A famed Sunday newspaper, now defunct, used to trumpet to its readers that 'all human life' lay within its pages. Whether such a statement was accurate would be a matter for debate but if this weekly publication felt able to promise such, then it is fair that magistrates' courts can possibly match such claims.

Granted 'all human life' is a massive claim as it covers the whole, monumental sprawl of human nature, emotion, behaviour and iniquity — but assuredly an eclectic mix of eccentrics, villains, hapless, unlucky, vulnerable, feckless, innocent, aggressive, brutal, amoral, even evil men and women, come before such courts daily. They certainly stood in the dock at Tavistock Magistrates' Court until it, sadly, closed at the end of 2000 due to Government 'rationalisation'.

Rarely did a week go past without somebody coming up with a gem — usually spontaneous and often without guile; like the fellow, charged with the relatively mild offence of speeding, who came to court — unusual in a sense for a misdemeanour which would cost him a modest fine and cause just three penalty points to be put on his licence — saying he was falsely accused, claiming as his defence 'I never speed when I've been drinking.'

There was a memorable tale from a gent charged with a far more serious offence — driving whilst disqualified. He had been convicted once before of a like crime and would have faced prison if convicted again. He did admit he'd done it but put forward what he considered to be powerful mitigation. He told the bench that he'd been sitting at home in Princetown, watching television; the phone went, he answered it and on the other end was his estranged wife.

She was, he said, screaming down the phone that she was being attacked most violently by her current partner; she feared for her life and begged the defendant to rush to her aid. He dropped the phone, ran out into the street and jumped into his son's car parked in front of his house — fortuitously the keys were still in the ignition.

'I never thought of any consequences,' said he, 'just of saving her life. What else could I do?' As mitigation went it wasn't a bad tale and, if true, there might have been some sympathy from the bench. After a few seconds, the chairman asked the question which, obviously, dominated the minds of all three members — 'Where does your wife live?'

The reply was instant — 'Swindon' said he. Before nightfall this gentleman had become a guest of Her Majesty.

Then there was the trial for salmon poaching in the River Walkham of a chap who, along with his brothers, had spent years from early childhood extracting fish, illegally, from the speedy river. He pleaded not guilty — as did his siblings, invariably — but at this trial the local water baliff, an old foe, gave unwavering evidence that the defendant was assuredly the miscreant, even though he claimed to be nowhere near the scene of the crime.

'How can you be sure it was the defendant?' quizzed the defence solicitor, 'You have stated yourself that the light was poor and the culprit was running away so you could only see his back. How could you possibly know it was this gentleman?'

'Well,' answered the baliff, 'I have had dealings with this man for many years and I know he has, when running, a most distinctive gait.'

This brought a howl of protest from the back of the court; the defendant's mother had jumped to her feet, an expression of rage upon her face.

'Rubbish,' cried she, 'There's nothing distinctive about our gate; we live in a council house so our gate is the same as everybody else's.'

There are times, of course, when actions speak far louder than words. A clear example of this was the young man — powerfully built — who stood before the court convicted of violence. He was a serial offender, seemingly unable to stop picking fights —whether drunk or sober. The bench had run out of patience — he was going to be sent to prison. He had, though, an excellent solicitor — a young, keen, articulate, even passionate fellow, determined if at all possible, to help his client out of jail. He pointed out, correctly to an extent, that the defendant's problem was a violent temper; if he could learn to control that then the courts would never see him again. Thus he pleaded this young man be spared custody and be given the chance to sort out his problems by being put on an 'anger management course'.

The bench was dubious but went some way towards acceding to the request — they imposed a three month sentence on the man but suspended it with the stipulation he attended, immediately, anger management sessions. If he kept out of trouble for 12 months then custody would not be imposed. Sadly, he didn't quite make it. The following Friday he was back in court, handcuffed to a prison officer. The very first hour of the first day of his course, he had thumped his anger management counsellor. That night, he too, was a guest of the Queen.