The Angry Exile: The hardest word.

The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.
And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"
The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all
For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Maurice Ogden

Saturday, 19 June 2010

The hardest word.

Just ran across this about a man who spent three years in jail for a rape that apparently never happened. I'd just dialled the outrage up to 11 when I thought I'd better check the Ambush Predator's cave, false rape claims being one of her regular topics. Sure enough, she's started the day with it, and draws attention to the fact that the woman concerned isn't facing any comeback for her actions, a perjury trial for instance, despite having a history of crying rape.

And then there's the police attitude, which Julia touches on as well. Take a look at the timeline here from the Sky article (my bold).

Warren Blackwell, 40, was jailed in 1999 for a sex attack outside a social club. He was released in 2003 and his conviction was quashed on appeal in 2006, after new evidence undermined the credibility of the complainant.

And the Mail article Julia linked to.

Yesterday the IPCC criticised Northamptonshire Police for taking more than a year to finalise an apology and resolve disciplinary matters with officers involved.
The IPCC probe, launched in 2007, found failings by three officers who had a case to answer on misconduct grounds.

And what year is this? 2010, isn't it? So Mr Blackwell was released after three years, then a further three before the authorities concede he was innocent all along and compensate him - minus the costs of his bed and board while he was locked in the cell he should never have been put in, natch - then maybe a year for the IPCC to even begin an investigation, and another three years for them to work out that the police well and truly stuffed it up and arguably fitted him up. More than ten years of trial, jail, appeals and investigations, all leading up to this moment.

Northamptonshire Police Deputy Chief Constable Derek Talbot apologised to Blackwell in person earlier this week.

Only four years after the appeal court quashed the conviction, which suggests that making the effort to apologise for screwing up someone's life on the word of someone who's clearly as mad as a box of frogs is a high priority for Northamptonshire police. Before you know it they'll be arresting people for crimes they haven't even committed yet.

Ooops.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...: All of that just boggles the mind.; 19 June 2010 at 04:36
JuliaM said...: Anf then, this afternoon, this one rears its head.

They're getting like buses! Always in twos...; 19 June 2010 at 06:35
Angry Exile said...: girl X, yep. You can't blame the cops for investigating a false allegation but you sure as hell can for stuffing up the investigation. And to add insult to injury I still can't believe that a simple apology took so long when the fact his conviction was quashed 4 years ago should have told the police they stuffed it up. Translation:

"We're sorry the IPCC has worked out what a fuck up it was."

No wonder Warren Blackwell feels it's a token gesture, too little too late. To have meant anything it should have been offered in 2006.

Julia, at least that one's being prosecuted. I noticed Warren Blackwell's accuser got off scot free because the CPS decided she was too ill. I'd have suggested that with her track record that should have been for a jury to decide.; 19 June 2010 at 16:39