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'Carpe diem!' says William Byfield
Whatever we say about fees and all our other moans, we are in fact incredibly lucky to be able to do a job we enjoy. Most people don’t have that luxury. I briefly considered academia. My relationship as an undergraduate with the Senior Common Room started badly. We had to present ourselves before the head of our college once a year to review our progress. In the first year this was at the end of our first term.
I adored all that freedom and release in my first term, but work had taken second place. I knew I was in for an uncomfortable 10 minutes. To my horror, when I walked into the SCR, not only was my tutor there but also a good number of dons for whom this was obviously a species of entertainment. I waited for the inevitable retribution and so was surprised when the Master said: ‘A really splendid term and an excellent start. Go on like this and you will be looking at a First!’ My tutor had a somewhat strange expression. So did my tutorial partner who entered next, the extraordinarily hard-working Charles Hill. He whispered ‘How did it go?’ as we crossed in the room. ‘Rather well,’ I stuttered as I fled to the college bar. I learnt not long later that my tutor’s surprise increased when the Master said to Charlie: ‘I don’t like saying this to someone who has been here such a short time, but you are likely to find yourself sent down if you don’t buck up your ideas.’ My tutor explained the next day that the Master had mixed up his report sheets. Charlie had the last laugh, of course, breezing an easy First eight terms later.
After that, my visits to the SCR were much more pleasant and social. I almost saw myself in this blissful environment. Giving a few tutorials daily, followed by delicious food and gentle intellectual conversation to while away the hours, although most academics tell me that their lives are rather different. Still, I reckon the Bar is a pretty good substitute. True, we are sandwiching the pleasant and informed chat between pretty gruelling court sessions unless blissfully the jury is out, but it allows you an interesting life with fascinating colleagues. Grudges are (generally) left behind in the court room.
So, on Monday last, I found myself waiting for a jury with Peg Mackintosh and Sonia Ellinger. Peg was technically our opponent although the real battle had between Sonia and myself: a dreaded ‘cut-throat’ defence where her client blamed mine for a gun discharging during a financial dispute and mine blamed hers for the same thing. Despite the ferocity in court with figurative blood pouring down the walls, we left it all behind us as we went into the Bar Mess - something our clients seemed to manage even inside the dock, almost arm-in-arm while the battle raged between their counsel.
Peg, for as long as I have known her, has been fascinated by the art, or science, of advocacy. She brought us all some coffee from outside while Sonia and I bemoaned the fact that a cut-throat defence nearly always ends in tears for the combatants. Peg, however, had something else on her mind. ‘Do you think the human brain is really capable of visualising situations until they are just about to happen?’ Sonia and I looked quizzical. ‘Well, you know,’ she said, ‘all those pre-trial hearings and forms where we first set out which witnesses we need. Have you ever known that list to be accurate by the date of the trial?’ ‘That’s because the prosecution serves half its evidence the week before the trial,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have a full proof of evidence in this case until we had been going a week,’ Sonia complained. ‘I haven’t got one yet,’ was my response. Sonia told us that in her ‘civil’ days clients would never agree financial settlements until the actual day of the hearing. Peg and I nodded wisely.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I think it was more efficient actually before we had all these practice rules and form-filling. Then there was an accountable police officer in charge of rounding up all the witnesses and the defendant just spat out his instructions on the walk down the corridor to the court… unless the judge gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse.’ Just then the tannoy requested our presence in court six. ‘Verdicts,’ said Sonia. ‘We are just about to see another example of people waking up to reality rather late in the day.’
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
Whatever we say about fees and all our other moans, we are in fact incredibly lucky to be able to do a job we enjoy. Most people don’t have that luxury. I briefly considered academia. My relationship as an undergraduate with the Senior Common Room started badly. We had to present ourselves before the head of our college once a year to review our progress. In the first year this was at the end of our first term.
I adored all that freedom and release in my first term, but work had taken second place. I knew I was in for an uncomfortable 10 minutes. To my horror, when I walked into the SCR, not only was my tutor there but also a good number of dons for whom this was obviously a species of entertainment. I waited for the inevitable retribution and so was surprised when the Master said: ‘A really splendid term and an excellent start. Go on like this and you will be looking at a First!’ My tutor had a somewhat strange expression. So did my tutorial partner who entered next, the extraordinarily hard-working Charles Hill. He whispered ‘How did it go?’ as we crossed in the room. ‘Rather well,’ I stuttered as I fled to the college bar. I learnt not long later that my tutor’s surprise increased when the Master said to Charlie: ‘I don’t like saying this to someone who has been here such a short time, but you are likely to find yourself sent down if you don’t buck up your ideas.’ My tutor explained the next day that the Master had mixed up his report sheets. Charlie had the last laugh, of course, breezing an easy First eight terms later.
After that, my visits to the SCR were much more pleasant and social. I almost saw myself in this blissful environment. Giving a few tutorials daily, followed by delicious food and gentle intellectual conversation to while away the hours, although most academics tell me that their lives are rather different. Still, I reckon the Bar is a pretty good substitute. True, we are sandwiching the pleasant and informed chat between pretty gruelling court sessions unless blissfully the jury is out, but it allows you an interesting life with fascinating colleagues. Grudges are (generally) left behind in the court room.
So, on Monday last, I found myself waiting for a jury with Peg Mackintosh and Sonia Ellinger. Peg was technically our opponent although the real battle had between Sonia and myself: a dreaded ‘cut-throat’ defence where her client blamed mine for a gun discharging during a financial dispute and mine blamed hers for the same thing. Despite the ferocity in court with figurative blood pouring down the walls, we left it all behind us as we went into the Bar Mess - something our clients seemed to manage even inside the dock, almost arm-in-arm while the battle raged between their counsel.
Peg, for as long as I have known her, has been fascinated by the art, or science, of advocacy. She brought us all some coffee from outside while Sonia and I bemoaned the fact that a cut-throat defence nearly always ends in tears for the combatants. Peg, however, had something else on her mind. ‘Do you think the human brain is really capable of visualising situations until they are just about to happen?’ Sonia and I looked quizzical. ‘Well, you know,’ she said, ‘all those pre-trial hearings and forms where we first set out which witnesses we need. Have you ever known that list to be accurate by the date of the trial?’ ‘That’s because the prosecution serves half its evidence the week before the trial,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have a full proof of evidence in this case until we had been going a week,’ Sonia complained. ‘I haven’t got one yet,’ was my response. Sonia told us that in her ‘civil’ days clients would never agree financial settlements until the actual day of the hearing. Peg and I nodded wisely.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I think it was more efficient actually before we had all these practice rules and form-filling. Then there was an accountable police officer in charge of rounding up all the witnesses and the defendant just spat out his instructions on the walk down the corridor to the court… unless the judge gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse.’ Just then the tannoy requested our presence in court six. ‘Verdicts,’ said Sonia. ‘We are just about to see another example of people waking up to reality rather late in the day.’
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