I was sorry to read of the recent death of the delightful judge Ann Goddard (pictured), writes James Morton.

Some years ago, she had the misfortune to be attacked by a defendant in a murder trial over which she was presiding at the Old Bailey.

I think she is the only judge in living memory who has been attacked in a British court, certainly at the Old Bailey.

Stitched and bruised, but unbowed, she was back in court within a matter of days.

It was in January 1978 that one of Australia’s celebrity criminals, standover man and killer Mark ‘Chopper’ Read, tried to kidnap Judge Bill Martin from a Melbourne courtroom – in a futile effort to secure the release of one of his friends from a particularly feared wing in Ararat prison.

The court staff brought him down in quick time.

Despite his barrister describing him as ‘a comic character Charlie Chaplin would have portrayed sympathetically’, it earned him 12 years.

During his time in the quite dreadful H wing in Pentridge jail, he had a fellow prisoner cut off his ears in order to earn himself a stay in the prison hospital.

Once he was finally released, he wrote a series of books, had a beer and board game named after him, and a film made of his life.

While Read was in Pentridge, his mate Amos Atkinson decided he would repeat the attempted kidnap of Judge Martin, but on a larger and – he hoped – more successful scale.

The hostages were to be the staff and customers of the Italian Waiters Club.

Read had to be released within 24 hours or Atkinson would start to kill the diners, he threatened.

But the hold-up was not the triumph for which he hoped. The siege ended ingloriously.

The police arranged for Atkinson’s mother to go and talk with him. She arrived in her dressing gown, and promptly hit him with her handbag. Hostage-taking over.

Multiple diners do not equal a county court judge, and Atkinson received a modest five years .

A year into his sentence he cut off his own ears as a tribute to his hero.

The Italian Waiters restaurant is still there, up a narrow flight of stairs just off Melbourne’s Bourke Street, and is to be thoroughly recommended.

The room is sparsely decorated – there is a blackboard menu and house wine, and the cooking is done open range.

The first time there it is a bit of a cultural shock, because no prices are listed, but when the bill comes it is remarkably cheap.

Friday lunch is particularly crowded; get there by midday.

James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor