A newspaper article I read the other day, about an argument over who should keep ownership of a rather handsome labrador, reminded me of a 1959 breach of promise action, writes James Morton.

Middle-aged gentleman William Bensfield had jilted a widow a few years younger than himself.

He had given her various presents, including a mynah bird and a foul-mouthed Indian parrot named Tommy.

Three days before the wedding, he broke off the relationship by having a note hand-delivered by his mistress of 12 years.

He then compounded his bad behaviour by suing for the return of the birds.

She counterclaimed. Tommy was not allowed in court. ‘Your honour might hold me in contempt,’ wagged counsel.

The judge awarded the widow £300, but said Bensfield could have the birds back.

She left the court in tears, saying she would have preferred to keep the birds.

‘They called me "mum",’ she told reporters.

By the time I started practising, the breach of promise action was on the way out, and I must have acted in one of the last.

The original idea had been to compensate ladies who had become ‘soiled doves’ following their relationship with the scoundrel who betrayed them.

But my client was a South African divorcee who had been seduced by a City gent.

He had told her his divorce was pending, and even telephoned her from the law courts to tell her the good news that he had obtained his decree nisi.

Unfortunately for him, she decided to made enquiries and discovered he had yet to file the petition.

She sued, in what seemed cast-iron circumstances.

Even more unfortunately, however, unbeknown to her City beau, she had also been stepping out with an Italian restaurateur.

A quick settlement was in order.

I obtained the engagement ring, a motor car, some furniture and £750, which in those days would have bought a part-vacant terraced house in Tottenham, and naturally my costs.

I thought I had done rather well until I met my opposite number some time later at a cocktail party.

‘You could have had double if you’d pressed,’ he said cockily. I consoled myself with the thought that he didn’t know what I did.

Then again, he may have done. I believe my client and her Italian gentleman bought a small pensione near Florence on the winnings.

James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor