The judge plucked at his wig, cleared this throat and looked again at the notes he had been making. Two words seemed clear to him. One was Ward. The other was McDonagh. All else seemed as lucid as a Polish-Vietnamese dictionary.
"Let me get this clear," he said to the defence counsel standing before him. "It was your client's intention to organise eleven fistfights with the Wards, correct?"
"No your honour, it was not. You are confusing Patrick McDonagh in the dock with his uncle Patrick McDonagh."
"I see. So that Patrick McDonagh, the one not in the dock, is the self-same gentleman who appeared before this court some time ago, in connection with a dispute with the Ward family, yes?"
Wrong again
"No. Your honour, that was his father, Patrick."
"Quite, quite, and that Patrick McDonagh was the Patrick McDonagh who was the father of the groom in that wedding which did not go quite as planned in Tuam last summer?"
"A different Patrick McDonagh entirely. That Patrick McDonagh is the father of the gentleman you see before you."
The judge paused, his temples throbbing slightly. "You mean that two brothers are both called Patrick McDonagh?"
"No, your honour, though the confusion is again understandable. Both the parents of the accused are called McDonagh. The mother of the accused, Mary, has a brother called Patrick McDonagh, a father called Patrick McDonagh, a son called Patrick McDonagh, 17 cousins called Patrick McDonagh and 14 uncles called Patrick McDonagh. Happily, they are all here now if you wish me to identify them."
The judge uttered a little screech, and counsel sat down.
Laughter in court
"Counsel for the co-accused, will you rise please. Now, I believe you are an expert on that well-known hunt, the Ward Union?"
A gale of laughter swept through the court at this little judicial expedition into humour, a gale which was led by the two counsel, who had to be helped to their feet at its conclusion.
"Most entertaining, your honour, most, most entertaining," gasped Mr Ward's counsel. "I have never laughed so much in my life. A most brilliant shaft of humour, if I may make so bold. Dear me, it will be a while before I quite myself again. Such a scintillating, nay dazzling, wit. And as your honour has correctly intimated, I am conversant with some of the details of the matrimonial alliances in which members of the Ward family have engaged."
"And is this Michael Ward here before me not the father of the bride in that unfortunate wedding in Tuam last summer, no?"
"Yes, your honour."
The judge nodded his head with a ponderousness befitting an organ which had absorbed such a weighty detail.
"That is to say, your honour," counsel continued, "he is not the husband of that Mary Ward. He is the brother of that Mary Ward. But he is, however, the husband of the Mary Ward who is the daughter of Michael Ward, who you might remember, is alleged to have organised eleven fist-fights with the McDonaghs."
"I thought that was Patrick Ward."
"Once again, your honour, you have pierced the carapace of confusion with the brilliance we far too often take for granted. The confusion, which your honour's acutely penetrating mind has got to the heart of, arises because that Patrick Ward is known to his immediate family as Michael Ward, to his cousins as Patrick, and to the rest of the world as Michael."
"There is a reason for this, no doubt?" said the judge in a low voice.
"There is indeed. For simplicity's sake, your honour. To have the one Michael Ward known purely as Michael Ward, when there are already so many other Michael Wards, is far, far too complicated."
"As a matter of interest," whispered the judge, "how many Patrick Wards are there?"
"In the court today? I am happy to say, 42. But only five of them are also known as Michael Ward. And of the 27 Michael Wards, only eight are also known as Patrick Ward."
The sound of hooves filled the judge's head as a great salient fact emerged before him. He reached out and held onto it, as dearly as a drowning man clings to a lifebuoy.
"You mean there is no overlap between the Michael Wards known as Patrick Ward and the Patrick Wards known as Michael Ward, that in fact there are five plus eight Michael/Patrick Wards?"
"Not counting the others, your honour."
"Others? What Others?"
"The 18 Wards who are not actually Michael or Patrick, but are known alternatively as Michael or Patrick, anyway, for convenience."
A long, long silence filled the court before the judge spoke again. "And where in this galaxy of Michael Wards does the accused come in, pray?"
"Strictly speaking, nowhere. This gentleman is in fact a McDonagh by alliance, and is known as Michael McDonagh to his family."
Complications
A thin giggle of hysteria escaped from the judge."So there are two McDonaghs here before me?"
"No, your honour. Alas, at this point it begins to get rather complicated . . ."
One can visit the judge in his little cell, but in that snarling spitting strait-jacketed madman, there is little remaining of the distinguished jurist who was once an ornament to his profession; as, indeed, the Wards and the McDonaghs still are to theirs.