*/
Old friends lead to reflections and regrets about old times.
January 12, 2013: "Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be." - Peter De Vries
The usual January panic is upon me. Returning to work in the first part of January is always depressing and I had some days to make up as a Recorder.
The court staff always look vaguely surprised to see you and advocates have replaced their “it’s coming up to Christmas” excuses with the “those instructing me are not yet back at their desks” variety. On my first day back and ensconced at an inner city Crown Court, Cynthia, my very charming Usher, told me that there were no pre-sentence reports, two defendants had failed to turn up and most assigned counsel were in several courts at once.
“Ah well, “ I said, “ and just when I had given up coffee!”
“ ’Fraid you have to make that yourself now, your Honour. It’s down the corridor on the right, but I’m not sure the milk is fresh.”
I put my feet up, popped the headphones on and listened to some mind-soothing musical pap on Classic FM. My thoughts drifted backwards to the holidays. We had motored down to Devon to see some old friends. Hugh Barkman was a lovely old soul. He had been a completely hopeless metropolitan barrister, but a surprisingly good circuit judge. Until he was empurpled we had never appreciated that his true skill was to indicate his view of a witness’ evidence or a barrister’s submission by the extent to which he manipulated his eyebrows. He rarely shouted and clients who received the most savage sentences always seemed quite well disposed to him on visiting them in the cells to discuss a potential appeal.
We motored down on a damp and drizzly day after Christmas. After a wash and brush-up Hugh and Jean provided us with a very welcome cocktail and we then sat down to a delicious dinner that did not include turkey, sprouts, sausages or Christmas pudding. Hugh seemed still to be remarkably well-informed about legal life and my forthcoming cases.
“I see you’re defending the young thug that murdered Claude Allerick,” he said.
“Allegedly, Hugh,” I reminded him. “Unusually, we have rather a good defence.”
“Always the worst ones,” he commented. “Never seems so bad when you think they probably did it. I always hated the cases where you really felt there was a doubt.”
“Claude Allerick was your own Chambers, wasn’t he?” asked Jean. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest, or whatever you lot call it?”
Hugh answered for me: “Only if he were prosecuting, my dear. It could never be a conflict to defend somebody of killing Claude. Many would see it as a public service.”
We ate the most wonderful chocolate soufflé and, as the port circulated, the logs burned in the grate and that blissful sound of nuts cracking interspersed with our conversation, we grew old and mellow.
“Is it as ghastly now as they say?” asked Jean.
“Worse,” I said. “We are all about to be quality assessed by the judges, which will doubtless give our clients enormous confidence in our disinterested efforts on their behalf.”
“God,” said Hugh. “I thought it had got pretty bad with the Criminal Procedure Rules.”
“They keep saying it’s not a game,” I answered.
“It never was,” said Hugh. “You just trusted each other a bit more. I prosecuted some chap who had possibly the most incompetent barrister known to man – far worse than I – and this terrible old bully of a judge at the Bailey took every advantage and humiliated him. He appealed and I had no idea what to say to the Court of Appeal, but no need of course. Lord Justice Ollerton looked this man in the eye and recited the litany of appeal points adding periodically ‘we deeply disapprove’ until he came to the conclusion: ‘this was one of the worst examples of judicial excess. Virtually every principle of a fair trial was violated’ – he paused and the two Puisne judges flanking him looked down – ‘and, indeed, had you not been there, serious injustice might have resulted.’
“I remember appearing in front of you, Hugh. I gave a pretty good closing speech, though I say it myself, and then you began your summing up to the jury by saying ‘Members of the jury, you have heard one of the best speeches possible from one of this country’s finest barristers. He spoke to you in the most brilliant way, covering every conceivable topic that might assist you, save for one – the evidence – and I’ll remind you of that now.’”
“Style,” said Hugh. “We didn’t need these crass rules.”
“Style,” I repeated, feeling just a touch drunk, “and justice.”
Jean blew out the candles: “Bedtime, boys”.
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
The court staff always look vaguely surprised to see you and advocates have replaced their “it’s coming up to Christmas” excuses with the “those instructing me are not yet back at their desks” variety. On my first day back and ensconced at an inner city Crown Court, Cynthia, my very charming Usher, told me that there were no pre-sentence reports, two defendants had failed to turn up and most assigned counsel were in several courts at once.
“Ah well, “ I said, “ and just when I had given up coffee!”
“ ’Fraid you have to make that yourself now, your Honour. It’s down the corridor on the right, but I’m not sure the milk is fresh.”
I put my feet up, popped the headphones on and listened to some mind-soothing musical pap on Classic FM. My thoughts drifted backwards to the holidays. We had motored down to Devon to see some old friends. Hugh Barkman was a lovely old soul. He had been a completely hopeless metropolitan barrister, but a surprisingly good circuit judge. Until he was empurpled we had never appreciated that his true skill was to indicate his view of a witness’ evidence or a barrister’s submission by the extent to which he manipulated his eyebrows. He rarely shouted and clients who received the most savage sentences always seemed quite well disposed to him on visiting them in the cells to discuss a potential appeal.
We motored down on a damp and drizzly day after Christmas. After a wash and brush-up Hugh and Jean provided us with a very welcome cocktail and we then sat down to a delicious dinner that did not include turkey, sprouts, sausages or Christmas pudding. Hugh seemed still to be remarkably well-informed about legal life and my forthcoming cases.
“I see you’re defending the young thug that murdered Claude Allerick,” he said.
“Allegedly, Hugh,” I reminded him. “Unusually, we have rather a good defence.”
“Always the worst ones,” he commented. “Never seems so bad when you think they probably did it. I always hated the cases where you really felt there was a doubt.”
“Claude Allerick was your own Chambers, wasn’t he?” asked Jean. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest, or whatever you lot call it?”
Hugh answered for me: “Only if he were prosecuting, my dear. It could never be a conflict to defend somebody of killing Claude. Many would see it as a public service.”
We ate the most wonderful chocolate soufflé and, as the port circulated, the logs burned in the grate and that blissful sound of nuts cracking interspersed with our conversation, we grew old and mellow.
“Is it as ghastly now as they say?” asked Jean.
“Worse,” I said. “We are all about to be quality assessed by the judges, which will doubtless give our clients enormous confidence in our disinterested efforts on their behalf.”
“God,” said Hugh. “I thought it had got pretty bad with the Criminal Procedure Rules.”
“They keep saying it’s not a game,” I answered.
“It never was,” said Hugh. “You just trusted each other a bit more. I prosecuted some chap who had possibly the most incompetent barrister known to man – far worse than I – and this terrible old bully of a judge at the Bailey took every advantage and humiliated him. He appealed and I had no idea what to say to the Court of Appeal, but no need of course. Lord Justice Ollerton looked this man in the eye and recited the litany of appeal points adding periodically ‘we deeply disapprove’ until he came to the conclusion: ‘this was one of the worst examples of judicial excess. Virtually every principle of a fair trial was violated’ – he paused and the two Puisne judges flanking him looked down – ‘and, indeed, had you not been there, serious injustice might have resulted.’
“I remember appearing in front of you, Hugh. I gave a pretty good closing speech, though I say it myself, and then you began your summing up to the jury by saying ‘Members of the jury, you have heard one of the best speeches possible from one of this country’s finest barristers. He spoke to you in the most brilliant way, covering every conceivable topic that might assist you, save for one – the evidence – and I’ll remind you of that now.’”
“Style,” said Hugh. “We didn’t need these crass rules.”
“Style,” I repeated, feeling just a touch drunk, “and justice.”
Jean blew out the candles: “Bedtime, boys”.
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
Old friends lead to reflections and regrets about old times.
January 12, 2013: "Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be." - Peter De Vries
The usual January panic is upon me. Returning to work in the first part of January is always depressing and I had some days to make up as a Recorder.
Sam Townend KC explains the Bar Council’s efforts towards ensuring a bright future for the profession
Giovanni D’Avola explores the issue of over-citation of unreported cases and the ‘added value’ elements of a law report
Louise Crush explores the key points and opportunities for tax efficiency
Westgate Wealth Management Ltd is a Partner Practice of FTSE 100 company St. James’s Place – one of the top UK Wealth Management firms. We offer a holistic service of distinct quality, integrity, and excellence with the aim to build a professional and valuable relationship with our clients, helping to provide them with security now, prosperity in the future and the highest standard of service in all of our dealings.
Is now the time to review your financial position, having reached a career milestone? asks Louise Crush
If you were to host a dinner party with 10 guests, and you asked them to explain what financial planning is and how it differs to financial advice, you’d receive 10 different answers. The variety of answers highlights the ongoing need to clarify and promote the value of financial planning.
Most of us like to think we would risk our career in order to meet our ethical obligations, so why have so many lawyers failed to hold the line? asks Flora Page
If your current practice environment is bringing you down, seek a new one. However daunting the change, it will be worth it, says Anon Barrister
Creating advocacy opportunities for juniors is now the expectation but not always easy to put into effect. Tom Mitcheson KC distils developing best practice from the Patents Court initiative already bearing fruit
Sam Townend KC explains the Bar Council’s efforts towards ensuring a bright future for the profession
The long-running fee-paid judicial pensions saga continues. The current cut-off date for giving notice of election to join FPJPS is 31 March 2024, and that date now gives rise to a serious problem, warns HH John Platt