Stipendiaries used to run their courts with an iron hand. What’s more, speed was of the essence in their courts, recalls James Morton

All in all, things worked well in my new offices. The clients rallied – it was much nearer to their homes and to their work, and in those days there were no cash-flow problems.


Cases were over in a matter of weeks if not days, and at some Quarter Sessions while the jury was out, the clerk of the court would assess costs. This was often done on a weight basis – you would go file in hand to the clerk, who would heft the file and say ‘£40?’ The correct response was ‘£50?’, after which it was split down the middle and handed over in used notes.


Provided you had your magistrates’ court bills in by, I think, the 14th, the Law Society assessed and paid out by the end of the month.


However, there was a problem with obtaining legal aid in courts run by stipendiaries. At the time they were a dying breed, red squirrels being eaten up by grey lays. As one retired from a court, he would not be replaced.


Then applications for legal aid were usually made by the defendant going into the witness box to say he had been out of work for ten years and that the fine new suede coat he wore had been that of his recently deceased father (who, interestingly, was often at the back of the court).


The outer London courts were no problem but stipes, sometimes reasonably, thought they could look after the defendant themselves. Although, ‘take care of’ would probably be a better phrase. Toby Springer – who in those days sat at Balham and later at Highbury – was one example. On a plea of guilty, he would often remand the defendant in custody and then refuse legal aid for the plea in mitigation.


This had a number of financial and other advantages.


The youth got what the Court of Appeal variously described as a ‘clang of the prison gates’ or ‘a short sharp shock’. Toby had no intention of sending him to prison when the three-week remand was up. Therefore, there was no point in wasting money on legal aid for a useless speech in mitigation.


Other courts would not grant legal aid for certain kinds of cases. Marlborough Street, getting on for 50 years ago, would absolutely not grant legal aid in shoplifting cases.


Occasionally, however, you could pick up a case on the fly, so to speak. A stipe might invite you to wait behind after your case and do a defence on the spot for someone in custody, particularly if there was some sort of legal argument in it.


Not that that meant a remand. There was no advance disclosure in those days. The police officer was ordered to show you his notebook. You took instructions in the cell and off you went. Of course, it did not cost much. The whole thing might be over in half an hour, instructions to finish.


The quickest case I ever did was one where I actually had legal aid. The man did not come to see me. I was first on at Highbury and was refused an adjournment on the basis that the defendant had had three weeks to give me instructions. The police evidence – presented by the arresting officer – was hopelessly flawed and there was no case to answer. Eight minutes. I could not even ask for an uplift for being brilliant.


Nor was legal aid available for committal proceedings in the run-of-the-mill housebreaking cases that had to go to Quarter Sessions. In those days, every witness from the loser to the arresting officer to the police photographer and the plan drawer had to give evidence on oath. Of course it was a waste of time, but somehow everything seemed to go through in a matter of hours, sometimes minutes. Perhaps one reason was that the stipes often took committal proceedings on a Saturday afternoon, something that concentrated the mind against irrelevant questions. Anyway, often there were not too many lawyers there to ask them.


Assaults on the police were treated with an immediate prison sentence, and the cases were open to all sorts of abuse. It was seriously difficult to obtain anything but a conviction and prison sentence in front of a stipe. I recall one inspector telling me of a case he had in front of Mick McElligott. The defendant had been beating his wife and the officer went round, gave the man a good hiding, and then charged him with assaulting him in the execution of his duty. ‘Assaulting a police officer,’ exclaimed McElligott after looking at the inspector knowingly. ‘He must be mad. I’ll remand him for mental and medical reports.’ I suppose in a roundabout way justice was done.


As a client of mine said wistfully: ‘Once, when they had you in the nick, they’d just give you a good hiding. Now they give you a good hiding and charge you as well.’


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