*/
I have no animus towards Kenneth Baker, Baron Baker of Dorking, although I blame him for that national curriculum in the mid 1980s. It was a classic example of political mending when the object in question wasn’t broken. This was particularly tragic for the study of history – Baker’s own degree subject at Oxford. The joys of the many choices and options of the previous examination boards was seemingly replaced with Henry VIII (or some manifestation of the Tudors) and Hitler. That and many other changes seem to have created generations of people who have not, as the Bourbons, remembered everything and learnt nothing but instead have never known any of it in the first place.
This has been a bugbear of mine ever since I saw the bespectacled Secretary of State staring at me through my television screen with that look of the fanatic throughout the ages. Perhaps, like me, he had become tired of trying to remember who won which battles in the Wars of the Roses or the answer to the Schleswig-Holstein Question.
Nearer to home, I have become worried about how hundreds of major criminal cases are no longer transcribed at all. The topic cropped up while I was waiting for a verdict. In long trials, this is a bizarre ritual which surely in the 21st century could be better managed. We send the jury out in the morning each day, drink unhealthy amounts of coffee, break for a sandwich and come back at 2pm for a couple of hours of tea drinking. To start with we tell each other our best court stories. Then we play with our phones. Next, we sit looking around aimlessly and eventually become catatonic. Brief interludes include an occasional note from the jury, a chat with the client (usually in the cells) and an occasional walk around the Bar Mess. Smokers find the postage stamp space in which to puff away. The chats with the lay client tend to be short. I asked one young lad if he found talking with me helpful while the jury was out. ‘It’s like a dentist keep coming in the waiting room,’ he said. I left gracefully. In December, there are Christmas cards to write. In the summer, there are the tennis and cricket commentaries.
Anyway, I had my feet up on a chair when Jason Pike came and sat next to me. He was my pupil many moons ago. He had read history too. We had the ‘Baker’ conversation. Then he asked me why I joined the Bar. I don’t like this question, because I am aware I often give different answers – doubtless because there is no one answer, but a whole thread of circumstances and stimuli that led to the decision. I also dillied and dallied and had second and third thoughts. This was not because I had actual doubts about becoming a barrister but more because I saw it as my inexorable fate and I was putting off the moment when that life started. I knew it was a life I would never leave voluntarily.
One reason I went to the Bar was because of a court case I watched as a teenager, but another was my reading of famous trials in wonderful books containing the transcripts of the hearings. I knew this had also influenced Jason. He told me so in pupillage. More recently, I have been reading cases at Old Bailey Online which is the result of huge effort and research of nearly 200,000 cases from 1674-1913. I saw that an Isaac Josephs was acquitted of burgling a William Byfield in 1721. Disgraceful! Two periwigs were stolen. All barristers feel for the victim of wig theft.
Jason was waiting on a verdict in his case, one that had captured the public imagination. ‘Couldn’t write a famous trials book about it now, could you?’ he said. ‘Where would you get the record from?’ ‘It’s all kept in that wretched permanent recording machine,’ I said. Jason shuddered. ‘Can you imagine what that machine is recording? Anything and everything we say in court, including to each other.’ I thought for a few seconds and went cold. ‘And,’ said Jason, ‘modern trials are so long you would need about ten volumes.’ That was also a very good point, but I wasn’t really listening. I was turning to ice. What exactly was it that had I whispered that very morning to my junior in court about the shortcomings of our client’s brain...?
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
I have no animus towards Kenneth Baker, Baron Baker of Dorking, although I blame him for that national curriculum in the mid 1980s. It was a classic example of political mending when the object in question wasn’t broken. This was particularly tragic for the study of history – Baker’s own degree subject at Oxford. The joys of the many choices and options of the previous examination boards was seemingly replaced with Henry VIII (or some manifestation of the Tudors) and Hitler. That and many other changes seem to have created generations of people who have not, as the Bourbons, remembered everything and learnt nothing but instead have never known any of it in the first place.
This has been a bugbear of mine ever since I saw the bespectacled Secretary of State staring at me through my television screen with that look of the fanatic throughout the ages. Perhaps, like me, he had become tired of trying to remember who won which battles in the Wars of the Roses or the answer to the Schleswig-Holstein Question.
Nearer to home, I have become worried about how hundreds of major criminal cases are no longer transcribed at all. The topic cropped up while I was waiting for a verdict. In long trials, this is a bizarre ritual which surely in the 21st century could be better managed. We send the jury out in the morning each day, drink unhealthy amounts of coffee, break for a sandwich and come back at 2pm for a couple of hours of tea drinking. To start with we tell each other our best court stories. Then we play with our phones. Next, we sit looking around aimlessly and eventually become catatonic. Brief interludes include an occasional note from the jury, a chat with the client (usually in the cells) and an occasional walk around the Bar Mess. Smokers find the postage stamp space in which to puff away. The chats with the lay client tend to be short. I asked one young lad if he found talking with me helpful while the jury was out. ‘It’s like a dentist keep coming in the waiting room,’ he said. I left gracefully. In December, there are Christmas cards to write. In the summer, there are the tennis and cricket commentaries.
Anyway, I had my feet up on a chair when Jason Pike came and sat next to me. He was my pupil many moons ago. He had read history too. We had the ‘Baker’ conversation. Then he asked me why I joined the Bar. I don’t like this question, because I am aware I often give different answers – doubtless because there is no one answer, but a whole thread of circumstances and stimuli that led to the decision. I also dillied and dallied and had second and third thoughts. This was not because I had actual doubts about becoming a barrister but more because I saw it as my inexorable fate and I was putting off the moment when that life started. I knew it was a life I would never leave voluntarily.
One reason I went to the Bar was because of a court case I watched as a teenager, but another was my reading of famous trials in wonderful books containing the transcripts of the hearings. I knew this had also influenced Jason. He told me so in pupillage. More recently, I have been reading cases at Old Bailey Online which is the result of huge effort and research of nearly 200,000 cases from 1674-1913. I saw that an Isaac Josephs was acquitted of burgling a William Byfield in 1721. Disgraceful! Two periwigs were stolen. All barristers feel for the victim of wig theft.
Jason was waiting on a verdict in his case, one that had captured the public imagination. ‘Couldn’t write a famous trials book about it now, could you?’ he said. ‘Where would you get the record from?’ ‘It’s all kept in that wretched permanent recording machine,’ I said. Jason shuddered. ‘Can you imagine what that machine is recording? Anything and everything we say in court, including to each other.’ I thought for a few seconds and went cold. ‘And,’ said Jason, ‘modern trials are so long you would need about ten volumes.’ That was also a very good point, but I wasn’t really listening. I was turning to ice. What exactly was it that had I whispered that very morning to my junior in court about the shortcomings of our client’s brain...?
The Chair of the Bar reports back
Clement Cowley, Partner at The Penny Group, explains how global events can influence the performance of pensions and ISAs, and why taking a long-term approach to investing is often the most effective strategy
Mário Barroso, Head of R&D and Method Development at AlphaBiolabs, discusses what family law professionals need to know about hallucinogens, from the main hallucinogenic drugs encountered in family proceedings, to their effects and the testing options available
Harmony Christian Ministries is the latest charity to benefit from a £500 donation from AlphaBiolabs via the company’s Giving Back initiative
By David Green
Mário Barroso, Head of R&D and Method Development at AlphaBiolabs, examines the forensic science underpinning hair drug testing, its evidential scope and limitations, and why it remains the gold standard for evidencing patterns of drug use in family proceedings
Developing a tech start-up demands a different definition of excellence to the Bar, says Saara Idelbi. The co-creator of Advocatr on entrepreneurship, AI advocacy training, and matching the thrill of a killer cross-examination
At the start of her term, Chair of the Bar 2026 Kirsty Brimelow KC set out a series of priorities for the year ahead. One of those priorities was children in the justice system
As the world becomes more digital, Barbara Vinagre Mota examines international research into the mental health consequences of judges’ exposure to graphic and immersive evidence, highlighting the importance of support systems
Reviewed by Daniel Barnett
James McNeill Whistler at Tate Britain until 27 September Rothko in Florence at Palazzo Strozzi until 23 August Reviewed by Stephen Cragg KC
