UGLY

Constance Briscoe

Hodder & Stoughton, £12.99

Hardback

Ugly, the autobiography of Constance Briscoe, a barrister and one of Britain’s first black woman judges, makes for uncomfortable reading. In a matter-of-fact style, without anger or self-pity, she tells the harrowing story of the daily physical and mental abuse she says she suffered at the hands of her mother, growing up in south-east London in the 1960s, and how her dream to become a barrister kept her going.

Constance, then called Clare, writes that she was singled out from her ten siblings and starved, beaten and humiliated. The only reason she can find for this was that she was a chronic bed-wetter. She was left to sleep in urine-soaked sheets, until one day her mother removed her bed.


Her mother pulled her nipples and pinched her adolescent bosom, inflicting so much damage that doctors believed lumps in her breasts, discovered when she was 12, were the result of cancer.


Repeatedly told she was ugly and worthless, Ms Briscoe hardly ever received new clothes and went to school in shoes that were too small. For Christmas, she was given the same doll and spinning top rewrapped each year. Her hair fell out and, at 11, she became so desperate she went to social services and asked to be taken into care. When social workers did not take her seriously, she tried to kill herself by drinking bleach.


‘I chose Domestos because Domestos kills all known germs, and my mother had for so long told me that I was a germ,’ she writes.


One day, when she was just 13, Constance’s mother moved away with her younger siblings, effectively leaving Constance to look after herself. Nonetheless, she still had to pay her mother rent, and by the time of her A-levels, was holding down three jobs.


Despite all this, her spirit was not crushed. While recovering from an operation at the age of 12, she became hooked on the television soap Crown Court, and determined that she wanted to become a barrister. Meeting well-known silk Michael Mansfield on a school trip to Knightsbridge Crown Court, she asked if he would be her pupil master. He agreed and told her to keep in touch – which she did, updating him on her progress.


Now 48, with a successful career at 9-12 Bell Yard Chambers, London, two teenage children and a seven-foot bed, she explains to the Gazette why she wrote the book. ‘I wanted my children to know more about me. I didn’t want them thinking ghastly things had happened to me and I was a sub-standard mother as a result.


‘I am not a victim and I have never brought my children up to think that I am. They think their mum is a successful, independent, fashion- conscious shopaholic with a deep commitment to bags and shoes,’ she laughs.


Ugly is not all grim: there are some touching moments and other brilliantly comic events observed through the eyes of a child. The author admits she found the book ‘rather depressing’ when she read the proof version, but concludes: ‘I think it’s a happy read in the end – it’s about triumph, moving on, success, ambition and holding on to your dreams.’


Explaining how she coped, she recalls: ‘In my head, while I was there in the house, I had already moved on – I was going to be a barrister. Failure was not on my agenda, because I couldn’t afford to fail.’


Why the bar? ‘Crown Court came on at one and finished at two. I thought barristers only did an hour’s work, and you got dressed up in a nice black gown, beautiful collaret and a wig.’


While she does now have the fancy clothes, the reality is somewhat different, she finds: ‘I am up at five and don’t get to bed before midnight.’


Although Ms Briscoe is trying to steer her son away from law, her advice to others is: ‘If that is their dream they should do it.’ She adds: ‘If you want to come to the bar, your background will not hold you back. You don’t have to let the past dictate the future.’


But she is concerned about the debt with which students join the profession. ‘If I were coming to the bar now and had to pay the fees students do now, it would have crushed me – I wouldn’t have seen any way of paying them.’


It must be difficult to stop a past such as hers affecting her life, including her work. But there is a line to be drawn. ‘My past is part of me,’ says Ms Briscoe, ‘but I would never let that interfere with my work or allow it to decide an issue in a case.’


Her colleagues, she muses, have reacted to her revelations with astonishment. ‘Most of them thought I was privately educated, [because I] speak quite posh and am a bit of a snob.’


She is pleased with the positive response from her fellow judges – she sits as a part-time recorder – but is unsure about the positive view the Department for Constitutional Affairs appears to have of her. She has been asked to speak on its diversity and equality training course.


‘I think they see me as a sort of success story – they were able to spot talent and ability, which gives credence to their policy.’ But she does not see herself as a spokeswoman for the marginalised or disadvantaged. ‘I will not be a spokesperson for anyone except Constance Briscoe, because I am not qualified to do that.


Carmen Briscoe, Constance’s mother, has threatened to sue in relation to the book, maintaining the allegations are all untrue.