The small courtroom of the Bedford Crown Court was packed with curious observers on the morning of Saturday 10th March, 1849. It was the third day of the Lent session of the Bedford Assizes and, despite the bitter winter weather, a crowd had begun to form early in the morning, for there was little room inside for many spectators and those disappointed had little choice but to repair to a nearby public house to keep in touch with the events. As the doors opened they had pushed forward, jostling with their eager neighbours for a better view of the dock, already unpeeling the layers they had donned against the harsh conditions outside. Once inside, the air was warmed by the breath of these vociferous creatures and the increasing drone of their voices. Their cackling mouths were never at rest, vying with one another, as each know-all sought to outdo the other with the extent of his criminal knowledge. For each believed he was more conversant with the facts of the case than his neighbour, each seemed to have first-hand information, more intimate knowledge or knew a person who had. The noise got louder as they interrupted one another, being so eager to tell their tales, ‘in confidence, of course’. And the facts became more distorted, being a better tale to tell. Then at once all became hushed as the magistrates entered.

In the judicial chair that day sat the right Honourable Mr. Baron Rolfe and nearby sat the body of ‘esquires’ whose austere presence composed the forbidding ‘Grand Jury’. There too were their compatriots, for the day at least. Today these twelve lesser mortals had donned the mantle of superiority and were magnified in their self-importance, but after today they would lose their prestige, for these were the ‘twelve good men and true’ that composed the ‘Petty Jury’.

The judge could look forward to a busy day, for he had four trials to direct and one man, convicted the previous day, to sentence. But for the most part, the first three trials were of little interest to the avid spectators, for that which was attracting such heightened curiosity was the fourth and main case of the day, that of three men local to the area who were charged with having, on the 25th January, 1849 at the parish of Stanbridge in Bedfordshire, unlawfully and maliciously wounded two police constables, James Parrot and William Clough with the intent to prevent their lawful apprehension. Amongst the spectators in the courtroom sat the young wives, families and neighbours of the accused, apprehensively awaiting the start of the proceedings, for the most part oblivious of the curious stares and pointing fingers, insulated against them in their common bond. There too were the accusers, intent on revenge. But by far the majority of the crowd was made up of greedy onlookers hungry for sensationalism. For some, their interest carried sympathy and support for their fellow village folk, but most, if they were honest, were there for the scandal and excitement, for the crime of which the accused were charged could carry a severe sentence, possibly that of transportation.

Earlier that morning the barristers and judge for the session had gathered behind the scenes to prepare themselves for the day. As did the judge, one of the barristers, Mr. Prendergast, had a full caseload. He was prosecuting in two of the trials, and appearing for the defence in two more. Of the others, Mr. Tozer and Mr. Fitzpatrick were prosecuting and Mr. Burcham and Mr. Power were defending. Mr. Burcham was feeling somewhat indisposed that day, but elected to proceed with the task of defending his clients. Mr. Power stood by ready to assist him.

M eanwhile, in the cells of Bedford Gaol, the day dawned like any other since their remand for our three accused prisoners. Breakfast was the same as usual, just one pint of oatmeal gruel and eight ounces of bread. But in every other respect, today was different. Today they had no stomach for their breakfast which, even though tasteless, would normally be consumed with relish. For two days now, since the start of the Assizes on the previous Thursday, the three men had been waiting with apprehension for their summons to appear. But now their agonizing wait was over and today would decide their fate. As the hour drew near for their appearance, the men were escorted from the holding cell to the dock of the Crown Court. The atmosphere was charged with emotion as they were led in, for it was the first time the men had been brought face to face with members of their families, and their accusers, since their various arrests and subsequent appearances at the Petty sessions.

All three men had been born and bred in Bedfordshire. The first was Thomas Dockerill from Stanbridge, believed to be the ringleader of the gang. Dockerill was much the tallest of the three men at nearly 6ft, and was the eldest at twenty-nine years. He had dark brown hair above an oval face, with fresh complexion, sharp nose and a small mouth. His eyebrows and eyelashes were light brown and his eyes were light hazel, one of which, the left, had a scar beneath it which, along with his general air of resentment, gave him a somewhat unsavoury appearance. He also sported scars on his stomach and arm, bearing witness to the fact that he was no newcomer to a good scrap. There was a vaccination mark on his arm. Dockerill was married to Rebecca, the sister of our second accused, and they had three children, Ephraim who was ten years old, Joseph who was six, and Mary who was sixteen months. Dockerill alone had a further charge against him, that of shooting and wounding the aforesaid James Parrot.

The second man, George White, was raised in the tiny hamlet of Thorn, but now resided in Houghton Regis. George was twenty-four years old, 5ft 7ins tall with a fresh complexion, round face, light brown hair and grey eyes. He was of stocky or stout appearance and wore a light smock, common to agricultural labourers at this time, breeches, and leggings adorned with bright buttons. George had been married just over seventeen months to his second wife, Sarah, and they had a baby daughter, Eliza, just five months old, although court records stated he was unmarried.

The third man, William White, was from Chalk Hill, Dunstable, also known as Puddlehill, and was the youngest at twenty-two years and the shortest, standing 5ft 5ins tall and with light hair and blue eyes. His normally pale complexion was heightened by his obvious nervousness of the proceedings. William was George's nephew though he was just three years younger, and was the son of George's eldest brother, John. William had been married to his young wife, Mary, for just two years and they were expecting their first child in the summer. All three men were agricultural labourers and both George and William were shown to have identification marks of scars on their thumbs caused by the tools of their trade.

At the start of the trial, which was to last nearly six hours, it was by no means certain that the prosecution, led by Mr. Prendergast and Mr. Tozer, had a strong enough case against George and William White to get a conviction. But the evidence against Thomas Dockerill was quite conclusive. The case against the Whites rested solely on the identification by the two police officers, one of whom could not be certain, especially in the case of William, that they had the right men. Witnesses both for the prosecution and for the Whites’ defence sat eyeing each other, waiting to be called to give evidence. For Dockerill there was no witness.

At the end of the proceedings, when the verdict was pronounced it caused much excitement, with shouts from the accused, and William being carried from the dock in a dead faint.