A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER
But a great change came over London police courts about eleven years
ago. The description I have given of one court held true of them all
at that particular time. If my memory serves me correctly, to Mr.
Justice Wills belongs the credit of applying in the House of Lords for
a Commission to inquire into the condition of things in London police
courts. This brought about a blessed result, for everything that can be
done for the comfort, refinement, and decency of the prisoners is now
done at all our courts.
The moral atmosphere is vastly improved, but the physical is improved
beyond knowledge. A matron to attend to the girls and women is now
appointed, and paid by the State, at every court. Not only are there
separate prisoners’ waiting-rooms for the sexes, but each prisoner,
male or female, has a separate compartment if they like to avail
themselves of it. Young girls are no longer placed among the older
and gross women, and, beyond having to stand in the dock to answer
the charge, make but little acquaintance with the police court proper
unless they are of that age, and the charge is of such description,
that their detention in the cells is absolutely necessary. Male
prisoners can no longer bandy words and exchange obscenities with
female prisoners. The cell-walls can no longer be covered with ribald
or filthy writing, for the walls are built of white glazed tiles,
on which writing is impossible. No longer do the prisoners sit in
darkness and stew in filthy air, for the cells are lofty, light, and
well ventilated. No longer are seven or eight prisoners crowded into
one cell, for the number of cells is largely increased, while the size
of each cell is lessened. There is no longer any necessity for the
prisoners to be continually shouting for the gaoler, or to hammer their
cell-door with their boots, for an electric bell in each cell gives
them all the opportunity of communicating directly and at once with
him. The tone of the police, too, is wonderfully raised, whilst the
magistrates are not only humane, but also human, and in touch with the
various agencies for the assistance of prisoners.
Everything is changed for the better as far as police court
arrangements are concerned--everything but the prisoners’ van, for
‘Black Maria’ still remains the same, and the little cupboards still
gape for their prey. This ride in the van to prison or from prison is
to many people--especially to a refined man or a delicate woman--a
frightful ordeal and punishment. Again and again I have been told by
such prisoners that their sufferings whilst barred in their cupboard
and locked in the van for one hour have been far worse than any
punishment received during their imprisonment. Prisoners must, I know,
be conveyed in a closed van; neither will it do to allow them whilst
on their journey to have free access to each other; but the cupboards
might be larger and more comfortable, for it is the horrible choking
sensation the prisoners experience that constitutes the punishment.
The worst feature of it is that a prisoner may, whilst on remand,
be conveyed to and from prison any number of times, and be then
discharged, presumably innocent.
With this exception everything is changed, everything but the humanity
that stands in the dock or sits in the cells, and that continues ever
the same--the same old sins and the same old sorrows, the same old
difficulties and worries for individuals, and the same everlasting
problems for the State. Tramp! tramp! tramp! goes this procession of
humanity through our police courts. Tramp! tramp! tramp! goes the army
of the dead. Tramp! tramp! tramp! go the thoughtless ones or vicious
ones with eager feet hastening to join that army. Tramp! tramp! goes
poverty with whining voice and suppliant look. Tramp! tramp! go the
bewildered ones, the victims of circumstance. Tramp! tramp! go the
afflicted ones. Day after day, year after year, a never-ceasing tramp
of the wronging or the wronged.
In time the repulsiveness of the procession wears away, the evil smells
do not so much offend, and one is able to make a close acquaintance
with the procession. Then a field for the study of human nature is
opened up, and nowhere in the wide world is there a field equal to it.
Does anyone want to study the drink question?--here’s the chance; the
social evil?--here’s the opportunity; causes of crime?--here they may
be found. Every vice and every virtue, and every source of strength
and every cause of weakness incidental to humanity are found here.
Every phase of every social problem has its place here. The joys and
pleasures of life, the sorrows and difficulties of life, the comedy
and fun of life, the tragedy and despair of life, are illustrated
here. Rich and poor, old and young, bond and free, refined and coarse,
intellectual and idiotic, unite in this procession, strange specimens
of humanity, provoking wonder, disgust, or mirth; pathetic bits of
humanity, provoking sympathy and deepest pity; good and evil jumbled
up; love and cruelty side by side. The ‘devil’s own’ and the ‘children
of God’ blend in this procession. A tangled mass of humanity, a
glorious hugger-mugger of confusion, goes tramping, ever tramping,
through our London police courts.
Clergymen and ministers of religion might do well if sometimes they
forsook the study, put away their books of theology, and as followers
of the Son of Man came into our courts to learn from the sons of men.
Here would they find texts for many a sermon, illustrations to give
point to many an appeal. Members of Parliament might sometimes come
here to learn their country’s wrongs and wounds, and, inspired by the
knowledge, voice those wrongs and wounds at proper time and place.
Students of men, lovers of their kind, specialists in reform, experts
in every subject, might learn much and unlearn more from a close
acquaintance with police court humanity and police court problems.
For let no one say he knows all about these persons or things; such
knowledge cannot be obtained, not even by a lifetime of patient
observation. Many men, many minds; rather is it true: one man, one
woman, many minds. One individual’s moods and changes, vices and
virtues, strength and weakness, the mind acting on the body and the
body on the mind, now striving after good, now going headlong into
evil--one individual alone presents an unsolved problem. But much worth
the knowing and better worth the doing may be learned; yet it were
well, perhaps, not to learn too much.
A short time ago I was listening to a very notable lady, who probably
had never been in a police court. She was arguing that women were much
better adapted for ‘rescue work’ than men. She may have been right, but
I do not think she was; at any rate, her reason was quite wrong--‘women
can see through people better than men.’ If this is true, the measure
of their knowledge is the measure of their unfitness. Men may be the
more credulous; if so, they have more faith and hope. I can see through
no one. I do not want to. I am not worse than the average male, but I
would not like anyone to see through me; and quite certain am I that
I would not like to rake anyone fore and aft with mental rays. Many a
time I have shut my eyes that I might not see, for I have learned to be
pitiful. And this is the great lesson to be learned in a London police
court. Wonder may be felt, resentment may be raised, but pity, deep and
abiding, is the feeling that is bound to fill the heart of any lover of
men that attends a police court regularly.
The public generally do not know the various uses to which a court is
put; the poor and the unfortunate do know, for it is the rendezvous of
the distressed. Let me give an idea of a day’s routine, not as regards
the duties of the different officials, but merely as the day’s work
reflects the outside world.
It is half-past ten a.m., and the worthy magistrate, accompanied by
his clerk, has just taken his seat. The body of the court is already
half full of people who have been admitted, after close questioning,
by the official at the door. The general public are not yet admitted,
for it is ‘application time,’ and the proceedings are _in camera_.
Thirty applicants are seated quietly waiting for their turn to go
into the witness-box and explain to his worship the nature of their
trouble. Those thirty applicants are worth looking at and listening
to, for they voice the difficulties, sorrows, and nuisances of life.
It is, too, a comforting thought that at every London police court
every morning the magistrate listens patiently and courteously to the
different people who come and make known their wants to him. Of course,
where summonses are asked for, it is the magistrate’s duty to listen
and grant the summons, if he considers the grounds sufficient; but
where legal or friendly advice is sought, it is a different matter, for
then he departs from his mere duty, and, out of kindness, performs a
great work, which the law and State do not demand of him. Day by day,
year in and year out, men and women unburden their minds and expose
their difficulties and sorrows to the magistrate; and though many of
them know before they come that the magistrate cannot solve their
difficulties or remove their sorrows, still they come, well knowing
that they will be patiently listened to, and that kind words will be
spoken to them. And scores of them go away comforted with the thought
that they have been listened to, and in their turn have heard kind
words spoken to them.
The hard-working father, husband of a drunken wife, comes and tells of
the hell in which he lives, and though the magistrate has no help to
give, and tells him plainly that the law provides for him no remedy,
and offers no hope of release, yet even he goes away strengthened in
some degree to bear his heavy burden, for has he not been spoken to
kindly by the magistrate? The poor, battered wife comes and tells the
story of her sufferings, is listened to, garrulous though she sometimes
be, and is advised either to take out a summons or to ‘look over it
this time.’ Mothers come about erring daughters, fathers about idle,
dishonest, or dissolute sons. Married sons or daughters come to ask
advice about and relief from drunken parents. Old and tottering men and
women come because grown-up sons, upon whom they had lavished all their
love and substance, refused to help them in their poverty and distress.
A father or mother has died, there are household goods and some little
money left; how shall these be divided and the difficulty settled?--by
consulting the magistrate. The landlord has distrained, legally or
illegally; how shall the truth be known?--by consulting the magistrate.
Every kind of domestic difficulty is laid before him. An unwelcome
but persistent suitor for a daughter haunts the mother’s house; she
seeks relief from the magistrate. The father and mother interfere with
the course of true love, and a girl of sixteen seeks advice from the
magistrate. An ardent lover has made his sweetheart presents, which she
refuses to return now that the engagement is ‘off’; he applies to the
magistrate. An expected husband does not return home on the Saturday or
Sunday; on Monday the wife consults the magistrate.
Lodgers with bad landlords and landlords with bad lodgers consult the
magistrate; people with bad neighbours consult the magistrate; the
watchful housedog barks at night; the neighbouring cock proclaims
too early the dawn; the next door neighbour has a daughter who gives
lessons on the piano; a strong-lunged youth practises the cornet on
Sunday afternoons--these are some of the smaller troubles laid before
the magistrate.
But deep and hopeless sorrows are never wanting; and in despair and
perplexity not a few seek comfort from the magistrate. Poor old women,
whom no one in the world cares for, and for whom the workhouse waits--a
place of which they are mortally afraid--seek help from the magistrate.
Rosy-faced young women fresh from the country to some place of service
in London, finding their mistresses to be of doubtful character, fly
in terror to seek the help of the magistrate. And he sits and listens,
and advises. A great organization some years ago in their appeal for
funds spoke as if they were the lawyers of the poor. For years, without
any appeal, any advertisement, or any reward, the magistrates of London
have been and are still the legal advisers of the poor.
The ever-increasing army of the demented ones also apply in their
hopeless conditions and with their inexplicable delusions to the
magistrate. One is persecuted by the police; another is shadowed by
an assassin; another someone is trying to poison. A poor woman wants
the telephone-wire removed--‘it talks to her.’ An equally poor man
complains of the telegraph. So they come and go away with their scrap
of comfort. Much patience, kindness, sympathy, and wisdom do our
magistrates exhibit in dealing with those who seek their advice on
every conceivable and inconceivable subject.
But while the applicants have been making, or trying to make, their
wants known, the prisoners have arrived. Those admitted to bail have
surrendered; others have been brought in the various cupboards of
the prisoners’ van; others by different constables. The last ‘small
tenement case’ has been disposed of; the inspector on duty for the
day has applied for the police summonses; the doors are opened to
the public, and No. 1 prisoner is announced. ‘Drunks’ first, with
precedence for ladies, is the order.
There is a great deal that is monotonous and disgusting about a
long procession of ‘drunk and disorderlies,’ and anyone is bound to
be sickened at the repetition. The same evidence in almost the same
words is given by constable after constable. Moving among men and
women, one cannot be ignorant of the stupidly obscene language that
prevails among labouring men, loafers, and immoral women. But one
scarcely expects to hear all sorts of men and women credited with the
use of this particular kind of language. It may be, and doubtless is,
true with regard to some apparently respectable folk, but, on the
other hand, I am afraid that some officers adopt a kind of ‘formula.’
Certainly the similarity of language credited to different kinds of
people is striking. Another noticeable thing is that men, as a rule,
admit the justice of the charge, while women, as a rule, deny its
truth point-blank and absolutely, and as often as not bring some
counter-charge against the constable, and were they to be believed, we
have few honest or decent men among the Metropolitan police.
It is interesting, too, to notice the many and different reasons that
are given to the magistrate as excuses for being drunk. Joy or sorrow,
ill-health or good health, poverty or prosperity, heat or cold, life
or death, friendship or enmity--anything serves, for all the opposing
emotions and conditions of life are given as sufficient reasons for
getting drunk. Another thing is noticeable with regard to the list of
‘drunks’; on Monday the charge-list is three times the size of any
other day, but few women are charged, while on other days they often
predominate; on some days the whole of them are women. I have a list
before me now of twelve charges, all of them women, and all of them
charged with being drunk. Taking one year as a guide, a recent one,
when I kept a record of the whole of the charges, I find that about
one-third of the charges are women, and two-thirds men; but, judging
from my own observation, the women charged on the Monday do not
constitute more than one-eighth of that day’s total. I cannot explain
why this is; I have conferred with experienced police officers, and
they agree that it is so, but, like myself, they fail to find any
reasonable explanation of the fact. Although one case of drunkenness
closely resembles another, the individuals differ widely, for though
the poor in their dirt and misery predominate, yet well-dressed men and
women who live in comfort and cleanliness are by no means absent. Ages
differ even more widely than circumstances, for it is no uncommon thing
to find a youth or girl of sixteen followed by an old man or woman
verging on fourscore.
Appearances differ even more widely than circumstances or ages, for
while a great number of ordinary-looking individuals are charged, a
great number of the most extraordinary-looking men and women stand
before our magistrates. Snap-shots of all prisoners at any court
for one year would form an interesting collection, and be quite a
revelation. The simple ‘drunks’ are soon disposed of by the magistrate,
and follow each other in and out of the dock with great rapidity. A
stiff fine for the old offenders, a lighter one for the comparatively
unknown, and a discharge for those who make their first appearance is
the general rule, though some magistrates adopt exactly opposite rules
with regard to some first offenders.
A well-dressed man is charged. ‘You are in good circumstances and ought
to know better; there is less excuse for you than for the poor and
wretched. We look to such as you to set a better example. You must pay
ten shillings.’ Thus one magistrate, and it seems right. But another
will say: ‘You seem a decent, respectable man; this is the first time
you have been locked up and detained. I shall discharge you. Don’t come
here again.’ This also seems right, though both cannot be right.
It takes much longer to settle the ‘drunk and disorderly’ charges, for
most people who will readily admit the charge of drunkenness will deny
the disorderly conduct, especially as the use of bad language generally
forms part of the charge. The constable then has to give details, and
call witnesses. The prisoner will cross-examine, and in doing so nine
times out of ten will manage to corroborate the police, and convict
himself or herself. ‘Drunk and assault’ charges take longer still, for
no two witnesses give the same account of a scrimmage. It generally
happens that no one sees every item from start to finish; but, as a
rule, when some blackguard is in the hands of the police, there is no
lack of ‘witnesses’ who are ready to perjure themselves in order to get
the prisoner off. When one civilian charges another with assault it not
infrequently happens that there are accommodating witnesses on each
side, and the magistrate has to decide between conflicting perjuries.
Common-sense and experience then come to his worship’s aid.
Numbers of lads from twelve to eighteen are charged with playing
‘pitch-and-toss’ or ‘banker’ in the streets. Up till quite recently
it took a good time to dispose of such, for they were all innocent,
or said they were, for the number of innocent boys charged with
gambling is only equalled by the number of innocent women charged with
being drunk. One day about eight decent-looking lads were charged.
I was speaking to them in the prisoners’ room before they went into
court, and gave them a word of good advice. I thought I had made some
impression on them, and finally advised them to admit their guilt to
the magistrate, and tell him that they would not do it again. To the
magistrates’ surprise they all pleaded guilty and expressed penitence
but one, who stoutly protested his innocence, when several constables
were called to prove the charge. The magistrate told the boys that he
was pleased with their honesty, candour, and penitence, and should
deal very leniently with them, and, hoping they would keep the promise
they had given, discharged them all excepting the ‘innocent’ one. He
was fined ten shillings. So lads charged with gambling in the streets
pleaded ‘guilty’ at North London till the plea no longer availed.
The more serious charges, as a rule, are held back till the ‘drunks,’
etc., are all disposed of. This is wise, for it allows the majority of
the police-officers to go to their duties or rest, and it also allows
the majority of prisoners to pay their fines, and go home or to work
as the case may be. Then come the charges of felony, embezzlement,
burglary, etc. Upon these charges a great deal more time and care
are expended, and depositions taken, a task that devolves on the
magistrate’s clerk; and a heavy task it is, for some witnesses are
supremely stupid, others too clever by far, and very many are so
talkative that it is almost impossible to keep them to strict evidence.
But whether stupid, clever, or talkative, every bit of evidence is
taken down in an accurate, but concise way; indeed, nothing is more
remarkable in police court proceedings than the unerring manner in
which the clerks note at once every word of the evidence that is
germane to the charge. Rarely, very rarely, does it happen that when
the clerk reads over the deposition before the witness signs it, he
is asked to alter some part of it on the ground that it is not quite
correct, and when this does happen it is invariably the fault of the
witness. Such charges make a great demand upon the magistrate, and an
absolute concentration of mind and memory are required.
Frequently solicitors are engaged, one trying to make the case appear
black, and one trying to make it appear white. Very often they are
able to twist witnesses at their pleasure, their business being not to
arrive at the truth in any matter, but to make the opposing side appear
in the wrong. To note and sift the evidence, to study the witnesses,
and sweep away the sophistries of the defence or prosecution, is
not an easy matter, but the London magistrates do it, and do it to
perfection. I do not know any magistrate in whose hands the interests
of a prisoner, guilty or innocent, are not absolutely safe. It is, in
fact, no uncommon thing for a magistrate to protect a prisoner against
himself and against his own or the prosecuting solicitor. To hold
the balance of justice evenly day after day in all sorts of charges
is not an easy task, but it is done; and the fact that very few of
their decisions or sentences are annulled or revoked shows that the
manner in which justice is administered in our police courts is beyond
question.
Yet it is not a hard-and-fast or a cut-and-dried justice that is
administered, for the spirit of the law is sometimes only to be
kept by breaking the letter. Some people are for ever excited about
disproportionate sentences, and are quite wroth when they read that
one man has received a much more severe sentence than another, though
both have committed the same class of offence. If the same magistrate
has awarded both sentences, then the outcry is great. I once met with a
gentleman many miles from London who kept a scrap-book for the purpose;
in this he had cuttings from the daily police court news, the sentences
and decisions of the different London magistrates. He had them arranged
in a most systematic way: the court and magistrate, offence and
sentence. Contrasts were shown not only by comparing the sentences
of different magistrates for similar offences, but also the varying
punishments awarded by the same magistrate for one class of offence.
He was rather proud of his work, and protested that law and justice
was a complete ‘hotch-potch.’ He said he should like to see justice
administered in a more logical and scientific way. I suggested that it
might be a good thing to have a phonograph instead of a chief clerk,
then every word spoken by witnesses, prosecutor, or prisoner might be
spoken into it, and said that it would be easy to have an automatic
machine for magistrates, so that by a combination of the two scientific
justice might be done. The glory of London police court justice is that
it is not administered in a scientific way. God forbid it ever should
be! for then injustice would be the rule and not the exception.
I hope the day will never come when our magistrates will have to deal
out punishment as a shopman deals out goods--so much crime, so much
punishment. At present they have hearts and sympathies, they have
freedom and latitude--better still, their freedom of action and
sympathy of heart make for justice, for ofttimes mercy is the only
justice. That mercy may call for a light sentence or a severe one, but
whichever it may be it does not call in vain. It is impossible for
anyone who does not hear a case tried, see the different actors, and
know something of the attendant circumstances to sit (with justice) in
judgment on the ‘rightness’ of any sentence that may be given. Until
the whole of humanity is cast in one mould, until all environments
are alike, until physical, mental, and moral power are equally
distributed, until temptations present equal force and the ability to
resist is equally distributed, equality of punishment will be either an
impossibility or a huge wrong.
The young or middle-aged men charged with embezzlement or fraud are a
numerous class, and a sad duty awaits the magistrate when he has to
convict and sentence such men. To these men character is everything,
and when the brand of conviction is once upon them, their future is
dark and doubtful. In sentencing such, the magistrate knows full well
that the sentence he imposes is but light compared with the punishment
society inflicts upon the wrongdoer. They are therefore leniently dealt
with, and where possible are dealt with under the First Offenders
Act. The existence and application of this Act are too well known.
It is sometimes traded on, and young men (and even boys) who have
been pursuing a course of systematic fraud for a long time, and have
at length been brought to book, will ask to be dealt with under its
provisions. For the man or woman, boy or girl, who has yielded to a
sudden impulse, the magistrates require no pressing for leniency; but
the prisoner convicted of a series of thefts, though charged for the
first time, they do not consider a fitting subject for the application
of the Act.
Drink, gambling, and lubricity are the chief factors in the downfall
of these men, and it is a peculiar thing that journeymen butchers and
assistant milkmen form a large proportion of such prisoners. The two
former vices seem to prevail to an enormous extent among them, while
the latter vice seems to account for the delinquencies of clerks,
drapers’ assistants, etc. The women charged with various acts of
dishonesty are a mixed lot, including as they do the unfortunate,
the skilful shoplifter, the pickpocket, and the inveterate robber of
furnished lodgings. Beyond proof of guilt these do not demand much
attention from the magistrate; but with numbers of females the case
is very different, for though their guilt may be fully established,
the magistrate has much heart-searching before he deals with them,
for truly they are pitiful problems. Numbers of girls from fourteen
to twenty are charged with stealing; why they have stolen they do not
appear to know, what they have done with the articles stolen they
cannot sometimes tell; occasionally it appears the goods have been
destroyed. Their behaviour in the cells and before the magistrate is
strange, for they appear dazed and bewildered, and quite unable to
concentrate their minds on what is taking place or what is said to
them. They do not profess penitence or sorrow. To a casual observer
they appear hardened and indifferent, and while their friends come and
plead for them and evince a keen feeling of disgrace, they themselves
still appear indifferent, and certainly do not realize the position in
which they find themselves placed.
But decently married women, who are beyond doubt respectable, are
also charged with theft. Some of these present similar problems to
the girls, and there is no doubt that pathological causes lie at the
root of the mental condition of both girls and women--at any rate, of
many of them. Such offenders, if offenders they can be called, are
considerately and even tenderly dealt with, and the First Offenders
Act is invariably put in operation with regard to them. A knowledge
not only of law and human nature, but also of physiology, is essential
for the proper consideration of many cases that come before police
court magistrates, and they often remand prisoners for a few days that
medical opinion may be obtained.
There are, of course, many charges that need not be enumerated, ranging
from frivolous assaults to murder, from stealing a drinking-glass to
burglary. After these are all disposed of and the different persons
interested in them have left the court, a class of charges are heard
which I cannot even hint at except to say that they are sadly too
prevalent, and that they demand the closest attention and scrutiny from
the magistrate, odious and repulsive as they are.
The charges being disposed of, the summonses follow, and are mostly
heard in the afternoon, or when, again, a mixed humanity tramps in and
out of the court. The consequences to the persons summoned are not, of
course, so serious, as a rule, as the consequences to persons charged,
but, still, a great many are sent to prison for short terms, and many
serious fines are imposed. Various are the offences for which the
police take out summonses; infinite in their variety are the reasons
for which private people summon each other. Infringement or wilful
violation of the laws and by-laws of the County Council bring a great
number into trouble. The Vestries, for a multiplicity of reasons, have
to take proceedings against determined offenders. The Excise must look
after the revenue, and is never behind in taking out summonses. The
School Board claims and monopolizes at least one afternoon per week.
So it comes to pass that about ten thousand summonses are adjudged
in one year by the magistrates at one court. And they cover a wide
area, and make a demand on the magistrate not only for a thorough
knowledge of law and of human nature, but also for technical knowledge
upon a thousand subjects. Having disposed of the summonses, excepting
those adjourned, signed all the commitments and other documents, the
magistrate’s work for the day, so far as the court is concerned, is
done. But I venture to think that not only many obscure points of law,
but also the consideration of many remanded prisoners and adjourned
summonses claims his earnest attention when far away from the court.
Ten thousand applicants, eight thousand prisoners, and ten thousand
summonses, would probably be a fair average of the humanity that tramps
through a London police court in one year. And every social problem,
every legal problem, every psychological problem, has its place among
that heterogeneous mass. Among this tangled and perplexed humanity I
have lived and moved for many years. I have seen it in the prisoners’
rooms, the dock, and the cells. I have seen it at liberty, and have
been in touch and communion with it while it has been in prison. In
the ten thousand homes of it I have been a constant and not unwelcome
visitor, while much of it has visited me in mine. By its dying bed
in some great institution, or in some mean room, I have frequently
sat. At the mortuary I have been to view some broken remains of it,
at the cemetery to see the last of it. So in the remaining chapters
of this book I want to tell of humanity, of its good and evil, of its
struggles and its failures, of its glory and of its shame--yea, and
also of its sufferings and its wrongs. Down, low down, for years I have
been groping among it, sometimes blindly, and sometimes with a ray of
light, making here and there some rough places plain, and untying now
and again some tangled knot; but more often baffled and defeated, yet
always learning and ever seeing some new point for good or evil among
them. So of this humanity and some of its problems I wish to tell,
promising that I shall only speak of ‘that which I know, and testify
only to that which I have seen.’