William Byfield's Secret E-Diary

There comes a time when each person must decide where loyalties lie.

“No doubt he will pursue the case with the added bitterness of an old friend.”

Oscar Wilde of Edward Carson QC, MP.

As a child I was given a short book written by the late Mr Justice Darling – a man who was known for his judicial wit, although his Spy pen-portrait bore the unkind legend “Judicial Lightweight”. I had high hopes of this book of legal gems. Alas, it was the dullest book I ever read with all his anecdotes, quips and aphorisms falling flat. It now lives in our lavatory for what my dear mama, when we were little, used to call “struggles”.

Darling is not alone, however. With noble exceptions, the written anecdotes of lawyers are deeply dull. The reason is that we live in an oral tradition, whatever those civil practitioners and sillies who dreamt up the Criminal Procedural Rules think: a world where stories are told and retold in robing rooms, chambers and wine bars. A very great character in Silk when I was a young barrister, called Barry, despite it being none of his given names nor any recognised foreshortening of them, once paid me the honour of telling me the story I had told him six hours earlier about a case of mine but with Barry now in the title role – quite oblivious of the irony. The characters in these stories come to life because we knew them or know them still or, at the least, knew or know of them.

The Calm Before The Storm

Despite initial skirmishes, the phoney war between the publicly funded Bar and the Ministry of “Justice” continues while we wait for the real conflict to begin. Is the Public Defender scheme the plan B of which my mandarin friend warned me or is it yet another smokescreen to cover even more awful shenanigans deep in the Whitehall bunker? Andrew, our Senior Clerk, who hides a twitchy personality under a mask of assurance and confidence, came upstairs for our weekly Headmaster’s chat. It had long ago ceased to be enjoyable and now is simply a list of actual, putative, impending or imaginary crises.

Expect the Unexpected

 One of the great joys of my life is returning home after a hard day’s gossiping in Chambers: shoes off, feet on the stool and a stiff gin and tonic. Or should I say “some gin with tonic”?

A friend of mine at university once over-reached himself by taking out a girl called Jane, whose family was from the deepest Shires: the sort that disdains titles, never double-barrels and considers the Royal Family to be parvenus. He was invited for a weekend. Jane later told him in the Kardomah Café (she was a girl of simple tastes) that, after his departure, her mother had listed in order the ten social solecisms of his visit. Top of the list was that he had asked for “a gin and tonic” and not “some gin with tonic”. How we laughed when he told us until I next ordered a combination drink and heard myself asking for some whisky with soda. 

After life on the circuit and (not far) beyond, la dolce vita beckons

October 11, 2013: “All things atrocious and shameless flock from all parts to Rome” – Tacitus

A London criminal barrister’s life has a pattern: a case at Snaresbrook, a plea at Inner London, a trek out to Harrow, something juicy at the Bailey, the joys of Woolwich. True, some buildings look increasingly ropey, the facilities in the Bar Mess diminish on an almost hourly basis, the coffee comes in larger cups at higher prices; but our interest does not come from these sybaritic niceties as much as the infinite variety of people that we meet.