Shadows of the Workhouse

syndrome can be observed in the fields of sociology and counselling. Left to themselves, most people will sort out their own problems. If it is suspected that someone else will sort them out, the problems multiply exponentially.”
    “The insufferable old hypocrite,” whispered the psychiatrist.
    Counsel for the Defence continued. “I have read your most erudite report, Sir Lorimer, and I am impressed by your reference to the Korsakaw Psychosis of Registration, Retention and Recall. Could you please enlighten the jury?”
    “Certainly. A prominent feature of Korsakaw’s Psychosis is that Registration may be interposed by Deregistration, preventing the proper interpretation of happenings. Retention for shorter or longer periods may differ markedly, and Recall may be either voluntary or involuntary.”
    “That rubbish goes back to 1910,” hissed the lady psychiatrist. “He ought to be struck off. I wonder if the General Medical Council knows about him?”
    “Silence in court,” said the judge. “Please continue, Sir Lorimer.”
    “Not infrequently psychological experiences are important as regards the origin of psychological symptoms. It is possible to ascribe to the psychological experiences that determine the genesis of the psychological symptoms aetiological importance in the production of the whole.”
    “This is an example of the three Bs,” mouthed the lady psychiatrist.
    “The three whats?” replied her colleague.
    “Three Bs – Bullshit Baffles Brains,” she hissed.
    Counsel for the Prosecution stood up. “May I enquire what all this has to do with the theft of valuable jewellery from shops in Hatton Garden?”
    “Here, here!” chorused the jewellers in the gallery.
    “Silence in court!” said the judge. “Sir Lorimer, with respect to your eminent position in the field of mental health, I was wondering the same thing.”
    Sir Lorimer continued. “Sister Monica Joan is a lady of great intelligence and fertile imagination. She was brought up in wealth and luxury. Association with her childhood is strong. If valuable jewellery was found in her possession, I have not the slightest doubt that, by the Korsakaw Psychosis, the lady thought that the jewels belonged to her mother.”
    “Her mother!”
    “That is what I said.”
    “I don’t believe a word of it,” whispered the lady psychiatrist. “She put him up to it. I told you she is as sharp as they come.”
    “If it is true, it is a sign of senile dementia,” her colleague muttered.
    “Rubbish. The old girl’s up to every trick.”
    Counsel for the Prosecution continued. “A remarkable theory, Sir Lorimer. ‘Fanciful’ would perhaps be a better description. But it does not get us any nearer to answering the question about how the jewels came to be in Sister Monica Joan’s possession. Have you any theories, fanciful or otherwise, on that score?”
    “No, I have not.”
    “No further questions, My Lord.”
    Sister Monica Joan had continued knitting placidly all afternoon, occasionally muttering to herself as she made notes on her knitting chart. Sir Lorimer stepped down from the witness box and she smiled at him again. The time had reached 4.30 p.m. and the judge adjourned the court for the day to reassemble at ten o’clock the following morning.

    The court was crowded again on the third morning, when Sister Monica Joan was due to appear in the witness box. She was waiting in the dock, calmly knitting as before, and occasionally speaking to Sister Julienne, who was sitting beside her.
    The usher entered and, before doing anything else, he went over to the nun and whispered, “When I call: ‘Be upstanding for His Lordship,’ would you be kind enough to stand up, madam, please?”
    Sister Monica Joan smiled sweetly. “Of course I will,” she said, and she stood with everyone else.
    Counsel for the Prosecution opened the morning’s proceedings. “I wish to call Sister Monica Joan of the Order of St Raymund Nonnatus to the witness box.”
    A buzz of excitement ran through the courtroom and the jury leaned forward expectantly.
    Sister Monica Joan stood up. She wound up her ball of wool, stuck it on the end of the needles and placed it in her knitting bag, which she handed to Sister Julienne. “Would you make a note, dear. The next row will be row fifty-six. Slip one, knit two together, purl four, slip one, purl three, knit two together, pass slip stitch over, repeat to end.”
    “Yes, dear, of course I will.” Sister