A Life of Crime: The Memoirs of a High Court Judge. Harry Ognall

the passing of the Courts Act of 1971, appointment to the office was at the instance of the Lord Chancellor’s Department (now the Ministry of Justice). When, in 1972, Assizes and Quarter Sessions were replaced by Crown Courts, many suitably experienced barristers – juniors or Silks – were appointed Recorders on a nationwide basis (I suppose they would have numbered around 300). Their jurisdiction was much the same as that I have just described. Hence I found myself faced with trying alleged crime up to a very serious level (for example, causing serious bodily harm with intent, an offence carrying a maximum sentence of fourteen years’ imprisonment). It was part-time, although there was an obligation to sit for at least four weeks per year. Generally, we sat on the circuit of which we were a member. In my case, however, for my first sitting in 1972 I was dispatched to Liverpool, where I sat in a building in Nelson Street, an adjunct to the main court premises in the grand St George’s Hall. It was a memorable time for me, and not solely because it was my first sitting as a Recorder.

      Two years later, Edward Heath, as Prime Minister, was to call a general election in a desperate effort to put an end to the industrial strife that was paralysing the country’s industry. He was rash enough to take as his rallying cry the question ‘Who governs Britain?’ Well before then, the mineworkers, led by Arthur Scargill, had given him a resounding answer. They pulled the plug. For two weeks of winter in that dingy courtroom in Liverpool, we sat by candlelight. Heath lost the next election.

      Most of that, my first sitting as an officially appointed judge, was occupied with a trial in which the defendant was represented by Rose Heilbron QC. An able, attractive and charming lady from Liverpool, she would become only the second of her sex to be appointed to the High Court. I came to know her and her delightful husband very well, when later each of us became Masters of the Bench at Gray’s Inn. I was very relieved to learn that after her client’s conviction she did not seek to challenge either my summing up or the sentence I had passed. Not that it should have mattered to me, or to any judge in the same position, but still, as a new boy …

      One other case in those days served as a timely warning about the dangers of what the Bar knows well as ‘Judgeitis’. It is when someone finds the bench an increasingly suitable vehicle for pomposity, or worse. In this instance, I was to sit with two lay magistrates (as sometimes happened). The case involved an appeal against the refusal by a chief officer of police of an application to renew a firearms certificate. The issue raised was purely a matter of law. In those circumstances, the matter was solely for me to decide, as the legally qualified member of the troika. The magistrates could play no part. After the arguments were concluded, we adjourned so that I could consider my ruling. I carefully prepared a written one. As no more than a courtesy to the two magistrates, I showed it to them before we went back into court. It transpired that one of them was a school headmaster. ‘Well, sir,’ he said to me, ‘of course I can say nothing about the legal correctness of your ruling, but your grammar is very poor.’ Enough said.