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Authors: Henry Cecil

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Chapter Five
Around and About the Law

 

The next day was calmer at No. 1 Temple Court. Mr Grimes was in chambers all day and, except for rushing out for his lunch and rushing back again, his presence in chambers was only noticed by the procession of clients who came for conferences and by the occasional sound of ‘Goodbye, my dear fellow, bye, bye, bye' as he saw one or two of the more valued clients to the door. In consequence, Roger was able to ask Henry a number of questions.

‘Tomorrow,' said Henry, ‘is an important day. I'm in Court. I have to appear before His Honour Judge Boyle at a County Court. P'raps you'd like to come with me. You won't see anything of County Courts with Grimeyboy.'

‘D'you think Mr Grimes would mind?' asked Roger.

‘Grimes, not Mr Grimes,' said Henry. ‘I meant to tell you about that before. Once you're called you call everyone at the Bar by his surname.'

‘Even a QC?'

‘Everyone. Even an ex-Attorney-General. The newest recruit to the profession will call the most distinguished of all plain Smith or whatever it is. And, while I'm about it, you might as well know how to talk to a judge – out of Court, I mean, or if you write to him. How would you address Mr Justice Blank if you ran into him in the Strand?'

‘Well, I'd obviously be wrong. How should I?'

‘Judge. “So sorry, Judge,” or “do look where you're going, Judge.” If he's in the Court of Appeal, call him Lord Justice.'

‘And what about an Official Referee?'

‘To be quite honest, I've never spoken to one – after his appointment. I suppose you could say “Official Referee,” but it's rather a mouthful. “Your Honour” must be wrong. I don't care for “Sir Hugo” or “sir.” No, you've got me there. The best advice is not to talk to them. There are only four anyway, so you should be all right. Now, what else can I do for you?'

‘Sure you don't mind?'

‘My dear boy, I'm only too delighted. Otherwise I'd have to look at these papers. I tell you, I'm bone idle. I'm delighted to have a good excuse for not working.'

‘Well, yesterday I heard the clerk talking to someone on the telephone about something called the two-thirds rule. Something to do with fees, I gathered. Can you tell me what it is?'

‘Indeed I can. I feel quite strongly on the subject. We had some pronouncements from a Committee on the subject quite recently. Up till a few years before the war if you or I or Grimes or any junior – you know that barristers are either juniors or QCs, and that a QC has to have a junior?'

‘That's just about all I do know.'

‘Well, as I was saying, up till a few years before the war, if a junior was led by a QC the junior had to receive two-thirds of the fee charged by the QC. So if you were lucky and led by Carson or F E Smith or someone like that, you might get a fee of 666 guineas for doing a case you'd have been perfectly prepared to do for a hundred, or even less. Doesn't sound very logical, you say?'

‘I don't say anything,' said Roger. ‘I'm listening. I must say, though, I like the sound of 666 guineas. Have you ever had that?'

‘I have not, I regret to say. Well, a few years before the war it was agreed that the two-thirds rule should only apply to a fee of 150 guineas or less. Above that it was to be a matter of arrangement.'

‘No more 666,' said Roger, sadly.

‘Well, some solicitors were prepared to stick to the old rule. Of course some didn't. But there's worse to come. The Committee I mentioned has suggested that the rule should be abolished altogether. The point about the rule is this. By and large, barristers are not overpaid. Indeed much of their work is underpaid. This two-thirds rule is the cream which, when added to the skim milk, makes milk of a reasonable quality. The Committee, while recognizing that barristers are not paid too much, have said something like this: “This two-thirds rule increases the cost of litigation. If it's abolished, barristers will have nothing to make up for the lowness of their other fees, but none the less let's abolish it and good luck to you all.”'

‘What's going to happen?'

‘If you ask me, nothing, but we shall see, my dear fellow, we shall see.'

At that moment Alec came into the room, took away the papers which were in front of Roger and replaced them with a large bundle.

‘Mr Grimes thinks you'd better look at these,' he said, and went out again. The brief he left was about six to eight inches thick. Roger looked at it for a moment.

‘D'you think I'll ever be able to cope with anything of this kind?' he asked. ‘It makes me despair just to look at it.'

‘Well,' said Henry, ‘it all depends. If you take to the job and are good enough for it, you'll be able to tackle anything in due course. But it'll take time. Let's hope you only get little stuff to begin with. Otherwise you could come a nasty cropper. When I started I made the most awful bloomer with a case. The solicitors took it away from me in the end, but not before I'd done a lot of damage. Think of a medical student being allowed to play at pulling out a patient's appendix and grabbing hold of the wrong thing! I don't even know now whether I was stopped in time. As I said before, it's funny that we're allowed to do it. It's true that the public can't come to us direct as they can to doctors. But there are plenty of Uncle Georges in the world of solicitors – father Georges even – and, of course, brother Georges – their wretched clients don't know that it's your first brief.'

‘But,' said Roger, ‘one has to start some time. Every professional man has to have his first case, whether it's a doctor, accountant or a barrister.'

‘Yes,' said Henry, ‘that's true enough, but all professional men, except barristers, have had practical experience first. If a barrister couldn't address the Court until he's had, say, a year as a pupil, that'd be reasonable. Jolly good experience for you yesterday, but what about the poor client?'

‘I hope he wasn't there,' said Roger.

‘Of course,' said Henry, ‘Peter ought to have been doing it, but he wouldn't really have been any better than you. Worse, probably. He'd have talked nonsense; you only said nothing. Neither of you ought to have been allowed to do it, but there you are, my dear fellow, they will do these things, they will do these things.'

‘Was I what you call “devilling”?' asked Roger.

‘Well,' said Henry, ‘if looking unhappy and saying nothing can be called devilling, you were.'

‘I suppose,' said Roger, ‘that that's what Gilbert was referring to when he said:


Pocket a fee with a grin on your face

"
When you haven't been there to attend to the case.”'

‘Yes,' said Henry, ‘but it isn't entirely fair to the Bar to put it just like that. A chap can't be in two places at once and he can't tell when he first accepts a brief in a case that it's going to clash with any other. So there are times when he's got to get help from someone else. All I say is that pupils shouldn't be allowed to give it. Your case is certainly an extreme one and I don't suppose it has happened before or will happen again, but the principle is just the same. No offence to you, but during the whole of your year you won't be capable of handling a defended case in the High Court efficiently, even if you've read it thoroughly.'

‘Then why didn't Grimes ask you to help him?' asked Roger.

‘Well,' said Henry, ‘that could be a long story, but I'll make it a short one. In a nutshell, I've got too big for my boots and I won't devil a brief unless I do the whole thing, or at any rate get half the fee.'

‘Look,' said Roger, ‘I don't mean to be rude, but you tell me an awful lot. How am I to know you're right?'

‘Good for you,' said Henry. ‘You can't know. And you're quite right to ask. Go on asking. Don't take anything for granted, not even Grimeyboy. In a month or two you'll think everything he says and does is right.'

‘Isn't it?'

‘It doesn't matter whether it is or it isn't, you'll think it is. Almost every pupil swears by his master. And it's often quite a long time before he realizes that his written work was bad, that he was only a very moderate lawyer and a poor advocate. I'm not saying any of that about Grimeyboy. It wouldn't in fact be true. But the point is, you must judge for yourself. Ask “why” the whole time. Oh, hullo, Peter. How's the Old Bailey? You know that Thursby had to devil for you yesterday?'

‘Thanks very much,' said Peter. ‘I'll give you half my fee. Quite a good assault case, as a matter of fact. I'd have been sorry to have missed that. Oh, and there's a good one in the Court of Criminal Appeal tomorrow, I'm told.'

‘D'you think I could go?' asked Roger.

‘You certainly could,' said Henry, ‘and if you want to become like Peter, I should. But if you're wise you'll get on with your work here. Popping off to the Old Bailey or the Court of Criminal Appeal to get a cheap thrill won't teach you anything.'

‘I may decide to go to the Criminal Bar,' said Peter.

‘If I were you, I should,' said Henry. ‘Now I must go and work for once.'

Henry went to his room and Roger started to open a set of papers.

‘Don't feel much like work this morning,' said Peter. ‘Had a bit of a night last night. What are you reading?'

‘I haven't started really,' said Roger. ‘This is something called Biggs and Pieman.'

‘Oh, that's quite amusing. Pieman's the MP, you know. It'll never come into Court. It's a sort of woman scorned action. Neither side can afford to fight it. Wish they would. It'd be great fun. She's a very attractive woman. I saw her in the clerk's room before she saw Grimeyboy.'

‘What's it about?'

‘Well – it's a claim for money lent. To judge from the letters, Mrs Biggs and Mr Pieman used to see more of one another than they ought to have done – seeing that there was a Mr Biggs. Well, Pieman apparently needed money to start him on his political career and Mrs B provided it. How much of it was Mr B's I don't know. Later on when the good ship Pieman was firmly launched he broke it off with Mrs B. She was very angry and asked for her money back. He wouldn't pay. So she sued him. He says it's a gift.'

‘When is it coming on for trial?'

‘I tell you, it isn't. Mr B doesn't know anything about it, but if it came into Court he soon would. There are things in those letters most husbands wouldn't approve of. You read them. They're grand fun. She wanted to know if the action could be heard
in camera
. Of course it couldn't. So it's only a question of who'll give in first. Wouldn't do Pieman any good for his constituency to know that he'd been financed by another man's wife. Wouldn't do her any good for her husband to know she's been so very kind to Mr P. Now, what else is there?'

Peter looked casually at the briefs lying on the table. He picked up one, opened it and read a little, put it back in its red tape and sighed.

‘How can anyone be expected to get up any enthusiasm for drawing pins? Consignments of drawing pins. I ask you.'

He picked up another set of papers.

‘This isn't much better,' he said. ‘It's about wallpaper. I wish he'd have a breach of promise or an enticement action. He hardly ever does a divorce case. Had one the other day, though. Not bad at all. Cruelty case.'

He paused for a moment, trying to recollect some of the more lurid details.

‘D'you know, he used to tie her up to a chair and then make faces at her. Now, what would he get out of that?'

‘I can't think,' said Roger, but he said it in a tone which caused Peter to say: ‘Sorry, old boy. Don't want to interrupt. Think I'll go down to the Old Bailey. Where's Charles?'

‘I haven't seen him this morning.'

‘Oh, of course. He's got a judgment summons somewhere.'

‘What's that?'

‘Oh – a summons for debt, you know. I'm not quite sure actually, but you get an Order sending them to prison if they don't pay, or something.'

‘I thought that was abolished years ago.'

‘So did I, old boy, but it's something like that. You ask Henry. He knows all the answers. Pity he's got no guts. Might have done well. Well, so long, old boy. May not see you again till tomorrow. Depends what they've on at the Old Bailey. I'll take my robes. Might get a docker.'

‘A what?'

‘Dock brief. You know, surely. I did before I was called. Any prisoner who's got a couple of guineas and the clerk's fee can choose any counsel sitting in Court. So if you just go and sit there you may get a brief. Look hard at the prisoner and hope you hypnotize him into choosing you. Henry's got a good story about dock briefs.'

‘What's that?'

‘Well, I might as well tell you first. Don't often get in in front of Henry. Well, there was an old lag down at the Bailey. He'd been there dozens of times, knew the ropes. Well, he was up one day for something and decided he'd like to have counsel to defend him. So he brought out his money and they took him up into the dock before the Recorder.

‘“Can I have a dock brief, please, my Lord?” he asked, very politely.

‘“Has he two pounds four shillings and sixpence?” asked the Recorder. The clerk informed the Recorder that the money was there.

‘“Very well,” said the Recorder. “Choose whom you like,” and he pointed to the two rows of counsel sitting in Court. Some were very young, like me, and couldn't have had any experience. Others were very old and moth-eaten. At least one had a hearing aid.

‘“What!” said the old lag in horror. “One of those?”

‘The Recorder looked at the two rows of counsel and then said rather mournfully: “Yes, I'm afraid so. That's all we have in stock at the moment.”'

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