*/
We live in a world of the personality cult where urban rats being represented by thugs will rarely win the day.
August 12, 2013: “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you place the blame.” Oscar Wilde
We are now on a charming Scandinavian cruise. Idyllic, and yet…There is something about a barrister’s life that makes holidays more stressful than work. My own theory is that it is adrenalin withdrawal: so many hormone surges occur during trials. Holidays, on the other hand, are contrast-free and can become just a tiny bit boring. Nevertheless, I was plain exhausted after the trial of Jason Grimble, who, together with Moses Lane, allegedly murdered Claude Allerick, sometime one of Her Majesty’s less popular circuit judges and former member of Gutteridge Chambers.
It was a peculiar case: unique, in my experience, in that it featured me in a bit part, since I was delivering Christmas cards in Chambers whilst the dreaded deed was done close by in the Temple. Sadly, the redoubtable Mrs Grimble, mother of the pallid Jason, aided and abetted by my own professional body, swept aside the normal decencies that would have protected me from having to represent this fey youth; so there I was. In fact, the prosecution case, other than the interlude to which I just referred, was dull and largely agreed – much to the joy of our Treasury Counsel, George White QC, who was not of the prosecutorial persecuting variety and who saved his agitation for the iniquities practised by one branch of his family against the other during the Wars of the Roses.
No, the bloodletting in this case occurred almost exclusively during the defence cases. The real question for the jury was whodunit as, rather depressingly, each defendant blamed the other for killing the judge when HH caught Moses thieving his family silver. George, more in sorrow than in anger, put to both that this was a simple joint enterprise from thieving through to murder.
Our trial judge, the delightful rotund and jolly Jonathan Hay QC, beamed at everyone and, in answer to any protests about unfair cross-examination, said it was dreadfully unfortunate, but that he really had to be fair all round and that he was sure the jury would listen carefully to his directions to take it with a pinch of salt. The jury, who had started with the usual bewildered gazes, had by now adopted the demeanour of the Spanish Inquisition on a bad day.
We live in a world of the personality cult and the public gallery doubtless thrilled to the many exchanges between counsel and the defendants and each other. Since Moses Lane’s counsel, Rico Smyth QC, had also been a member of my chambers until he had driven off in a puff of exhaust fumes from his two hundred miles on the clock red Porsche, having told me he was not earning enough with us, there was the added bitterness of old friends. I wondered what the press and public made of us. I saw myself as an Edward Marshall Hall figure with Smyth as something from “Silk” until my junior, the equestrian-minded Hetty Briar-Pitt, brought me back to earth. “The jury likes you,” she told me “because you resemble a country doctor – all comforting and bedside manner.” Thankfully she added: “unlike that thug next to you.”
But the truth was in what the two defendants were, as much as what they said. Moses Lane was an unhappy combination of the Artful Dodger and some kind of urban rat, whilst Jason looked as if he would have been much happier having a cherryade inside a community centre. When I put to Lane that he had been “cornered” by old Claude, he drew back the lips in a passable imitation of his rodent counterpart. When Smyth put to Grimble that he had viciously attacked the judicial paragon, he burst into tears.
There was the usual five-day wait because the court is too frightened to concentrate the jury’s mind on reaching a decision and lets it trip off home every night as if this was just a day at the office.
The result can be deduced from the final act. Rico Smyth vanished in an angry screech of tyres attached to a black Lamborghini – the Porsche doubtless in a scrapyard – whilst I saw the terrifying Mrs Grimble crushing the life out of Jason outside the Bailey with tears coursing down her face. Perhaps I had been unfair. Surely she was more than a cross between Peggy Mount and Nora Batty. I hovered close by until it was over. Then Jason held my hand, a little too warmly perhaps, and said “thank you, sir”. “It wasn’t really me you know,” I replied. Naturally Mrs G. had the last words: “yes, we do know.”
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
It was a peculiar case: unique, in my experience, in that it featured me in a bit part, since I was delivering Christmas cards in Chambers whilst the dreaded deed was done close by in the Temple. Sadly, the redoubtable Mrs Grimble, mother of the pallid Jason, aided and abetted by my own professional body, swept aside the normal decencies that would have protected me from having to represent this fey youth; so there I was. In fact, the prosecution case, other than the interlude to which I just referred, was dull and largely agreed – much to the joy of our Treasury Counsel, George White QC, who was not of the prosecutorial persecuting variety and who saved his agitation for the iniquities practised by one branch of his family against the other during the Wars of the Roses.
No, the bloodletting in this case occurred almost exclusively during the defence cases. The real question for the jury was whodunit as, rather depressingly, each defendant blamed the other for killing the judge when HH caught Moses thieving his family silver. George, more in sorrow than in anger, put to both that this was a simple joint enterprise from thieving through to murder.
Our trial judge, the delightful rotund and jolly Jonathan Hay QC, beamed at everyone and, in answer to any protests about unfair cross-examination, said it was dreadfully unfortunate, but that he really had to be fair all round and that he was sure the jury would listen carefully to his directions to take it with a pinch of salt. The jury, who had started with the usual bewildered gazes, had by now adopted the demeanour of the Spanish Inquisition on a bad day.
We live in a world of the personality cult and the public gallery doubtless thrilled to the many exchanges between counsel and the defendants and each other. Since Moses Lane’s counsel, Rico Smyth QC, had also been a member of my chambers until he had driven off in a puff of exhaust fumes from his two hundred miles on the clock red Porsche, having told me he was not earning enough with us, there was the added bitterness of old friends. I wondered what the press and public made of us. I saw myself as an Edward Marshall Hall figure with Smyth as something from “Silk” until my junior, the equestrian-minded Hetty Briar-Pitt, brought me back to earth. “The jury likes you,” she told me “because you resemble a country doctor – all comforting and bedside manner.” Thankfully she added: “unlike that thug next to you.”
But the truth was in what the two defendants were, as much as what they said. Moses Lane was an unhappy combination of the Artful Dodger and some kind of urban rat, whilst Jason looked as if he would have been much happier having a cherryade inside a community centre. When I put to Lane that he had been “cornered” by old Claude, he drew back the lips in a passable imitation of his rodent counterpart. When Smyth put to Grimble that he had viciously attacked the judicial paragon, he burst into tears.
There was the usual five-day wait because the court is too frightened to concentrate the jury’s mind on reaching a decision and lets it trip off home every night as if this was just a day at the office.
The result can be deduced from the final act. Rico Smyth vanished in an angry screech of tyres attached to a black Lamborghini – the Porsche doubtless in a scrapyard – whilst I saw the terrifying Mrs Grimble crushing the life out of Jason outside the Bailey with tears coursing down her face. Perhaps I had been unfair. Surely she was more than a cross between Peggy Mount and Nora Batty. I hovered close by until it was over. Then Jason held my hand, a little too warmly perhaps, and said “thank you, sir”. “It wasn’t really me you know,” I replied. Naturally Mrs G. had the last words: “yes, we do know.”
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
We live in a world of the personality cult where urban rats being represented by thugs will rarely win the day.
August 12, 2013: “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you place the blame.” Oscar Wilde
We are now on a charming Scandinavian cruise. Idyllic, and yet…There is something about a barrister’s life that makes holidays more stressful than work. My own theory is that it is adrenalin withdrawal: so many hormone surges occur during trials. Holidays, on the other hand, are contrast-free and can become just a tiny bit boring. Nevertheless, I was plain exhausted after the trial of Jason Grimble, who, together with Moses Lane, allegedly murdered Claude Allerick, sometime one of Her Majesty’s less popular circuit judges and former member of Gutteridge Chambers.
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.
On the 50th anniversary of the pub bombings, even now it is still unresolved. Chris Mullin, the journalist and former MP who led the campaign leading to the release of the Birmingham Six, looks back at events
One year on and the Court of Appeal fails to quash convictions after receiving evidence of racism in the jury room, and there are still no revisions to the Equal Treatment Bench Book , says Keir Monteith KC
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
A cultural life and times