The following is a dramatization of the events that occurred in the Old Bailey Courthouse in May and June of 1910 after Charles Kurz was charged with Deception and Fraud. All dialogue is directly copied from the court transcript available online and only changed with punctuation. After these proceedings, Charles was found guilty and sentenced to 3 months imprisonment from each indictment.
Deception, Fraud
Old Schonenberg was nearly unrecognizable in a freshly pressed, clean collared shirt as he stood up from the witness seating in the Old Bailey courtroom and shuffled up the steps to the wooden stand. He glanced towards Charles Kurz only once, and when he did Charles’ lips tightened and he held his gaze until the older man looked away. The only audible sound in the room was the scuffing of the humble baker’s modest boots on the floor boards: the courtroom was not heavily populated, but occupied by enough witnesses, court employees and witness’s families that the silence was pressurized.
The footsteps ceased as Schonenberg reached the stand. Someone in the back let slip a small cough and the transcriptionist in the corner scratched something in his little book.
“On January eighteenth, nineteen ten, the prisoner called on me,” began the old baker. Despite the his elderly hunch and the tense courtroom air, his testimony rang out clearly over the small gathering. “He reported that he was a debt collector, commission and inquiry agent, and asked if I had any debts to collect. I said, yes.”
As the baker continued his testimony, Charles felt his face grow hot. He sucked in a quick breath and steadied it, pushing the air out evenly through his nostrils. He shifted on his feet slightly, noticing a small rock in his shoe, right under his left big toe.
“I paid him eleven shillings – for the summonses – and two shillings – for expenses – for which he gave receipt,” Schonenberg asserted, and the prosecutor paused the testimony in order to present a piece of paper. It was the receipt Charles had scribbled out and given the old man on the spot. He had never expected Schonenberg to ask for one – the old man hadn’t seemed overly sharp but Charles had unfortunately been mistaken to assume that he wouldn’t inquire about receipts for the use of his money. Charles had been forced to write out the evidence of his fraud.
Although Charles did work an honest job as a furniture upholsterer, he was barely able to make enough to support his family. He had a wife and seven children – three daughters and four sons. He had worked as a debt collector in his youth, and had returned to the profession recently, in addition to his current occupation, in an attempt to increase his earning capacity. It had proved to be more work than he remembered, and he soon found himself falling behind in the work. However, a solution had presented itself, since it didn’t take long to realize that – when he chose his clients carefully – he was able to borrow more than required for his services and pocket the differences.
He had thought that, in a world full of wolves, Old Schonenberg was a lamb. But the baker was less of a lamb than Charles had thought, and now here he was – dragged before a court. The hearing continued.
“On February 10, I did attend the court and found that none of the summonses had been taken out, none of my cases were down for hearing, and the prisoner was not there.”
The next pause was more dramatic. Charles’s face burned and he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. The frantic scratching of the transcriptionist’s pen on paper echoed over the hall of the courtroom. Charles could hear his own heavy breaths.
Schonenberg tried to cleared his throat, but something caught and he coughed. Clearing his throat a second time, he continued.
“The next day, a man called on me from the prisoner. I went to the prisoner’s house, but failed to see him, and have not seen him since.”
The man in question had been Charles Kurz junior, his son and clerk. Charles junior was sitting below him now, in the witness seating section of the courtroom, his head high but looking away from his father.
Two other men were called – a courthouse clerk and an usher – before Sergeant Stevens, the arresting officer, took the witness stand against him. Charles felt a wave of unease and straightened his back and shoulders, pressing down with his big toe on the small pebble lodged in his shoe.
“On May sixth, with another officer, I arrested prisoner on a warrant,” the policeman started. He continued, describing the arrest in such detail that Charles felt his blood freeze and drain from his hot-flushed face.
“He said: ‘I will go with you, with pleasure. Let me go indoors and I will get the plaint notes where I took out the summonses at the Southwark County Court.’ I took him to his address.” The policeman cleared his throat. The sound lead a short wave of shuffling, as a few people shifted in their seats, before he continued his description of the arrest. “After a lot of talk, he said: ‘The plaint notes are not here, but my son has them.’ He then gave a new address.”
Charles remembered very well the events that the policeman was describing. He had panicked, trying to stall for time to think about how to explain the missing plaint notes for Old Schonenberg’s debts. The policeman and his partner, although they humoured his request to visit his address in Peckham, they declined to travel to the next address he requested, in Rotherhithe. After that, they charged him and took him straight to the police station.
The policeman continued describing the arrest, quoting Charles again, “He said: ‘My boys, I have expected this. I am very glad you have got me.’”
Charles felt his face burn.
“’I was locked up once before like this. And I got £25 out of the prosecutor.’”
It was true, Charles had been locked up in the past, but he vehemently regretted flapping his mouth at the policemen in this way. Now that he stood at the defendant stand in the Old Bailey Courthouse, hearing his own words used against him while his son listened below and his family heard from the viewing section of the courtroom, his face flushed in shame. He could feel Old Schonenberg’s eyes on him, but he refused to look at the baker. Instead, as his toe flicked the pebble in his shoe, his eyes darted down to glimpse the tip of his boot.
The policeman continued to quote him. “’And I will have a big off Old Schonenberg for this.’”
Overconfident! He had been much too overconfident. The words echoed in his head: I will have a bit off Old Schonenberg for this.
He glanced at his son. Charles junior was seated, sitting still, staring down at his folded hands on the table in front of him.
“’I will get out of it all right.’” The policeman continued, reading from his notes at the witness stand. “He afterwards said: ’I know the game and I should be a fool to pay rates, being mixed up in the law for 25 years. I will make Old Schonenberg sit up.’”
Charles heard a heavy scoff from the other side of the court. The sound came from Schonenberg’s direction. There were a few shocked whispers that followed.
“He made no reply when charged,” the policeman concluded. He uttered a few more statements about addresses and left the stand.
I will get out of it all right, the words rang through Charles’s mind. I will get out of it all right.
He wasn’t. He wasn’t going to get out of it this time.
*Based on court transcripts from May 31st, 1910, at the Old Bailey Courthouse, reference number t19100531-57.