Walden of Bermondsey

by Peter Murphy

  ‘He worked for an insurance company,’ Ian says, as if he is hardly able to utter the words.

  ‘Ah, well that explains it, then,’ I say.

  ‘It was terrible for him,’ Shelley joins in.

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘He spent his whole life hearing about people’s car crashes, their houses or businesses burning down…’

  ‘Dying, even,’ Ian reminds her.

  ‘Dying, even. And the worst thing of all was: he sometimes had to deny their claims. So they got no money at all.’

  ‘That was the worst thing,’ Ian says. ‘Because he was a sensitive man, a man who cared, and it tore him apart to have to deny a claim.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Dear me. But why would he have to deny someone’s claim?’

  Ian shrugs matter-of-factly.

  ‘Well, usually because they hadn’t paid the premium,’ he explains.

  They leave about half an hour later, but not before Ian has pressed into my hand the business card of Dr Philip Moody, sometime saviour (in the professional sense only, naturally) of Ian’s Uncle Bill, and made me promise at least to think about calling him. When I return after shutting and double-locking the front door after them, the Reverend Mrs Walden has already poured two large glasses of Chianti.

  ‘Shall we self-medicate for a while?’ she suggests.

  ‘Splendid idea,’ I reply. We take the glasses and the bottle over to the sofa and enjoy the quiet for a few moments.

  ‘I am really sorry, Charlie,’ she says. She takes my hand.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right. It was all quite amusing, really.’

  ‘But you do have an awful time with those beastly cases, don’t you? I just wanted to help.’

  ‘Oh, I know. I will find somebody to talk to, Clara. I promise. We will have to pay for it ourselves, though. No point in even asking the Grey Smoothies.’

  ‘We can manage it,’ she replies. ‘I wonder who the Grey Smoothies talk to when they get stressed?’

  ‘Each other probably,’ I suggest. ‘I’m not sure who else they could get to listen to them.’

  ‘Have you got another one to do?’ she asks. ‘A sex case, I mean.’

  ‘No,’ I reply happily. ‘I’m about to try someone for the heinous crime of impersonating a solicitor.’

  ‘Good grief! Why on earth would anyone do that?’ she asks.

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ I reply, reaching for the wine bottle. ‘I would have thought it would be bad enough actually being a solicitor. I am sure I will learn more tomorrow.’

  * * *

  Tuesday morning

  ‘Members of the jury, my name is Aubrey Brooks, and I appear to prosecute in this case. My learned friend Miss Worthington represents this defendant, Wilbraham Moffett. No doubt most of you, when you received your summons for jury service in the post, thought that you might be trying a robbery, or a serious assault, or at least a case of drug-dealing. I am sure very few of you dreamed that you might be trying someone for impersonating a solicitor, and I am equally sure that some of you are wondering why on earth we are here in the Crown Court, at great public expense, trying somebody for an offence when no one was injured, or had any property stolen, or came to any real harm at all.’

  Aubrey is right to address this point early on in the trial. Grateful as I am for the respite from historic sex cases, I can’t avoid asking myself, wearing my RJ’s hat, why we are going to spend two or three days of Crown Court time on this, when it could have been dealt with at the time in the Magistrates Court, to the extent it had to be dealt with at all. But having read the file in chambers earlier, I know the answer to that question, and it is not the answer the jury are about to hear from Aubrey.

  The answer resides in the personality, if that’s the right word, of the District Judge presiding at the Bermondsey Magistrates Court on the fateful day, Mr James Tooley, known to the judiciary and the profession as ‘Jungle Jim’. The name derives from his propensity to dispense summary justice as if he were sitting in judgment on the local population of some far-flung outpost of empire in the early nineteenth century. He and Hubert would have made a fine pair. I’m surprised to learn that he hasn’t retired by now. He has been around forever. I remember him from my days at the Bar, a striking sight on a hot day in summer, sitting on the bench in a white jacket and red cravat, his white broad-brimmed sun hat lying beside him on the bench on top of Stone’s Justices’ Manual, a huge fan whirring and rotating at his side, dispensing fines for motoring offences and shoplifting. The only thing missing was the chai-wallah to serve him tea. I have a feeling that Jungle Jim has had a lot to do with this case coming up to the Crown Court, and that he will have a lot to do with its outcome. But, as I say, that is not what Aubrey is about to tell the jury.

  ‘The importance of this case, members of the jury, lies in safeguarding our system of criminal justice. No system of criminal justice can function, certainly not function fairly and efficiently, without a profession of advocates who prosecute, or represent, those accused of criminal offences – just as Miss Worthington and I do in this case. His Honour will direct you about the law later in the case, and you must take the law from him, but I think I can safely tell you this much: that only properly qualified persons, almost always either barristers or solicitors, are allowed to appear as advocates in our courts. The law does not allow unqualified persons to do so, for obvious reasons. It would be too easy for defendants to be given bad legal advice; their cases would not be competently presented to the court; and there would be a risk of serious injustice.’

  The cynical part of me would love to add that these consequences sometimes occur even with some qualified barristers and solicitors I could name but, of course, I behave myself, and don’t even glance at the jury.

  ‘In this case, members of the jury, no one disputes that the defendant, Wilbraham Moffett, was not a qualified barrister or solicitor on the day in question. He worked as an outdoor clerk for a solicitor called Ellis Lamont. Despite the name, an outdoor clerk is someone who generally makes himself useful to the solicitor both in the office and running errands outside the office, for example going to court to file documents. Mr Moffett was working for Mr Lamont in that capacity while studying for a degree in law. It was his intention to become a solicitor in due course, members of the jury, but he was several years away from achieving that goal. You will also hear, members of the jury, that Mr Lamont was himself hardly a model solicitor. Indeed, he has since been struck off – in other words, he is no longer permitted to practise as a solicitor – though I hasten to add that that had nothing to do with the events with which you are concerned.’

  No, that had to do, as I have discovered from a page on the Law Society’s website, with some slight discrepancies in his clients’ trust accounts. But it is interesting that Aubrey mentions it. The nature of the defence begins to suggest itself, if not to the jury, certainly to me. It is not going to be insanity. It’s all going to be Mr Lamont’s fault. Susan would have never allowed Aubrey to open this to the jury otherwise. She would have objected to the evidence of his being struck off, and I would have had to agree with her. It would have been irrelevant and prejudicial. But she obviously wants the jury to know about it as soon as possible.

  ‘Mr Lamont, members of the jury, had a client by the name of Abdul Khan, who had been arrested on suspicion of supplying class A drugs, crack cocaine and heroin, and was due to appear at the Bermondsey Magistrates Court on the day you are concerned with. Mr Lamont had applied for legal aid on Mr Khan’s behalf, so that he could be represented, but legal aid had not yet been granted. Anything to do with legal aid, in the experience of those of us who practise regularly in the courts, often takes an inordinate amount of time to be approved.’

  Said with a slight overtone of bitterness, with which I fully sympathise, remembering all too well my own experience at the Ba
r of waiting endlessly to be paid for legal aid cases. I see Susan turn slightly towards the jury, nodding her agreement.

  ‘It is not surprising, therefore, that Mr Lamont was not in a position to proceed with Mr Khan’s case, and he needed to ask the District Judge to adjourn the case for a few days. There was nothing wrong with that, members of the jury, as long as Mr Lamont did so himself. He might well have made a bail application at the same time, because Mr Khan was in custody following his arrest. I should, perhaps, add, members of the jury, that a District Judge is a professional judge who sits in the Magistrates Court. I am sure you know that most magistrates are members of the public, such as yourselves, who have no legal training and serve without a salary. But in many courts now, there are also District Judges, who are legally qualified, and sit alone, and who have all the same powers as a bench of magistrates.’

  And who do not always exercise the same degree of common sense, I add in the privacy of my own mind.

  ‘Instead of attending court himself, members of the jury, Mr Lamont sent this defendant, his outdoor clerk Wilbraham Moffett, to the Bermondsey Magistrates Court with instructions to represent Mr Khan at his hearing, and to ask the District Judge, Mr James Tooley…’

  He is dying to say ‘Jungle Jim’, I know, because he and Susan have exchanged a grin which neither can quite hide.

  ‘…to grant an adjournment for seven days to allow legal aid to be granted. You will hear that the defendant complied with those instructions, even though they were quite improper, and, the Crown say, the defendant knew they were improper. You will hear that the defendant presented himself at the Magistrates Court dressed as a solicitor, wearing a smart suit and tie – as he is today; that he introduced himself to the court legal adviser and the usher; that he signed in as if he were a solicitor, so that his name appeared on the list of advocates given to the District Judge; that he took a seat in the row reserved for advocates; and that he addressed the District Judge as if he were a qualified solicitor, when Mr Khan’s case was called on. That, members of the jury, is known as exercising a right of audience. With the usher’s assistance I will now give you a copy of the indictment.’

  Dawn eagerly takes the copies and distributes them to the jury, one between two.

  ‘Fortunately, members of the jury, the District Judge became suspicious, for reasons you will hear in due course, and caused inquires to be made, with the result that the defendant was arrested. He was interviewed by the police under caution in the presence of a solicitor – not Mr Lamont, I hasten to add – and, as he was perfectly entitled to do, answered “no comment” to all questions put to him.’

  As a judge you sometimes pick up a certain lack of detail in parts of the prosecution’s opening, as if there is some uncertainty about quite how well that part of the case is going to go. Aubrey’s account of the events leading to Moffett’s arrest has been concise, to put it mildly. I am trying to picture the scene in court, and in Jungle Jim’s chambers, and it is difficult to picture from what little the jury have been told. But a ray of light is beginning to penetrate my mind about Jungle Jim’s involvement with this case, and I will await confirmation with interest.

  ‘But I anticipate, members of the jury, that the defendant will deny that he acted in the way the prosecution alleges. Now, finally, I must make it clear that the prosecution has the burden of proof in this case, if you are to convict. The prosecution brings this case, and the prosecution must prove it by calling evidence. What I or my learned friend may say is not evidence. The evidence comes from the witnesses who will give evidence, and the documents you will see. The defendant does not have to prove his innocence; indeed, he does not have to prove anything at all. We must prove the case so that you are sure of the defendant’s guilt before you can convict. If you are not sure – if, as we used to say in the old days…’

  I do wish counsel would stop referring to the time during which I used to practise as the ‘old days’.

  ‘…you have a reasonable doubt – then you must find the defendant not guilty. But the Crown say that the evidence will make you quite sure in this case, and that the appropriate verdict, once you have heard the evidence, will be one of guilty.’

  Aubrey turns towards me.

  ‘With your Honour’s leave, I will call my first witness, Kenneth Jessop.’

  Dawn escorts Kenneth Jessop to the witness box. He is not a tall man, but when he takes the oath he does so with the firm voice and erect posture of a former non-commissioned officer, which is indeed what he is.

  ‘Mr Jessop, please tell the jury what you do for a living.’

  ‘I am a court usher, sir.’

  ‘At the Bermondsey Magistrates Court?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And for how long have you been employed in that capacity?’

  ‘For twelve years, sir,’ Jessop replies proudly. ‘Ever since I was discharged from the Army with the rank of full corporal.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Aubrey continues. ‘Now, I am sure the jury will already have some idea of this, because of course we have an usher in this court too…’

  Unbidden, Dawn turns to give the jury a wave and a smile.

  ‘…but perhaps you could give the jury a brief idea of what your duties are as an usher in the Magistrates Court.’

  Jessop shakes his head.

  ‘There is quite a lot to it. Before court begins, I have to prepare the courtroom, put out water and glasses for the magistrates, the witnesses and the lawyers. Then I have to collect the list from the office and make sure it is put up outside each court, and one or two other places. Then I have to make sure all the lawyers sign in.’

  ‘Yes, I want to ask you about that,’ Aubrey says. ‘When you say “sign in”, what does that mean exactly?’

  ‘We ask all the lawyers who are appearing to sign a copy of the list, sir, so that the magistrates know who is representing the prosecution and the defence in each case. It is my job to make sure that they all sign in. Of course, most of them are regulars and you get to know the regulars, so once I see them and they tell me who they are representing I add the name to the list myself. But obviously, I don’t know them all, so I keep a look out for anyone acting like a lawyer – you can spot them a mile off once you get used to the job – and I ask them to sign in. Of course, some of the defendants are not represented, so it’s not every case that has someone signed in.’

  Aubrey nods.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Jessop. Now I want to take you back to the morning of the seventh of May last year. Do you remember that morning?’

  ‘I certainly do, sir.’

  ‘Let me ask you this first. Obviously, there is more than one courtroom at Bermondsey, and am I right in thinking that you would be assigned to a particular courtroom?’

  ‘Yes, sir. On this particular morning I was in court one.’

  ‘And who was due to preside in that court?’

  ‘The District Judge, sir, Mr Tooley. We had a bench of magistrates in court two, if I remember correctly, but Mr Tooley was in court one.’

  ‘What sort of list did you have?’

  Jessop gives a little snort.

  ‘It was a very busy morning, sir, more than fifty cases in the list, most of them quite short matters, overnight drunks and prostitution, a few bail applications, then a road traffic list. It was going to keep us busy, I can tell you.’

  He turns to Dawn.

  ‘I’m sure you have your busy days here, too.’

  ‘Oh, we do,’ Dawn replies. Carol, our court clerk, puts a finger to her lips, and Dawn looks at me and mouths ‘sorry’. The jury snigger.

  ‘Mr Jessop,’ Aubrey says, ‘if you would be kind enough to address yourself to the jury, rather than the usher…’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  ‘And if you would kindly look at this document.’

  Grateful for someth
ing to do to divert attention from her previous contribution to the proceedings, Dawn rushes to Aubrey, takes the document from his outstretched hand and scurries to the witness box. Jessop looks at it.

  ‘Do you recognise this?’

  ‘I do, sir. This is the list for the morning of the seventh of May last year.’

  ‘Exhibit one, your Honour?’

  I nod.

  ‘If you would look down the list, please. Is case number thirty-two the case of a defendant called Abdul Khan?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. Another document, please.’

  Dawn scurries again.

  ‘Do you recognise this?’

  ‘Yes, sir. This is a copy of my sign-in sheet for the same morning.’

  ‘So, that is a copy of the list on which there are some signatures?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And some entries in your handwriting, presumably the regulars. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Exhibit two, your Honour.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘Now, would you please look on Exhibit two for case number thirty-two. Is there any name written there for that case?’

  ‘There is, sir.’

  ‘Is the name in your handwriting, or someone else’s?’

  ‘It is the person’s handwriting, sir, not mine.’

  ‘And what name is it?’

  Jessop scrutinises it closely

  ‘It appears to be the name Wilb-something Moff-something, sir. It’s not very easy to read.’

  Susan springs to her feet.

  ‘There is no dispute about it, your Honour. It is the defendant’s name, and he signed the sheet.’

  ‘I am much obliged to my learned friend,’ Aubrey says. ‘Mr Jessop, was Mr Moffett one of your regulars?’