My clients were sanguine about the almost inevitable result of their cases. Magistrates, both lay and stipendiary, believed ‘our’ police and it was a tricky line to walk not to upset them when the guilty verdict was to be followed by a plea in mitigation. In those days, for example, a second conviction for a theft from a shop – no longer, it seems, an offence – resulted in a fortnight inside.
The prize to be sought was bail. Just as before a holiday the prudent householder cancelled delivery of the papers and milk, so the criminal wanted to make sure there was money available and his wife was looked after while he was on the Isle of Wight. And ‘looked after’ had a number of meanings, ranging from money in the purse to a minder to ensure she did not stray. Getting bail was a work of art. There were no rules.
Sometimes the magistrates wanted to hear the police objections first. These might be made on oath. Sometimes cross-examination was allowed. Some wanted the defence to make its application first so the police could sandbag them in reply. Sometimes sureties could be called during the application, though not always.
Very often bail could be worked out in matron’s room over tea and a sarnie. ‘Don’t apply this week and I won’t oppose next.’ Sometimes the client’s friends had squared things already. ‘He’s sweet as a nut, Mr M. Ask him anything you want.’ And sometimes wires were crossed.
I remember one afternoon at the old North London when things went astray. ‘He’s a married man, officer?’ ‘No, he’s living with a woman.’ ‘This is long-standing?’ ‘No, he’s only just moved in.’ ‘They have two children?’ ‘They are hers not his.’ And so it went on.
I did have one card to play. Years ago a client had jumped off Brighton Pier to save a woman from drowning and had a certificate to prove it, although the cognoscenti thought that, with her consent, he’d thrown her off first. The bench began to beam. How could anyone so brave break his word and abscond? I don’t know how many times I waved that tattered piece of paper about.
James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor
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