A Series of Thefts.

by Thomas Leathan-drum

Robbie Whitehouse

Robbie Whitehouse arrived at the office out of breath — he'd been running ... it was obvious; perspiration covered his face and his (orange hair,) was wet. 

'I have my first story.'   Were his first words, followed by the word 'shit' as he hit his head — forgetting to bend.    Robbie is the oldest of us; coming from a farming family who had been through some tough times of late.    His father had died recently ... leaving the running of the family farm to Robbie's brother; Robbie was grateful for that decision ... as he had not great desire to a farmer.    Journalism was for him.  Travel and adventure; seeking out a story, that's a life ... he'd told us often.      Yesterday about 9.05 in the morning the phone rang, Robbie (with the longest arms,) grabbed the phone.     In his professional voice answered. 

'Mr Whitehouse speaking, may I help you?'     'Who did you say we're are?'  The voice can loud and care from through the receiver.

'Whitehouse,' Robbie repeated.

'Get down to the court house now ... what am I paying you for.'  Over voice yelled.     We all heard the receiver being slammed down at the other end.   Robbie's face turned red, picked up his note book and pencil ... his hat and coat (remembering to duck,) and ran out of the office.

'What was that all about?' Asked Billy.  

As we all are aware in times of haste, nine out of ten times ... things turn out for the worst; it was raining as Robbie left the office.     The court house was four blocks away; there was no cab to be found so he found himself running again.    If the streets were busy with vehicles and people ... coming and going — just like any normal day ... he was unaware; his thoughts, lost in his youth ... helping his father with feeding the pigs; in his bare feet, with his ankles deep in mud (and other slimy material,) pushing his brother so he would end up face first in the mud; the fun riding the tractor (well at first just sitting on dads knees and turn the wheel,) was not till he was fourteen could he reach the pedals.      His brother had to grow some more before he could (seventeen to memory.)

Judy his sister, was his best friend, and he hers ... just eighteen months younger ... yet with more common sense than he and his brother ... she was     wise; full of rights and wrongs coupled with vision and insight.       Robbie was at point sorry he was not home on the farm.       However he was not.

'Morning there mr Whitehouse; you look like you're in a hurry?'     'Yes, I am, Tom Dobson.'

'Where's you heading in such a hurry; mr Whitehouse?'   'To the court house, Tom.’       'I'll a come with ya.'       'Fine.'    Said Robbie.

~~~~

Trumps was clubs; I was about to score when the door opened.

'Has that Whitehouse left yet?'   George Hamilton (the editor,) asked the question.     

'He left twenty-minutes ago, mr Hamilton.' I replied.     He left and we continued to play.     Then the door opened again; this time Jimmy from stores, he said there is a box for the news-room downstairs.     'What you mean downs ... we are downs stars.' I said.     'O yeah, I mean out front.'   He left. I volunteered.   It was a new Olympus type writer.

~~~~

The court house was no more full than any other day.   At the steps Robbie saw Constable Shanahan; quite a well build man and well suited for a policeman … mr James Johnston walked passed with his wife and a small child by his side, then came mr David Low (nothing like David Low, Robbie new from back home … this David was only half the size of that David.)   Tom Dobson, who today wore no shoes; was not allowed to enter.       None of these people (at this time,) Robbie knew … but would become familiar as the day passed.

10.00am. Robbie was in the journalist box, situated above and a little left of the general public gallery.     He sat next to a young chap, George he said his name was — also his first solo story, and his first time in a court house.     He removed his hat and coat, Robbie followed suit - Robbie took pad and pencil from his pocket, and licked the lead, George followed suit.     Below and centre of the room (draped in a red cloak,) sat the judge; to their right, twelve good men and women of the jury (the men in their best suits, the women in sensible dresses,) opposite the accused stood; there directly below Robbie and George ... the prosecutor's and the defendants council (all a credit to their profession.)

A Series of Thefts.

Mr John Jones the accused; Robbie wrote — a stranger to the district, the court was told, created a name for himself in the criminal records of the dominion by perpetrating a series of thefts between Roxburgh and Alexandra ... during the Christmas holidays.   

Mr Jones however — it was reported, was brought to bay by Constable Shanahan - on December 27th, and was duly placed in the cooler at Clyde.   Robbie looked across towards the constable, Robbie was convinced, Constable Shanahan would have had not problem in containing the much smaller mr Jones.

Today before the Justices Court at Roxburgh (the accused — mr Jones,) is charged with the theft of 10 shillings in cash and a cheque for 2 pounds from James Galvin, of Shingle Creek.   (The accused — mr Jones,) pleaded guilty and was committed to the Supreme Court for sentence. 

As at the theatre at intermission; all in the court moved to and fro ... polite conversations between neighbours took place ... until silenced.    

Pencil in hand Robbie wrote; (the accused — mr Jones,) is further charged with stealing 7 pounds from James Johnston, of Ophir, at the Singleton Creek Hotel; here mr Jones spoke for the first time ... mr Jones told the court — he is guilty to having the money in his possession, but not guilty to the theft; alleging that he found the money — on the floor of one of the bedrooms. 

Robbie reported (the accused — mr Jones,) then is accused with the theft of 6 pounds from David Low, of Gully. The evidence went to show that accused arrived at Low's hotel shortly after noon and remained there overnight.     A man named Gully (of Alexandra,) that following day, cashed a 6 pound note for the accused; mr Low meanwhile missed the money, which was in a canvas bag in his bedroom, and as mrs Low had seen the accused coming out of her husband's bedroom — their suspicions were aroused.   The police were call and the accused was arrested. 

Robbie looked across towards Constable Shanahan ... thinking what fine policeman.

In the foyer with views of the courthouse gardens ... mr Galvin stood tall and proud, shaking hands with mr Johnston; agreeing with each other of the successful prosecution, and hoping of receiving compensation.    Mr and mrs Low walked passed hand in hand smiling.     'What a wonderful day out this has been,' she can be heard to say.       Robbie and George compare notes, with the promise to meet for a drink and to catch up on another occasion.

~~~~

Based on a turn report in the Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, 

12 January 1910.