Muscroft. He came from Huddersfield but for some mysterious reason had sought a pupillage on our side of the Pennines. We thought he was quite a guy because his father was the manager of the Huddersfield Transport Undertaking and had his name on the side of every Huddersfield bus. Muscroft was given a voluminous set of papers by a solicitor friend and was asked to advise in a dispute arising out of a contract for the sale of a large quantity of cloth. Muscroft nursed and cosseted these papers like a mother might a newborn child. Each morning he undid the red tape, glanced at one of the 100 or so exhibits, sighed deeply and retied the tape. At eleven o’clock when coffee was served for those not lucky enough to be in court he walked round chambers with his baby seeking advice on the multifarious problems thrown up by the case; and advice, most of it contradictory, was always forthcoming– advice in enormous quantities given from the depths of our ignorance . In the afternoon, after many lunchtime libations, Muscroft would set to work on the papers but soon felt obliged to have a nap after which it was time to catch the train back to Huddersfield. In this leisurely fashion many weeks passed, but then Randall the clerk began to relay disturbing news. The solicitors were asking when the opinion would be ready.
On the scene at this stage came the great Neville Laski – a very senior member of the bar, a Silk and the recorder of Burnley. Muscroft was due to spend that night in Manchester attending Bar Mess, and over the second decanter of port he told Laski that he was rather over-burdened at that particular time by a complex set of papers involving a cotton contract. Laski said that he had spent much of his life at the Bar doing commercial cases and he would call round at chambers at nine the following morning to give his help. At nine prompt he arrived, picked up the papers, undid the red ribbon, affected to peruse the instructions to counsel and cried: ‘Fetch a stenographer.’ A shorthand typist appeared and Laski proceeded to dictate a long opinion. The only trouble was that when it was typed up and passed around chambers the unanimous view was that it was utter rubbish from start to finish. Poor Muscroft’s efforts had been in vain, the port had been drunk for nothing and the hangover contracted to no benefit. He dolefully replaced the ribbon round the papers, put them at the back of his desk and went off for a drink.
Appearing before Laski at Burnley Quarter Sessions was a sobering experience. Mr Foulds, the prosecuting solicitor, sat at the table below Laski alongside the clerk and as each old lag appeared in the dock Laski asked Foulds to read from a scrap book the report in the Burnley Express of the man’s last appearance, including , of course, the comments made by the recorder in passing sentence:
In sentencing Smith to five years imprisonment the recorder Mr Neville Laski QC said: ‘I am treating you with great leniency today but the time is drawing near when the public will have to be protected from your depredations, and if you ever darken these doors again you cannot expect the sort of extreme leniency you are receiving today. Condign punishment will be your lot.’
Nursing my first brief at Burnley Sessions I heard this exchange: ‘John Smith you heard what I said when you last stood in that dock. You are a menace to society and you’ll go to preventive detention for eight years.’ ‘But, Mr Laski, I’ve got cancer and I’ll never live that long.’ Laski: ‘Well, do your best. Do your best.’
Everybody in our chambers lived in terror of being dispatched to the Court of Appeal, the Divisional Court or the Court of Criminal Appeal at a moment’s notice having been handed what was known as a return from another set of chambers. This fate had actually befallen Kenneth Taylor in our chambers. He had been told at five in the evening that the following morning he was to appear in the Divisional
On the scene at this stage came the great Neville Laski – a very senior member of the bar, a Silk and the recorder of Burnley. Muscroft was due to spend that night in Manchester attending Bar Mess, and over the second decanter of port he told Laski that he was rather over-burdened at that particular time by a complex set of papers involving a cotton contract. Laski said that he had spent much of his life at the Bar doing commercial cases and he would call round at chambers at nine the following morning to give his help. At nine prompt he arrived, picked up the papers, undid the red ribbon, affected to peruse the instructions to counsel and cried: ‘Fetch a stenographer.’ A shorthand typist appeared and Laski proceeded to dictate a long opinion. The only trouble was that when it was typed up and passed around chambers the unanimous view was that it was utter rubbish from start to finish. Poor Muscroft’s efforts had been in vain, the port had been drunk for nothing and the hangover contracted to no benefit. He dolefully replaced the ribbon round the papers, put them at the back of his desk and went off for a drink.
Appearing before Laski at Burnley Quarter Sessions was a sobering experience. Mr Foulds, the prosecuting solicitor, sat at the table below Laski alongside the clerk and as each old lag appeared in the dock Laski asked Foulds to read from a scrap book the report in the Burnley Express of the man’s last appearance, including , of course, the comments made by the recorder in passing sentence:
In sentencing Smith to five years imprisonment the recorder Mr Neville Laski QC said: ‘I am treating you with great leniency today but the time is drawing near when the public will have to be protected from your depredations, and if you ever darken these doors again you cannot expect the sort of extreme leniency you are receiving today. Condign punishment will be your lot.’
Nursing my first brief at Burnley Sessions I heard this exchange: ‘John Smith you heard what I said when you last stood in that dock. You are a menace to society and you’ll go to preventive detention for eight years.’ ‘But, Mr Laski, I’ve got cancer and I’ll never live that long.’ Laski: ‘Well, do your best. Do your best.’
Everybody in our chambers lived in terror of being dispatched to the Court of Appeal, the Divisional Court or the Court of Criminal Appeal at a moment’s notice having been handed what was known as a return from another set of chambers. This fate had actually befallen Kenneth Taylor in our chambers. He had been told at five in the evening that the following morning he was to appear in the Divisional
Similar Books
