Thousand, with their ladies legitimate and illicit fluttering fans, pink with the excitement of the occasion.
In the courtroom itself there was a certain amount of not so good-natured stamping, hissing and catcalling when Lord George Bentinck himself made his appearance. He was never popular with the mob. It was all an entertainment, you see. Was, and still is. And in those days you even had to pay to get in unless you were one of the principal actors in the drama, like me.
The old courts have gone now, but in those days the Exchequer was wider than the other designated rooms in Westminster Hall, and boasted tiered seats for counsel,witnesses and the public so all could obtain a good view of what was going on. I beat my way through the sweating, noisy crowd and took my seat beside Alexander Cockburn on the open, front row. I noted that the Solicitor General was already seated at the far end, poring over his brief, flanked by two junior counsel I vaguely recognized. Lord George Bentinck had taken a seat beside him. Baron le Tissier and Colonel Peel were seated stiffly in the row behind.
I’d arrived early because the benches allocated to the barristers employed were sometimes seized by idlers who were difficult to dislodge before the judge made his appearance on the bench. As it was, I’d been forced physically to eject one importunate , half-inebriated fellow who seemed to think he was in his rights, lounging on the bench with his half-soled boots on the table in front of him, before I could take my place. Bulstrode and one of his clerks were in the row just behind us.
I can still almost feel the way it was that day. There had been a late sitting the previous night: the air was still thick, odorous and musty and the dilapidated walls of the courtroom were damp. Mind you, I’ve seen the walls running with water on other occasions because the ventilation was so abominable, but by arriving early we were granted the leisure to inspect the dingy pictorial nudities which had been sketched on the peeling walls by bored witnesses, suitors or unemployed barristers the previous evening. Some of them were quite inventive, even to my experienced eye … it’s surprising what one could learn about life from the Exchequer Court walls. Though I have to say that the walls of the Old Bailey were even more instructive.
The courtroom filled up rapidly and the babble of noise was reaching a crescendo as the mob fought for the remaining seats. Like all the courts, the Exchequer was as I told you, a place of entertainment for the idle. And they knew
Wood v Peel
could well prove entertaining enough to the mob.
Baron Alderson took his seat on the Bench at precisely nineo’clock. He was a seasoned product of the Northern Circuit, a large, heavy man who gave the impression he was only half as pleased with himself as he had reason to be. He was a man of uncertain temper who was reputed to have a sense of humour. I never experienced it. Certainly, that morning he was clearly ill-tempered to a particular degree: his florid features were more flushed than usual and there was a malicious glitter in his eye. Bed bugs perhaps, or a female termagant with an even sharper bite. Rumour had it he was ruled by his wife, at home. He made up for that domestic humiliation in his courtroom by his treatment of counsel. His expression that morning made me feel the riding would be hard. Alderson was a strait-laced individual who was known to have little sympathy for or understanding of the sporting fraternity, and held decided, somewhat puritanical views about their reported behaviour.
Once the jostling on the benches had subsided the learned judge glowered around at his kingdom and invited Alexander Cockburn to open in
Wood v Peel
.
As always, my foxy little leader was clear, concise and relevant , indulged in no wild rhetoric, but he was so brief that I wondered whether he had another case pending elsewhere and was eager to get away. Even so the courtroom
In the courtroom itself there was a certain amount of not so good-natured stamping, hissing and catcalling when Lord George Bentinck himself made his appearance. He was never popular with the mob. It was all an entertainment, you see. Was, and still is. And in those days you even had to pay to get in unless you were one of the principal actors in the drama, like me.
The old courts have gone now, but in those days the Exchequer was wider than the other designated rooms in Westminster Hall, and boasted tiered seats for counsel,witnesses and the public so all could obtain a good view of what was going on. I beat my way through the sweating, noisy crowd and took my seat beside Alexander Cockburn on the open, front row. I noted that the Solicitor General was already seated at the far end, poring over his brief, flanked by two junior counsel I vaguely recognized. Lord George Bentinck had taken a seat beside him. Baron le Tissier and Colonel Peel were seated stiffly in the row behind.
I’d arrived early because the benches allocated to the barristers employed were sometimes seized by idlers who were difficult to dislodge before the judge made his appearance on the bench. As it was, I’d been forced physically to eject one importunate , half-inebriated fellow who seemed to think he was in his rights, lounging on the bench with his half-soled boots on the table in front of him, before I could take my place. Bulstrode and one of his clerks were in the row just behind us.
I can still almost feel the way it was that day. There had been a late sitting the previous night: the air was still thick, odorous and musty and the dilapidated walls of the courtroom were damp. Mind you, I’ve seen the walls running with water on other occasions because the ventilation was so abominable, but by arriving early we were granted the leisure to inspect the dingy pictorial nudities which had been sketched on the peeling walls by bored witnesses, suitors or unemployed barristers the previous evening. Some of them were quite inventive, even to my experienced eye … it’s surprising what one could learn about life from the Exchequer Court walls. Though I have to say that the walls of the Old Bailey were even more instructive.
The courtroom filled up rapidly and the babble of noise was reaching a crescendo as the mob fought for the remaining seats. Like all the courts, the Exchequer was as I told you, a place of entertainment for the idle. And they knew
Wood v Peel
could well prove entertaining enough to the mob.
Baron Alderson took his seat on the Bench at precisely nineo’clock. He was a seasoned product of the Northern Circuit, a large, heavy man who gave the impression he was only half as pleased with himself as he had reason to be. He was a man of uncertain temper who was reputed to have a sense of humour. I never experienced it. Certainly, that morning he was clearly ill-tempered to a particular degree: his florid features were more flushed than usual and there was a malicious glitter in his eye. Bed bugs perhaps, or a female termagant with an even sharper bite. Rumour had it he was ruled by his wife, at home. He made up for that domestic humiliation in his courtroom by his treatment of counsel. His expression that morning made me feel the riding would be hard. Alderson was a strait-laced individual who was known to have little sympathy for or understanding of the sporting fraternity, and held decided, somewhat puritanical views about their reported behaviour.
Once the jostling on the benches had subsided the learned judge glowered around at his kingdom and invited Alexander Cockburn to open in
Wood v Peel
.
As always, my foxy little leader was clear, concise and relevant , indulged in no wild rhetoric, but he was so brief that I wondered whether he had another case pending elsewhere and was eager to get away. Even so the courtroom
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