Presumed Innocent

• Author: David M. Paciocco
• Pages: 169-191

CHAPTER

8

Presumed

Innocent

then

man and

wife,

he

twenty-one

and a

half

and she

four

years

younger.

Reginald

Woolmington,

a

farm

labourer

at

Cheeseman's

farm

at

Castleton,

near Sherbourne, England, went about

his

chores

ahead

of the sun on

that

cold December morning

in

1934.

His

hands

pulled almost

by

reflex

as he

milked

the

cows,

his

mind

far

from

the

task.

He had

hardly slept

the

night before. Violet

had

left

him, taking their

newborn son.

Her

mother, never

one to

mind

her own

business,

had put

her

up to it.

After

he

finished milking, Reginald hopped

on his

bicycle

and

ped-

dled down

the wet

road, somehow dodging rocks

and

tire ruts,

the

trac-

tion slipping occasionally

in the

mud.

He

entered

his

father's

house

and

ate his

breakfast

in

silence before grabbing

his

"Da's" hacksaw.

He

slipped

into

the

barn

and

there, where

it had

always been

kept

for

shooting rooks,

he

found

the

double-barrelled shotgun.

He

sawed

off

both

barrels

and

carried

them furtively under

his

long coat

as he

walked across

a

field,

dropping them

in a

brook where they were unlikely

to be

found.

His

pant

legs

wet

from

the

grass,

he

went back into

the

barn, taking

the two

shells

that

were there.

He

secreted

the

shells

and the gun in a

long pocket

he

kept

in his

field

coat

for

carrying rabbits

and

went back into

the

house.

There

he

found

a

piece

of flex

wire

and

wrapped

it

crudely over

the

stock

and

the

stump

of the

barrel

so it

could

be

slung over

his

shoulder under

his

coat.

He

hurried

out the

door

and

bicycled

to his

mother-in-law's

house,

not

noticing

that

the sun was

well

on its

rise, brightening

the

lush

green

of the

countryside.

Violet, although

not

happy

to see

him, opened

the

door when

he

knocked

and he

went

in.

"Are

you

coming back home?" Violet's aunt,

Daisy

Brine,

who was

hanging

out the

laundry

in the

back

of her

home

next door, could hear

the

voice

and

recognized

it as

Reginald's.

She

could

hear

no

answer.

A

door slammed.

It was

9:15

a.m.

She

heard

a

voice

in the

T

hey were so young: childhood friends, then "sweethearts," and

iyo

PROVING GUILT

AND

MAINTAINING INNOCENCE

kitchen,

but

could

not

make

out

what

was

said

or who had

spoken.

She

strained

to

listen,

concerned

that

Violet

and

Reginald might

be

fighting

again.

"Bang."

It was the

sharp report

of a

shotgun,

leaving nothing

but the

pungent smell

of

gunpowder

as its

rude echo quickly died out. Daisy

began

to

move towards

her

sister's house

in an

uncertain

run

before halt-

ing,

not

sure whether

to go on.

Before

she

could

settle

on

what

to do,

Reginald

walked

out of the

kitchen

and

grabbed

his

bike, which

had

been

left

against

the

wall

of the

house. "Reginald?" "Reginald?"

She

asked

him

what

had

happened,

but

Reginald ignored her.

As he

boarded

his

bike,

he

turned

and

gave

her a

hard look, then rode

away.

Daisy

found

Violet dead

on

the

floor.

A

single shotgun blast

had

torn through

her

chest, exploding

her

heart

and

ending

her

young

life.

Almost

by

instinct,

Reginald rode

to his

father's

home.

Meeting

his

mother

in the

drive,

he

said, "Ma,

I

have been

up and

shot Violet."

Before

she

could muster

an

intelligible thought,

he

turned

his

bike, rode

to

Cheeseman's

farm,

and

said

to his

employer,

"I

shall

not be

coming

to

work

anymore,

as I

have shot

my

wife."

He

rode back

to his

father's

again

and

wandered around

the

farm

for

some

time.

When

his

father caught

up

with him,

he

said,

"I am

going

to

kill myself now, Da." "Don't Reg,"

the

older

man

replied.

"It

will

be OK. We can

help you."

Reg

ambled

to the

outhouse,

the gun

still

slung

over

one

shoulder,

one

barrel

unfired.

He put

the

barrels into

his

mouth, tasting

the

rusty metal. Then, just

as

suddenly,

he

slipped

the

wire

off

his

shoulder

and

laid

the gun on a

bench.

He

stag-

gered

to the

porch

and sat in his

tears until

the

constables came. When

they did,

he

spoke

to

them:

"I

want

to say

nothing, except

I

done

it, and

they

can do

what they

like.

It was

jealousy

I

suppose.

Her

mother enticed

her

away

from

me. I

done

all I

could

to get her

back,

that's

all." When

his

short speech

was

over,

they found

a

note

in his

pocket:

Good

bye

all.

It is

agonies

to

carry

on any

longer.

I

have kept

true

hoping

she

would

return this

is the

only

way

out. They ruined

me and

I'll have

my

revenge.

May

God

forgive

me for

doing

this

but it is the

Best

thing.

Ask

Jess

to

call

for the

money paid

on the

motor bike

(Wed.).

Her

mother

is no

good

on

this earth

but

have

no

more

cartridges only

2 one for her and

one for me. I am of

sound mind now.

Forgive

me for all

trouble caused.

Good

bye

All

I

love

Violet

with

all my

heart

Reg