Two cases have caught my attention in the past few weeks. The first is that of a girl allegedly raped at the age of 13 who will have to wait another nine months before her case can be heard – which will be three years since the attack. Listed in early June, the case will now be heard in March 2023. The reason (in part) for the delay seems that there is no ‘suitable’ judge to hear it. How can this possibly be? And what is a ‘suitable’ judge? How can we know if one will be available in March, or have they already been booked?
The other case is of an alleged murder. It seems the case can only be run as accident or self-defence, mistaken identity or on mental health grounds. How can this take three weeks, the time allotted for the trial?
I know that as one gets older, the past gets rosier, but one thing is certain – justice was swifter years ago.
Back in the 1960s, the Old Bailey had eight courtrooms and even multi-handed cases came on for trial within a month. When Ronald Marwood was accused of killing a police officer in a brawl in North London on 14 December 1958 his case was expedited rapidly. He was not arrested until the end of January 1959, by which time a number of men had already been committed for trial for affray. Their trial took place in the February. Marwood’s trial began on 18 March and, appeals over, he was hanged on 8 May. Today, he’d probably still be on police bail awaiting charges to be preferred.
Have judges lost control of the way cases are conducted? Are today’s advocates (when not on strike) capable of conducting trials? How can a shoplifting case take over a day? How can juries take so long to reach a verdict? Why, apart from exceptional cases, can’t defendants be sentenced straight away?
The answer may lie in another Royal Commission, but that will merely be an excuse to do nothing for years. Meanwhile, I recall a brave advocate, applying for bail, who was asked what change there had been in circumstances. ‘Seven: Monday, Tuesday…’ he replied. That soon changed to ‘June, July, August…’ Now it will be ‘2022, 2023, 2024…’.
James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor
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