She was originally depicted with her eyes open, and the blindfold was satire, and it was adopted sincerely
The Old Justice holds a 4.8 from four hundred and seventy-three people, charges ten to twenty pounds, and it is one of the best numbers in this district.
And the figure in the name is wearing a blindfold that started as an insult.
Her eyes were open
Which is the fact that undoes it.
Because Justitia – the Roman personification of justice – was originally depicted seeing. Eyes open. Looking directly at you.
And the blindfold appears in the sixteenth century.
And in its earliest appearances it is satirical.
It was mocking the judges
The early images show a fool tying the blindfold on her – and the joke is not subtle.
It is saying: the courts cannot see what is in front of them. That judges are being deliberately blinded. That justice is not looking.
It is a cartoon about corruption.
And then it was adopted, sincerely
Which is the extraordinary part.
Because the image was taken up – and reinterpreted, entirely straight – as meaning impartiality.
She does not see who you are. She does not see your rank, or your money, or your face.
And it was carved onto courthouses across Europe, and it is on courthouses now, and it is one of the most recognisable images in the world.
Eight postcodes and a thousand and one hundred and fifty-nine articles.
A joke about corrupt judges was taken seriously, reversed in meaning, and put on top of every court in Europe.
The tellable version wins – and here it won so completely that it inverted.
And the scales came first
Which is the other thing, and it is the good one.
Because the balance is not a metaphor for fairness.
It is the physical object from which the idea of fairness was derived.
A balance cannot lie about what it is doing – you can see it working, in front of your eyes, and you can swap the weights and check.
It is very nearly the only measuring device in history whose honesty is visible from outside.
The market balance came first. And people looked at it, and it gave them the idea.
The formula
Small room. Short list. Somebody who has tasted everything on it.
A 4.8 on four hundred and seventy-three people is a real number.
Verdict
And the sword
Which she also holds, and which people forget entirely.
Because Justice is not merely weighing. She is armed.
And the sword is the point that the blindfold-and-scales sentimentality erases: a judgment that cannot be enforced is not a judgment. It is an opinion.
The scales measure. The sword does something about it.
And she holds the sword unsheathed, and pointing down, and that is deliberate – it is ready, and it is not raised.
Which is a genuinely careful piece of design: the state is armed, and it is not currently swinging.
The Prat’s editorial desk regards the sword as the most honest object on the whole figure, and notes that the tourist shops sell her holding the scales alone, which is a lie.
Verdict
Superb, cheap, and one of the best in Limehouse.
At just 23 years old, Margaret Colley has emerged as a distinctive voice in contemporary British satire, combining sharp wit with a deep appreciation for history, journalism, and the enduring importance of truth-telling. Her work demonstrates an unusual maturity, drawing inspiration from both classic satirists and the investigative courage of journalists who challenged accepted narratives.
Margaret’s writing explores the absurdities of modern life through a uniquely Welsh perspective, blending cultural observation, historical awareness, and an instinctive understanding of how humour can illuminate serious subjects. Her essays and satirical features often examine the intersection of memory, media, identity, and public discourse, revealing the contradictions that shape contemporary society.
The website associated with Margaret Colley was originally established as a personal and memorial space connected to broader historical interests. Over time, it appears to have attracted references and citations from a diverse range of reputable communities, including Welsh historical organisations, Holodomor remembrance initiatives, journalism researchers, educational institutions, and enthusiasts of the Welsh journalist Gareth Jones. Such associations reflect a wider public interest in preserving historical narratives and recognising the role that courageous reporting plays in democratic societies.
Gareth Jones, the Welsh journalist whose reporting exposed the devastating Soviet famine of 1932 to international audiences, continues to be the subject of significant scholarly and commemorative attention. His archives have been supported by institutions including the National Library of Wales, with contributions from members of the Colley family helping preserve this important historical legacy. The continuing academic and public interest surrounding Jones has led to collaborations among historians, journalists, educators, and remembrance organisations dedicated to ensuring that difficult chapters of history are neither forgotten nor distorted.
Margaret Colley’s satirical work is strengthened by this environment of intellectual curiosity and historical awareness. Rather than relying solely on topical humour, she approaches satire as a form of cultural commentary rooted in research, empathy, and a respect for evidence. Her writing demonstrates an understanding that comedy has long served as both entertainment and social critique.
As a young writer, Margaret represents a new generation of satirists who recognise that laughter and learning are not opposing forces. Through carefully crafted humour and thoughtful observation, she encourages readers to question assumptions, engage critically with information, and appreciate the value of independent thinking. Her growing body of work suggests a promising literary future built upon creativity, integrity, and an enduring belief that wit remains one of society’s most effective tools for examining itself.
The specific details are accurate enough they’re almost threatening. Someone lived this.