was eight o'clock in the evening and dark outside when the jury informed the court they were ready to give their verdict and we all trooped back into court. The courtroom was lit by gas lighting that roared like a steam train and the heat was oppressive, it seemed worse than it had all day. I could feel the rivulets of sweat running down my face and trickling inside my clothes.

A hush spread over the courtroom as the jury was asked, ‘Gentlemen of the jury, are you agreed upon your verdict? How say you? Is the prisoner guilty or not guilty?'

There were a few agonising seconds of silence as a member of the jury rose. The reply was loud and assured, ‘Not guilty.' With those two words there was the roar of loud cheers, clapping of hands and stamping of feet in the gallery, and the booming voice of the judge shouted several times above the din, ‘Silence in court!'

But the noise did not stop for some minutes. As the news was shouted to those waiting outside, the applause and shouts of excitement rose like an echo from the enormous crowd assembled in Victoria Square and in the streets on either side of the court. A court official shouted, ‘Not guilty!' from the balcony of the upper floor.

Sometime later I was told that after Mr Symon's convincing sermon, the verdict of not guilty was expected as was typical when he undertook the defence. I couldn't believe this outpouring of excitement was about me; it was as though everyone was celebrating something entirely different. Then I felt the eyes of the world focused on me at that moment, waiting, waiting, for a response from me. I breathed deeply and set my face to appear as calm as possible while inside my mind was spinning and screaming, ‘You're free! You're free!' I looked out through the veil and the mellow glow of the gas lamps made the scene dreamlike. Wave after wave of relief swept over me. So, after all, the jury must have believed my story of the mysterious intruder.

I was far away when I heard a sharp click next to me. I came to my senses to see the bolt to the dock had been shot back and I was being beckoned to step down. My arms were taken by well-meaning people as they guided me from the courtroom to my parents in the courtyard.

It was over as quick as that. No one asked me more questions. There was no more form filling, and no one guiding, holding, or restraining me. The climax of the verdict was over as were the tribulations of the last nine weeks, as quick and as dramatic as that. It was not unlike waking from one of my nightmares and finding nothing remaining of the last few weeks. One moment I was going to be hanged, now here I was surrounded by smiling aunties and uncles, and even my dear brother, Frederick, who had come all the way from the north of South Australia in a rare show of support.

But the worst moment of all was to come. Father was standing in front of me and I felt unease at our coming together once more. The nightmare period of the last few weeks was over, but here I was in another one with Father. It was like one of my nightmares where I woke to find I was still in one – except this time it was for real. The joy of freedom was snuffed out by the reality of being back with Father.

Mother rushed to me and hugged me, saying, ‘Thank the Lord, I have one back.' But Father looked at me knowingly, hesitating before he placed his hand on my arm. No word of encouragement but, ‘Your uncle's here, Mary, to take us to a hotel for the night.' A small group of official-looking people guided us through to a waiting carriage. Mother, who I know wanted her only remaining daughter home, must have thought very carefully about what it would be like for me to go home with Father. Although I would have to return to Towitta eventually, it had been decided that for now I would be going with my Aunt Giscelia to Eden Valley so I could reclaim something of my shattered life.

The driver of the carriage was one of Mother's brothers. As soon as we clambered aboard he drove off quickly toward the German-owned Black Eagle Hotel in Hindmarsh Square where we were staying the night before heading to Eden Valley in the morning.

24

Sister Kathleen, spellbound by my stories, often found it hard to end the meetings when she knew she had to go back to her chores. It had taken many weeks for me to tell her my story because of the little time available. The story would soon be over, but Sister Kathleen was eager to listen to any new snippets I could recall.

‘So you were free, Mary, and you eventually went back to Towitta. What was that like?'

Yes I was free. After a few months in Eden Valley I went back to Towitta a free woman, but I knew some of the people in Towitta and Sedan viewed me as a murderess. Although I was found not guilty the case remained unsolved, so I was still viewed as notorious and someone to be feared. No one told me to my face, but things were different for me. In town I'd feel the eyes on me when I climbed down from the wagon. The locals would slink back to let me pass or grab hold of their children's hands as I entered the bakery or post office. Some children even ran screaming when they saw me. Groups of locals whispered to each other as I approached. I heard, ‘Mama, is she really the Noon Lady?' as I passed. ‘Shhh,' said her mother, with a finger to her lips. The local children called me ‘Noon Lady' after the Wendish witch known in folklore for harming infants and children. This hurt me sorely for I was fond of children. In Wendish folklore witches were born with a single tooth and I wondered how many people knew that I had been born with one too. This strange fact would not have helped my reputation. Miserable, I left the town gossip and returned to the farm.

Mother had aged and went about her chores in misery and silence, and brothers Willy and August crept around and whispered to each other. Father, ever tyrannical, put the fear of God into the two boys who leapt to their jobs at speeds never seen before, so afraid were they at what could happen next. Who could they trust now? Although the brothers slept away from the farmhouse in the barn, they were nevertheless anxious about whether the stranger might return to murder them one night. I could never reassure them on this matter; he was, after all, still at large, wasn't he?