Grinding the gavel for District Court Judge Mary Devins can prove more powerful than a rap on the knuckles.
Is it a case of courting Mary?Grinding the gavel for District Court Judge Mary Devins can prove more powerful than a rap on the knucklesÁine RyanTHERE’S something about Mary. And, I’m not talking about blonde bombshell, Cameron Diaz, or that Grand Dame of Leinster House, Deputy Mary O’Rourke. Neither is it the gaffe-prone Tanaiste Mary Coughlan I refer to. Nor, indeed, is it Health Minster Mary Harney. These days she appears so exhausted from the daily ennui of governing the country, a package holiday on a hospital trolley could prove to be the best gin-less tonic she’s ever had .
No, no, my learned friends, I refer to Her Local Lordship, Judge Mary Devins. Dispenser of justice in District Court Area 3. Wearer of most interesting – and sometimes cumbersome – earrings; bearer of both good and bad tidings for the errant of County Mayo.
Ace wit. Daunting adversary. Nervous driver in snow. Wife of former government junior minister who stands by his principles. Hater of mice. Although, during those rodent infested days in Swinford, she never resorted to entrapment.
ALL RISE. Order in the court room. And, at your peril … ahem … or unless you have a death wish, please ensure all mobile phones are switched off.
At last week’s sitting of Castlebar District Court the students of Davitt College – while ensconced in the gallery – had a bird’s eye view of all the pomp and proceedings of the court system.
They learned too that courtrooms are not cafes or diners. Perhaps, more importantly, they gained first-hand experience of the dangers of secreting on one’s person a mobile phone that has (foolishly) not been muted.
Doesn’t matter if the jingle is Jailhouse Rock or even the late, great, Johnny Cash’s San Quentin.
Bottom line is you’ll walk the line, go down, and even do time in the nearest garda station, for at least two hours. Just ask that poor woman who attempted to escape last week when her cheeky little Nokia started singing like a jailbird in the courtroom.
Hilariously, the phone offender spent more time as a guest of the State than a Polish national before the same court. Judge Devins heard he spent half-an-hour in jail after receiving a sentence of three months for three offences committed in 2008, one of which was possession of a firearm .
“Risible,” Judge Devins quipped. “I say risible is the word I would use.”
Of course, the venerable beak is famous for much more than her broad vocabulary.
It’s May 2007 and the sun is splitting the stones outside. Ballina courtroom is heaving with bodily odours; it’s only mid-morning and the usual suspects have already lost half-their body weight.
A rookie plain-clothes detective takes the stand and nervously repeats the oath on the bible.
“Where do you think you are going garda without a jacket?”
“Mumble…. mumble… cringe … cringe”.
“Superintendent, I expect your gardaí to adhere to a modicum of formality and respect, while in this court room. Garda, could you now please repeat what you just said.”
“Mumble … mumble … cringe … cringe. Blush.”
Or let’s zoom south for a moment to the medieval setting of the former Ballinrobe District Court. There, in 2006, a man was convicted of selling porn DVDs at a car boot sale in the town’s cattle mart.
Observing that one of the offending titles was Animal Farm, Judge Devins quipped: “I assume it wasn’t George Orwell’s version.”
To be fair, Judge Mary Devins’s sophisticated sense of irony and ability (metaphorically speaking) to castrate a courtroom is also matched with surges of empathy and kindness.
Take the time she granted a dispensation to all those pilgrims climbing holy mountain, Croagh Patrick, in the early hours of Reek Sunday.
Courtesy of her benevolence, they could treat themselves to a hair-of-the-dog in Murrisk from 7am onwards.
“I’m not sure St Patrick would endorse the application,” she quipped.
