When the Remedy Hunts for a Malady

The court’s imagination sometimes makes the crime fit the punishment instead of the converse

Great cities are built on river banks. Delhi is on the Yamuna; Kolkata on the Hoogly; Varanasi on the Ganges. New York has its Hudson, Paris its Seine. But the one coupling that has the most romance must surely be London and the Thames.

Moneylife, the Thames and the law have met before. They meet again in a strange case where the appellate court denounces the subordinate judge with, “... a millstone should be hanged around his neck and he be cast into the uttermost depths of the sea.” Harsh words uttered a century ago; and then the proclaimer goes on to infinitely more bizarre decisions.

Hammersmith Bridge spans the Thames. A beautiful bridge, fitted together with bolts the size of an arm and a leg. Londoners like their heritage so much that it is maintained at any cost.

The Hammersmith Regatta is a boat race that passes under the bridge. In 1929, it attracted its fair share of the viewing public. One of them was a man who had a couple of beers but was not intoxicated. Next to him was Snooker, a gambler. He bet our man a pound to jump off the Bridge. He promptly acceded, took off his coat, ped into the River and, being a good swimmer, swam ashore. And that’s when the trouble started.

He was convicted of causing an obstruction, being drunk and disorderly, attempting to commit suicide, conducting the business of a street bookmaker, endangering the lives ofmariners and interfering with an authorised regatta—the Brits take their sports seriously.

He appealed, asking which of these charges could stick. The answer: ‘apparently none’. Snooker was the witness. No money had changed hands. The man was stone-cold sober. None was hurt. The race was held on schedule.

You be the judge.

His appeal was, strangely, dismissed. The court then set about trying to fit the punishment to the crime, any crime, a la Gilbert & Sullivan’s Mikado, in reverse. The imagination of the court now worked overtime.

The winning side never keeps its mouth shut, in court. Our swimmer was also an orator and he said that England was ‘a free country’ and that what he did was ‘for fun’. This was the opening the judges were waiting for. They seized it. England was not a free country; it was ruled by acts of Parliament, the court thundered. The law prescribed what and where people should, eat, drink, walk, drive or sleep. “… And least of all, they do unusual actions for fun. People must not do things for fun. We are not here for fun. There is no reference to fun in any act of Parliament. If anything is said in this court that Englishmen are entitled to jump off bridges… For these reasons… this appeal must fail. It is not for me to say what offence the appellant has committed, but I am satisfied that he has committed some offence …” Phew!

More fascinating in this farce are the names of the major players. The chief justice was Light; from the dark ages or at least that is where his judgement must be consigned. Snooker, the wagerer. Judge Mudd, whose thinking was as clear as mud, claiming that the River water got polluted by the act. Adder J, added it up as an attempt to destroy Hammersmith Bridge. And the name of the millstone-able judge? Mumble, J.

Sadly, the records are silent on the name of our hero. Maybe, to deny him his rightful place in history.

Author’s note: The author often says that the law may be an ass, but not a donkey. Readers are allowed to disagree with him.

(Bapoo Malcolm is a practising lawyer in Mumbai. Please email your comments to mail@moneylife.in)