A photograph of Lord Justice Moriarty published in the Ballymena Telegraph, 8 May 1915, via British Newspaper Archive.
The character of Professor Moriarty in Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘Sherlock Holmes’ stories may have been inspired by Doyle’s Stonyhurst classmate John Francis Moriarty, who subsequently went on to become an Irish barrister and judge of the Court of Appeal in Ireland. Not only that, but he also became one of that small but select category of barristers who end up marrying one of their clients.
The Ballymena Weekly Telegraph of 8 May 1915, in an article published at the time of Moriarty’s unexpected death, stated as follows:
“His first wife was a very wealthy lady, possessed of a fortune of £26,000. The two paid a prolonged visit to America, and after an absence of four or five years, Mr Moriarty resumed his practice at the Irish Bar. His marriage with his second wife was of a romantic character. Her previous husband’s will (by which she was a large beneficiary) was contested by some of his relations, and Mr Moriarty was engaged as her counsel in support of the will. While examining the lady in the witness-box, he fell in love with her, and, in due course, they were married.”
Moriarty’s obituary in the Sunday Independent of 3 May 1915 described him as
“an able and brilliant advocate… His incisive method of examining witnesses, was consummate, suave and subtle, and his graceful and fluent addresses were often adorned with neat literary allusions. He used to tell a story against himself in his young days of having a rough time with the Bench in a certain case, and when he came into the dressing room he flung down his wig, exclaiming disgustedly ‘I’ve the greatest contempt for the law.’ ‘Ah, my dear Moriarty, said a caustic brother, that’s not a contempt born of familiarity.’”
Moriarty was well-known for his use of the monocle in court, as well as for a habit of flicking his gown to celebrate scoring a point in cross-examination.
Serjeant Moriarty KC, cross-examining in the East Cork Election Petition case of 1911. The photo is from the Daily Mirror, 24 April 1911, via British Newspaper Archive.
The case in which Moriarty met his second wife was Martyn v Dolphin, a dispute relating to a will of Hubert Dolphin, of Galway, which had been re-executed shortly before his death to remove a gift to his sister, Mrs Martyn. Moriarty succeeded in rebutting allegations that Mr Dolphin’s signature on this final will had been forged by his much younger wife, Mabel. Mabel had married Mr Dolphin as a child bride and was still only in her mid-twenties at the time of his death.
Some of the evidence in Martyn v Dolphin, as reported in the Weekly Irish Times, 27 June 1908. The witness being examined was Kate Killigher, a servant of the Dolphins, whose anonymous letter to Mrs Martyn regarding the alleged forgery had prompted the case, and who was pejoratively described by Moriarty as ‘half-witted’.
Mabel and Moriarty married not long after Martyn v Dolphin’s successful conclusion in 1908 but did not live happily ever after. Moriarty died unexpectedly in 1915, less than two years after having been made a Lord Justice of the Irish Court of Appeal.
An obituary giving details of the circumstances of Moriarty’s death, also published in the Ballymena Weekly Telegraph of 8 May 1915, via British Newspaper Archive.
Mabel had recovered quickly after the death of her first husband and she moved on even more quickly after the death of Moriarty, marrying again a mere six months later to Captain Robert Francis Guy, a man of her own age. She was widowed again for the third time when Captain Guy died prematurely in 1927. Not long before his death he had been involved in a car accident near Stonehenge, Wiltshire, in which a woman was killed. Mabel – whom tragedy seemed to follow throughout her life – was in the car at the time.
Is the moral of this story that a barrister should never marry their client?
From the Kilrush Herald and Kilkee Gazette, 11 January 1918:
“Round The Town
By the Man in the Street
There was a fine snowstorm on Monday and Tuesday which covered the ground several inches. In town it was made the most of by the rising generation of both sexes – yes, and their far elder in years too. There was a fierce war of snowballing in all the streets. There was no discrimination for anybody passing through, gentle or simple, lay or clerical. Solicitors and barristers passing to and from the Court were vigorously shelled, and even the good County Court Judge fell in for a few torpedoes. And he enjoyed the sport like a man. A fussy shopkeeper in Market Square sought police protection coming from the Court House, but he and his escort fell in for a merciless pounding.”
Nothing polarised the public like the sport of snowballing. In 1867 Saunders’ Newsletter published a letter from a gentleman (“name withheld: card with the office”) requesting that the attention of the proper authorities be drawn to “the dangerous and illegal practice of snowballing in Dublin, whereby gangs of roughs, young and old, male and female assailed the passers-by with volleys of hard balls of snow worked up into the most formidable missiles.”
That same month, ‘a regular battle, in which snowballs were the missiles, greatly to the annoyance and even terror of some of the passers-by’ had occurred in Stephen’s Green, Dublin between students from the Royal College of Surgeons and students from the medical school of University College, Dublin, resulting in a number of prosecutions and fines of 10s each.
We find medical students again in the dock in 1895 for pelting Cork doctor Joseph O’Sullivan with snowballs and otherwise maltreating him on his way to visit a patient. The attack was linked to an ongoing dispute between Cork medical doctors and the friendly societies who employed Dr O’Sullivan as their physician. Several prominent medical professionals made a point of attending the hearing.
You didn’t have to be a medical student, however, to be prosecuted for snowballing. In Waterford the previous year, John Henneberry, ‘a respectable-looking youth’ had been convicted of snowballing a man named Madigan in such a way as to accidentally break his umbrella and ding his hat.
Damage to person or property, or indeed the dignity of an authority figure, exponentially increased the risk of prosecution for snowball-throwing. In January 1881 Dublin boys Christopher Bridgeman and Lawrence Berrill were prosecuted for having assaulted Constable 17C by striking him with several snowballs on the head and knocking off his helmet. In 1873 Trinity student John T Ross was brought up before the Dublin Southern Division Police Court for having having assaulted Police Constable 1B by striking him with a snowball on the side of the neck.
The day of the week on which the snowball was thrown could also be relevant in assessing one’s chances of being prosecuted. In 1867, Mr John O’Neill, JP prosecuted Charles Maguire before Londonderry Magistrates’ Court for striking him with a snowball. Mr O’Neill – who emphasised that he was not opposed to snowballing in principle, merely on the Sabbath – had seen the defendant and others snowballing and remonstrated with them regarding the propriety of their conduct. The defendant had responded by putting one of the snowballs into his pocket and lobbing it at Mr O’Neill’s back as he exited following his homily.
Harold Hume Piffard ‘Guilty or Not Guilty?’ via ArtUk
Some magistrates – like Mr PJ O’Donoghue RM, who informed Belfast Magistrates’ Court that he himself had been snowballed many times but had never thought of bringing a prosecution for assault – were sceptical of the merits of prosecution for snowball throwing. In December 1930, Mr Begley RM, sitting in the same court, faced with a batch of pre-teen defendants alleged to have thrown snowballs in public throughfares during the recent snowfall, said it was a shame to bring in these cases at all. Everyone knew that children could not do harm by firing snow. It was a form of recreation which they had all indulged in in their young days.
James Beattie Michie, ‘Children at Play (Snowball Fight),’ via Art UK
Likewise, in 1935, Mr JM Mark RM, sitting at Templepatrick Petty Sessions Court. described a snowballing incident outside the local Parish Church as ‘merely a boyish prank which was carried too far.’ The defendant brothers promised to conduct themselves in future and were allowed off on payment of costs.
Snowball prosecutions could provoke romantic memories too. In 1909, an unnamed Dublin magistrate chuckled with amusement at the trial of a man brought up by the constable for throwing snowballs at a young lady. ‘Did she throw any snowballs back at him?’ his worship asked. ‘She did,’ replied the defendant, whereupon the magistrate laughed heartily and asked what the cause of the combat might be. When assured that it had been purely in fun, he discharged the defendant forthwith without fine.
Man and Woman Have a Snowball Fight, via Getty Images
Amore and snowballs coincided yet again in a prosecution featured in The Belfast Telegraph of 12 February 1945, involving a young married lady alleged to have conveyed to prisoners of war in a Belfast Prisoner of War Camp certain written or printed matters or articles of foot contrary to the Prisoners of War and internees Access and Communications Order 1945. The communications consisted of the following notes wrapped in snowballs and thrown over the wire of the camp:
“Dearest Irish girl
I am enjoyed that you like the Germans as well for we prisoners of war have a sound feeling for the whole Irish people. Take my sincerest regards to all at home and tell them that Germany stands together though the present war situation is not in our favour.
If you should have time enough to answer my line throw your chit in a snowball enrolled as far as you can and make me pay attention for this ‘bullet.’ You will see me every day at the wire wearing German parachute uniform.
Let me soon hear from you. Best wishes. Heil Hitler – Heinz.
“What is your name and address? Kathleen,” followed by several marks of endearment.
Further notes passed culminating in the following, again written by the defendant, accompanied by a parcel containing a jam sponge and several buttered sandwiches:
“I have fallen in love throwing snowballs. Come back to me after the war?”
As a result of her communications, ‘Kathleen’ was bound on £10 bail to be on good behaviour for 11 months.
To add to her woes, the gallant Heinz subsequently disclaimed responsibility for the letters, claiming to have been merely writing them at the behest of a fellow prisoner with limited English and a yen for baked goods.
