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  ‘What is a 271?’ asked Roger.

  ‘It’s an authority to arrest the debtor and bring him before the Court if he doesn’t pay a fine within the time he’s been given to pay it. So it isn’t an argument in a circle. You can get the debtor there. Funny the judge didn’t know.’

  ‘I suppose there are things judges don’t know,’ said Roger, ‘Henry’s got a case in a County Court tomorrow. D’you think it would be a good thing if I went with him? He said I could.’

  ‘I should. You’ll learn a lot from Henry. And, apart from that, he’ll tell you stories on the way. He’s got an unending fund of them. And they’ll all be new to you. I expect that’s one of the reasons he asked you to come.’

  Roger spent the rest of the day reading the papers in Biggs v Pieman and the case about drawing pins. The evening he spent with Sally.

  ‘It’s amazing to think what’s going on and no one knows it. I saw a case today about a Member of Parliament.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t tell you that. One of the first things Grimes told me was that anything I learn I must treat with confidence.’

  ‘Then why did you tell me about the case at all?’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly identify the parties.’

  ‘What’s it about then?’

  ‘Well, I suppose there can’t be any harm in that. There are over six hundred MPs and an infinite variety of married women.’

  So Roger told her the facts as well as he remembered them.

  ‘Humph!’ said Sally. ‘It is quite interesting. Sounds like old Pieman. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  ‘What did you say?’ said Roger, so horrified that he was unable to stop himself from asking the question, or from showing in his voice the surprise he felt.

  ‘Roger – it is – it’s old Pieman. Mother will be thrilled.’

  ‘Sally, you’re not to.’

  ‘Then it is. How extraordinary.’

  ‘The other thing I was looking at,’ said Roger, lamely, ‘was about drawing pins.’

  ‘It’s much too late now, Roger. I know all about it.’

  ‘Sally, you mustn’t tell anyone. Promise you won’t.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me in confidence, Roger.’

  ‘But I learned it in confidence.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have told me in the first instance. Now, let’s think who I’ve seen about with old Pieman.’

  ‘Sally, you mustn’t. How was I to know you knew him?’

  ‘How were you to know I didn’t.’

  ‘I never thought for a moment – oh, Sally, please promise you won’t tell anyone. I’ve done the most terrible thing.’

  ‘I know who it is,’ said Sally. ‘A very smart woman – now what’s her name? Let me think.’

  ‘Please, Sally, please. I’m sure it isn’t, anyway.’

  ‘How can you possibly tell? I know, Anstruther, that’s the name, Mollie Anstruther.’

  ‘No,’ said Roger.

  ‘Roger,’ said Sally, ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this – I do it more in sorrow than in anger and all for your own good – but it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me all the same – you’re an ass – an unmitigated ass. Why on earth did you say “no” when I mentioned Mollie Anstruther? That eliminates one possibility. Now I can try to think of someone else. I thought that was the sort of trick barristers played on other people.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think it would be fair on the woman to let you think it was her.’

  ‘Then it must be Dorothy Biggs. I’ve often seen them about together.’

  Roger said nothing for a moment. Then: ‘How on earth could I tell you’d guess?’ he said miserably.

  ‘What’ll you do if I promise not to tell anyone?’

  ‘I’ll be more careful in future.’

  ‘Is that all? You’ll do that anyway, I hope.’

  ‘There won’t be any necessity. If you go telling people about it, it’ll quite likely become known that it came out through me and then I shall be disbarred. After three days, too. I’m in your hands, Sally.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Sally. ‘Of course I shan’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You’re a darling. I don’t know what I should do without you.’

  ‘Well, you’d have told someone else, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I should. I am an ass. You’re quite right, Sally. How lucky it was you.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sally thoughtfully, ‘Joy might not have known the parties – but if she had – I’m sure she’d have done just what I did. Wouldn’t she, Roger?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger, uncomfortably, ‘I’m sure she would.’

  ‘Well, that’s settled,’ said Sally brightly. ‘Now you’re going to tell me about the drawing pins.’

  ‘They were in confidence, Sally. You might have sat on one of them.’

  ‘Too true,’ said Sally. ‘And does this mean that you’re never going to tell me anything?’

  ‘Of course not. I can tell you anything that happens in Court. And I can tell you about the people in chambers. Old Grimes is an extraordinary person. But he’s got the most tremendous practice. And I gather his clients swear by him.’

  ‘From what you told me yesterday on the phone, I thought you did most of his work for him.’

  ‘I didn’t put it as high as that. Oh, by the way, tomorrow I’m going to a County Court with an awfully nice chap called Henry Blagrove. He’s quite brilliant, I think, but I haven’t heard him in Court yet.’

  ‘What’s a County Court? Where they fine you for not having dog licences?’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s a Court for trying small civil cases – breaches of contracts, debts, accident cases and so on. And they have things called judgment summonses there. D’you know, they still send people to prison for not paying debts. I must say I thought that had been abolished after Pickwick Papers.’

  ‘Are there debtors’ prisons still then?’

  ‘I don’t think so. They go to ordinary prisons, I think. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe many people actually go to prison. About a thousand a year, I was told.’

  ‘I must ask mother,’ said Sally. ‘She sings at prisons sometimes.’

  ‘That is good of her,’ said Roger. ‘She must go down awfully well. They like almost anything there – I mean, I mean–’

  ‘Explain it to mother,’ said Sally, ‘here she is.’

  Mrs Mannering came into the room a moment later.

  ‘How are you, Roger? How nice of you to take tickets for Friday. I’m sure you can’t afford it, as a poor struggling barrister.’

  ‘I’ve been looking forward to hearing you,’ said Roger. ‘I was only saying so to Sally a moment ago.’

  ‘How sweet of you. Walter Burr’s going to accompany me. I’ve made him promise not to say a word. He’s a brilliant accompanist but he’s suddenly got the idea that he’s a comedian too. And he always tries to introduce the songs and do a comic turn at the same time. Seems catching in the musical profession at the moment. Oh, who do you think gave me a lift home, wasn’t it kind? Walter Pieman – the MP, you know. I met him at Hilda’s.’

  Roger and Sally said nothing for a moment. Then Sally said, ‘It only goes to show, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Goes to show what?’ said her mother.

  ‘That MPs have their uses.’

  The next day Roger met Henry at a tube station on the way to the County Court.

  ‘I see you’ve a red bag,’ said Roger. ‘Have you had it long?’

  ‘I was lucky,’ said Henry. ‘I got a brief with a leader in my second year and somehow or other it produced this. Lucky. It’s much lighter than carrying a suitcase, particularly if you’ve got a lot of books to take.’

  ‘But why a suitcase?’

  ‘Well – after a few years some people don’t like to be seen with a blue bag. So they use a suitcase instead.’

  ‘Who gave you yours?’

  ‘Mostyn, as a matter of fact.’

&nb
sp; ‘I say, that’s awfully good, isn’t it? He’s one of the biggest leaders now, isn’t he?’

  ‘Well, he’s made a lot of headway in the last year or two. Yes, I was lucky. Curiously enough, I actually earned it. I worked like hell.’

  ‘Don’t people always earn them?’

  ‘As often as not it’s done between the clerks. George meets Ernest in the “Cock.” “D’you think you could get young Bolster a red bag, Ernie?” he says over the third pint. “I’ll try, old boy,” says Ernest. And if Ernest tries the answer is probably “yes.” It’s a funny custom. The only people who make anything out of it really are the people who make the bags. But it’s a sort of milestone in a chap’s career. The day he gets his red bag. You certainly won’t find your way to the Woolsack without one.’

  They discussed the other milestones in a career at the Bar; then they talked about County Courts.

  ‘What’s this judge like?’ asked Roger.

  ‘Well, fortunately,’ said Henry, ‘there aren’t any others like him today. I don’t mean by that that he’s a bad judge. He isn’t. But he’s very inconsiderate. Furthermore, he’s peppery, pompous and conceited, but he’s quite a good judge for all that, though not as good as he thinks he is. Incidentally, one of the funniest things I ever heard happened in front of him. Like to hear?’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons I’ve come,’ said Roger.

  ‘Charles told you that, I suppose,’ said Henry, and they both laughed.

  There were three main characters in the story which Henry told Roger. The first was a barrister called Galloway, a well-intentioned, very serious and literally-minded man. The second was a former County Court judge called Musgrave.

  ‘He’s dead now,’ said Henry. ‘He was a nice old boy and quite a good judge when he tried a case, but he was a wicked old man and wouldn’t sit after lunch. There aren’t any others like him today, either.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Roger.

  ‘What I say. He wouldn’t sit after lunch. He spent part of the morning either making people settle cases or adjourning them for one reason or another and finally he tried what was left and rose at lunchtime. Very rarely he came back after lunch, but, usually he made some excuse for postponing any case which hadn’t finished by lunchtime until another day. I liked him, but he certainly was naughty. Well, one day Galloway had a case in front of Musgrave. It was an accident case which would have been likely to occupy a considerable part of the day. The judge had a medical referee sitting beside him to advise. When I say sitting, well, it was arranged that he should sit. The only question in the case was whether a man’s illness had been caused by the accident, but a good deal of evidence would have had to be given about it. Before the judge sat he sent for the doctors who were being called on each side and told them to have a word with the medical referee. After they’d had a chat for ten minutes or so, the judge went in to see them himself. Five minutes later he came into Court, sat down and announced that there would be judgment in the case for the defendants with costs.

  ‘“But–” said the unfortunate Galloway, who was appearing for the plaintiff.

  ‘“But what?” said the judge, quite severely.

  ‘“But–” repeated Galloway.

  ‘“If that’s all you have to say, Mr Galloway, I’ll have the next case called,” and this was duly done.

  ‘Well, of course, the plaintiff wasn’t going to take that lying down. His case had never been tried. The judge had no doubt acted upon what the doctors had told him behind closed doors. It was a complete denial of justice. So the plaintiff appealed to the Court of Appeal and Galloway started to tell their Lordships all about it. He hadn’t gone very far with the story before the president of the Court, Lord Justice Brand, said: “It’s very difficult to believe that this really happened. Naturally, I’m not doubting your word, Mr Galloway, but how can it have happened as you say without your saying something to the judge?”

  ‘“I did say something, my Lord.”

  ‘“Oh – what was that?”

  ‘“‘But,’ my Lord.”

  ‘“Yes, Mr Galloway?”

  ‘“‘But,’ my Lord.”

  ‘“But what, Mr Galloway?”

  ‘“Just ‘but,’ my Lord.”

  ‘“I’m afraid I’m out of my depth,” said another Lord Justice. “Are you still addressing us, Mr Galloway?”

  ‘“Yes, my Lord.”

  ‘“Then what did you mean when you said ‘but’ to my brother?”

  ‘“That was what I said, my Lord.”

  ‘“I know you did, twice. But why?”

  ‘“I couldn’t think of anything else to say, my Lord.”

  ‘“Now, look,” said Lord Justice Brand. “Let us get this straight. You didn’t say ‘but’ to us–?”

  ‘“Oh, yes, he did,” said Lord Justice Rowe.

  ‘“I know, I know,” said Lord Justice Brand. “Please let me finish. The ‘but’ you said to us was the ‘but’ you said to the learned County Court judge, or to put it more accurately, it was another ‘but’ but the same word. ‘But’ is what you said to the County Court judge.”

  ‘“Yes, my Lord,” said Galloway.

  ‘Lord Justice Brand sat back in his chair triumphantly.

  ‘“But,” said Lord Justice Rowe, “if I may be forgiven the use of the word, but is that all you said to the learned judge?”

  ‘“Yes, my Lord, just ‘but.’”

  ‘“But it doesn’t mean anything.”

  ‘“I didn’t get a chance to say anything more, my Lord, and I was too flabbergasted.”

  ‘“Really, Mr Galloway,” said Lord Justice Brand. “When I was at the Bar, I considered it to be my duty in the interests of my client to stand up to the judge and, if necessary, to be rude to him, yes, to be rude to him. I cannot believe that counsel of your experience would allow a thing like that to happen unchallenged.”

  ‘In the end, of course, they allowed the appeal and sent the case back to the County Court to be properly heard before another judge, but not before poor Galloway’s mildness had been further criticized.

  ‘A week later he had an accident case before Boyle – the judge you’re going to meet. Galloway was appearing for the plaintiff. He got up and started to open the case to the jury, explaining to them where the accident happened and so on. He was just saying: “Now, members of the jury, at that juncture the defendant’s car without any warning of any kind whatsoever–” when the judge interrupted: “Mr Galloway, might I have a plan, please?”

  ‘“Be quiet,” said Galloway and continued to address the jury. “And without any warning of any kind whatsoever–”

  ‘Just as the Court of Appeal could not believe what was said to have happened in Musgrave’s Court, Boyle couldn’t believe he’d heard Galloway aright. Galloway was a polite man and his behaviour was normally impeccable.

  ‘“I really can’t follow this without a plan,” said Boyle.

  ‘“Will you be quiet,” said Galloway and started to go on addressing the jury. But not for long. This time the judge had no doubt what had been said.

  ‘“Have you taken leave of your senses, Mr Galloway?” he said angrily. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

  ‘“Well, your Honour,” said Galloway. “I was told last week by the Court of Appeal that it was my duty to be rude to the judge.”’

  Chapter Six

  His Honour Judge Boyle

  They arrived at the Court in plenty of time and went straight to the robing-room. It was crowded with solicitors and counsel.

  ‘Hullo, Henry, are we against one another?’ said a middle-aged barrister.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m in – now what’s the name of it? Wait a minute, I can never remember.’

  He opened his bag and got out the brief. ‘Oh, yes, of course, Swift and Edgerley.’

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ said the other. ‘We’ve got a hope. We’re about last. He’s got some judgment summonses, half a dozen possession cas
es and three other actions before ours. Any use asking him to let us go?’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Henry. ‘But all the same I should think we’d better try. The old so-and-so will never let anyone get away before lunch. I think he likes an audience really, to hear his wise remarks and his quotations from Birkenhead’s famous judgment. Is anyone else going to have a crack at it? Let’s get in before he sits and see what the form is.’

  Counsel’s and solicitors’ row made an impressive sight for His Honour Judge Boyle as he walked on to the Bench. Henry was right in thinking that he liked an audience. The judge moved in and sat down slowly. He was a heavy man and not young. The first thing he did was to look at the pencils. He obviously did not approve of them. He tapped on his desk for the clerk to speak to him.

  ‘Take these beastly things away,’ he said, ‘and get me some decent ones. I can’t use those. How many more times have I got to say so?’

  ‘I’m sorry, your Honour,’ said the clerk.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ grunted the judge. ‘It’s what they send us. I’ve complained about it dozens of times. They’ll expect me to write with my thumbnail next.’

  The clerk sent out for some more pencils.

  A solicitor got up: ‘Might I mention to your Honour,’ he began.

  ‘No, not yet,’ said the judge irritably. The solicitor sat down with a sigh.

  ‘Cheerful mood today,’ whispered one member of the Bar to another.

  ‘The old idiot. I’d like to chuck the lot at him.’

  ‘If people want to talk they must go outside,’ said the judge.

  ‘Charming,’ said Henry, but quietly enough.

  The new pencils were brought. The judge tried them. ‘I suppose they’ll have to do,’ he said eventually. ‘They’re better than the last. Thank you, Mr Jones.’

  ‘Shall I call the first application, your Honour?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Mrs Turner,’ called the clerk, and a small woman went into the witness box. She was making an application for some money to be paid out to her from a fund in Court. She was a widow whose husband had been killed some years before in an accident and the Court controlled her use of the damages she had been awarded.