James Morton relates some of the more amusing verbal pratfalls attributed to lawyers and their clients


Sometimes I wonder why it is that lawyer jokes usually have us at a disadvantage, either being pompous or patronising. Such as the judge’s comment to a juror wanting to be excused because his wife was about to conceive: ‘I expect you mean to be confined, but in either event I think you should be present.’ Or the judge who said to a claimant: ‘Are you still seeing double Mrs Smith?’ ‘Yes, my Lord.’ ‘And can you see two of your counsel?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Just as well. One of them has left court to begin another case.’



On the subject of eyesight, I’ve always liked the Crown Prosecution Service lawyer who asked a witness: ‘Were the defendant’s eyes glazed?’ The defending lawyer interrupted, saying: ‘My client wears glasses.’ ‘Well then,’ came the swift response, ‘were they double glazed?’



Most of the following come from a book Disorder in the Court by Charles Sevilla, apparently a Los Angeles lawyer, and all are said to be true. If so, the standards of some members of the American bar could be a great deal higher.



There is, of course, nothing which can be done with the witness who, when asked what gear he was in at the time of a road accident, replied: ‘Sweatshirt, shorts and Reeboks.’ The same happened to Allan Green, the former Director of Public Prosecutions, who got much the same reply from a motorcyclist at Highgate Magistrates’ Court (‘Me Leathers’). It must, however, have been the lawyer’s fault when he told a witness all of his answers must be oral and then asked: ‘What school did you go to?’ Witness: ‘Oral.’



There is possibly some excuse for the lawyer who asked a witness: ‘This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?’ ‘I can’t remember things.’ ‘Can you give us an example of something you can’t remember?’ It reads a lot worse than it really was. But there is no excuse for this question: ‘The youngest son, the 20-year-old, how old is he?’ Witness: ‘Er, he’s 20.’



Nor for this question: ‘She had three children, right?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How many were boys?’ ‘None.’ ‘Were there any girls?’



And then there was this: ‘How was your first marriage terminated?’ ‘By death.’ ‘And by whose death was it terminated?’ ‘Now whose death do you suppose terminated it? I’ll give you a clue. It wasn’t mine.’ I suppose the only hope for the lawyer was for the judge to say: ‘You are not allowed to ask counsel questions.’



The same interruption would have been necessary to save the lawyer who asked a witness to describe an individual. ‘About medium height and had a shaved head and a beard.’ ‘Was this a male or a female?’ ‘Guess.’ On reflection, I suppose, in this day and age it may not have been such a ridiculous question.



Another who needed saving was the lawyer who asked a pathologist: ‘Is it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn’t know about it until the next morning?’ Witness: ‘Did you actually pass your law exam?’



Here’s a guaranteed-true English story of an alcoholic charged with the murder of another semi-derelict whose body had been cut into parts and left in a refrigerator. Neither the solicitor nor counsel could get any instructions at all by way of a defence and on the eve of the trial, when all good silks used to get to see their clients for the first time, the man was shown photos of the body parts and sprang into life. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said. Everyone leaned towards him expectantly, only to hear: ‘It wasn’t suicide.’



Unfortunately there is no indication whether the witness was being examined or cross-examined and so whether the advocate was being really rather clever when he asked: ‘What was the first thing your husband said to you on the morning you shot him?’ ‘I love you, Cathy.’ ‘And why did that upset you?’ ‘My name is Susan.’ Perhaps he had not read his brief. I remember taking a client, say Joanna Brown, who was the defendant in a long-firm fraud to counsel for a conference. Counsel was gracious and welcoming but as we sat down he said: ‘Before we start, Mr Morton, tell me who is this Joanna Brown who is constantly referred to in the depositions?’



Doctors are notoriously difficult to handle and seemingly do not like being questioned, and certainly not questioned stupidly. For example, ‘Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?’ ‘All my autopsies are performed on dead people.’ Possibly some rephrasing would have helped, but nothing could save either of the following: ‘Do you recall the time that you examined the body?’ ‘The autopsy started around 8.30am.’ ‘And Mr Smith was dead at the time?’ ‘No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him.’ And worse: ‘Before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?’ ‘No’. ‘For blood pressure?’ ‘No’. ‘For breathing?’ ‘No’. ‘So then it is possible he was alive when you began the autopsy?’ ‘No’. ‘How can you be sure of that, Doctor?’ ‘Because his brain was sitting in a jar on my desk.’ ‘I see, but could the patient have been still alive nevertheless?’ ‘Yes it is possible he could have been alive and practising law somewhere.’



I have not been able to trace the book in England, but there are copies available at various prices from Amazon over the Internet. If the standard of jokes is as high throughout, it seems an ideal present either for Christmas or on qualification, or both.



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