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R. H. ORMOND

Page Twenty-six

BEFORE THE MAGISTRATE.

By Ernest Walter in The Vancouver Daily Province

MAGISTRATE C. H. BEEVOR-POTTS
is presiding over his last courts. He looks
back over a period of nearly 30 years on the
magisterial bench.

If he has grown a little weary with the
weight of years, he can look back over the
road he has travelled, view the labour of his
hands, and his brains, and sing his Nunc
Dimittis. z

“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant de-
part in peace, according to thy word. For
mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”

And perhaps he could also sing the Deus
Misereatur, “God be merciful to us and
bless us and show us the light of His count-
enance, and be merciful unto us.”

A kindly gentleman, who has served his
day and generation, his province and his
country, with rectitude and honour.

I travelled to Nanaimo last week-end to
take a look at Magistrate Beevor-Potts in
action. A little scene of the man at work.

I was not very fortunate in the few cases
which came before him while I was there.
He’s not kept as
busy as are our
Vancouver magis-
trates.

One would think
that a little city
which supports 26
beer parlours would
supply a number
of cases under the
heading of S.1.P.P.
(state of intoxica-
tion in a_ public
place), a few as-
saults, one or two
obstructing the
police,—but no, apparently the boys go
home, a little mellow perhaps, but kindly
disposed to all, and loving their fellow-man.

Some may be disposed to stand on street
corners: (oh, those winding streets of
Nanaimo), arms round one another's
shoulders and sing, “Show me the way to
go home; I’m tired and I wanna go to bed;
I had a little drink about an hour ago and
it’s gone right to my head.”

But they let it go at that, and someone
shows them the way home. No person in
Nanaimo appears to have any interest in
lemon extract, face lotion, hair tonic or
canned heat. The police have no record of
such things.

If they don’t roll up the sidewalks at
9 p.m., at least they do it not later than
11. Nothing more is heard after that but
the wash of waves on the beach and the
healthy blast of a vigorous wind.

There are no city police in Nanaimo.
The provincial police under Staff-Sergt.

Staff-Sergt. J. Russell

Russell do the job by contract. Twelve men
keep order in Nanaimo as well as a large
district outside. One man patrols the city
area, keeping a wary eye skinned for crim.
inals but sees none.

The patrolmen heave a sigh and go back
to say, at the end of a shift: “There’s noth.
ing to report” and Staff-Sergt. Russell sighs
in response and says: “Well, boys, cheer
up, we're keeping it clean, aren’t we?”

They speak very highly of Russell ip
Nanaimo. They look upon him as a son
of a father confessor. They say he keeps
more off the records than he puts on.

But make no mistake about that. A
policeman can so easily make trouble on the _
slightest provocation. But not so with Staff
Sergt. Russell. A kindly word of advice,
a stern warning and order is preserved,
His 33 years in police work, 16 of them in
Nanaimo, have given him that kindly toler
ance and understanding which goes far in
keeping peace in a community.

There is one other man who patrols the
streets at night. He is not with the regular
police. He is employed by the merchants to
try their store doors.

His name is Watchhorn. He is a dignified
man, crowned with a wealth of white hair,
He carries a stout cudgel and a flashlight.
A peaked cap gives him an air of authority,

“Watchhorn, what of the night?” And
Watchhorn replies: ‘Three o'clock and
all’s well with Nanaimo.”

If. IF. NOEL

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