James Morton mourns the end of the contested committal and remembers Pam Long – the late grande dame of stipendiary magistrates

The committal proceedings of the man accused of murdering an English backpacker in Australia have produced some splendid copy with allegations of two-timing and deceit. Sadly we have neither reporting of committal proceedings nor, in effect, any committal proceedings at all.

I always thought that a committal procedure provided a great opportunity to test the strength of the witnesses and, in a case where, say, identification was in issue, actually to tie them down to just where they were standing on the street or sitting in the pub.

What it also did was to save a great deal of time at the Crown Court. Counsel would have a fair idea of what line should be taken with the result that there was much less faffing about. The reasons for the end of the contested committal were said to be that they allowed the defence a dry run at the witnesses, which caused them distress, and also because of the cost. To this could be added that they increased the possibility of an acquittal. I recall what must be one of my proudest moments when, in a murder committal, I submitted there was no case to answer. There really was no evidence my client was at the scene of the attack but the magistrates, fudging the issue, committed him for manslaughter in a case that was murder or nothing. Tagged on were a number of people charged with conspiracy to pervert. For some reason the murder was never put back on the indictment. Not guilty, my Lord and not guilty to all the alleged perverters. I suppose the end of the committal procedure eliminates cases such as that.


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I wonder whether the idea that the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) should offer a new route to becoming a judge is indeed such a good one. One of the strengths of the judicial system has been that judges have had the experience of both prosecuting and defending – except of course those appointed from the Chancery bar, who could be said to arrive with unpolluted minds.

A definite career structure with the House of Lords at the end of the rainbow may be good for recruitment purposes, but I wonder whether it will be that good in practice. Who will be lucky enough to get the director’s nod of approval – those who have won the most cases? Those with the longest service? Those who have had the fewest complaints made against them? Those with the most complaints – as a form of kicking upstairs? Talent as a prosecutor will not necessarily translate into judicial talent. It will be even more difficult for a current prosecutor to sit as a part-time recorder and so gain experience.



There were, in the past, relatively few members of the solicitor’s department at Scotland Yard who became stipendiaries. One was the late Pam Long, who had been one of the first women to join the department. Ms Long was obliged to leave the service for a few months and so provide a hiatus before her appointment. In later years, very much the grande dame, she was not required to share an office in the department and woe betide anyone who interrupted when she was listening to her favourite radio programme, ‘Waggoner’s Walk’, the ‘l’ in which she replaced with an ‘n’.



Ms Long was a flamboyant character, adored by police officers at the courts where she sat. Quite often, suffering from a hangover, she would arrive late at court wearing an amount of perfume and a fur coat. There was no need for her to apologise to the waiting advocates. Grand excuses would have already been made by the court officer. On one occasion when a police officer who failed to unlock a door for her remarked of the key ‘I can’t get it in,’ she replied swiftly, ‘The story of my life’.


She proudly wore a Met Police badge when sitting. No one seemed to think any the worse of her for it and her former colleagues could expect no favours from her. And, sensibly, she simply refused to share the boring afternoon traffic list with the lay justices. Socially, she took no prisoners. Returning to the department for a reunion she was approached by a former colleague who fawned how nice it was to see her. She would have none of it. ‘Run away and get me a drink, dear,’ she replied holding out her empty glass.


On the bench, Ms Long’s only advice to potential stipes who sat with her for training purposes was that the last thing they should do before going into court was to go to the lavatory. In my, albeit brief, judicial career I never forgot it.


She died in 1999 after a long struggle with cancer. I suspect that, in this increasingly grey and politically correct world, over the years the Director of Public Prosecution’s candidates for preferment will be a great deal less colourful but, I also think, they could do a great deal worse than study Ms Long.


James Morton is a former criminal law specialist solicitor and now a freelance journalist