William Byfield's Secret E-Diary

A strike or not a strike? That is the question.  

Everybody has returned from the seasonal festivities absent the traditional good cheer. The clerks have “accidentally” discovered a working party report from a sub-committee chaired by one or other of the brothers Twist – a committee that I have to confess I had no idea I had appointed and probably never did – that has recommended our staff take the same pay cut proposed for us by a Ministry of Justice that increasingly looks better equipped to be engaged in the used-car trade. 

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.  

Dreams of an international legal career are shattered  

November 5, 2013: “Treason doth never prosper. What’s the reason? For if it prosper, none dare call it ‘treason’” – Sir John Harrington 

The lingering taste of delicious fresh pasta, seasoned with freshly cracked black pepper, fresh herbs, garlic and a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese, eaten to the accompaniment of a mandolin played by a one-legged Roman beggar, is receding apace. Rome. What a few days that was. After sobering up Paddy Corkhill sufficiently to travel by air, we arrived in the Eternal City and, following a shower, were motored to a delightful restaurant where three men were waiting for us. 

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. 

New Year in the Autumn, and the law of unintended consequences  

September 15, 2013: “To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart.” – Daniel Patrick Moynihan  

Some begin their new year in the Autumn; others start on January 1 and a third class commence on April 6. I am not here referring to the Chinese New Year, the Julian Calendar or the religious obsession with new moons, but the Professional New Year, followed by the universities, schools, and others, including the legal profession; the Traditional New Year celebrated with increasingly extravagant displays to warm the hearts of every rolling news channel, somewhat eclipsing those Scottish performances which were viewed by the rest of us with incomprehension and dismay in the sixties and seventies; and the Financial New Year celebrated by the Treasury, HMRC and accountants. 

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. 

Allergic reactions to press releases from the Ministry of Justice  

July 12, 2013: “Life could be horrible in the wrong trouser of time.” Terry Pratchett  

Barristers possess certain genetic self-protection, such as the ability to limit outbursts of terror, anger and panic to brief moments. The usual triggers for these uncontrollable emotions are entry into the Royal Courts of Justice (terror), a visit to the clerks’ room (anger) and listening to a client’s explanation of his defence (panic). The attacks are generally best alleviated by going into court and doing something, or going into El Vino’s and drinking something. Additional triggers, often evoking a combination of all three states at once, include communications from HMRC, the Bar Standards Board or the Bank. Drink is the preferred soporific in these cases. 

A minute’s silence for the passing of the legal aid sytem 

June 10, 2013: “Nothing’s sacred to those devils.” Batman (Adam West) 

Short of bumping into the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse on the way to the Bailey, things could not feel more eschatological. Arriving, I spotted what looked like a huge number of nicotine-addicted barristers congregating on the pavement outside the entrance. Hetty Briar-Pitt, my junior, barred my entry and forced me, like a shy horse, into their ranks. It dawned on me then that this was, in fact, a minute’s silence for the passing of the legal aid system. 

Sadness that the dumbing down of the office of Lord Chancellor has inevitably led to a lack of protection for an independent legal profession 

May 6, 2013: “I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting that you really believe what you just said.” William F. Buckley, Jr.  

When I was a sixth-former, I decided to try for Oxford. In those days, there was an Entrance Examination. My Headmaster suggested I practise the General Paper. The first question was “Might you as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb?” Entirely missing the point, I wrote what I thought to be a humorous piece about the virtues of capital punishment. It was returned sporting a “Delta” and the comment: “You’re in the Sixth Form now. Grow Up.” 

Prospective jury members had better make their excuses good if they want to wriggle out of performing their time-honoured duty 

April 8, 2013: Jury: A group of 12 people, who, having lied to the judge about their health, hearing, and business engagements, have failed to fool him – Henry Louis Mencken  

Last week, the jury was selected in the sensational trial of Jason Grimble and Moses Lane for the alleged murder of the disliked Claude Allerick, formerly one of Her Majesty’s (Circuit) Judges and sometime member of Gutteridge Chambers. A last-minute reprieve had come when our previously assigned judge finally read at night in bed one page too many of the voluminous Criminal Procedure Rules and slipped a disc. Fate then gave us the lovely Jonathan Hay to try our case and the deceptively relaxed George White QC, of Treasury Counsel, to prosecute us.