Laying down the law

So this is comparable Justice 2009? In my early days as a young reporter I attended Hendon Court three or four times a week and learned to look forward to the summing-up at the end of a case by the forthright chairman of the magistrates, Teddy Holt, a retired railway worker who lived a short walk away from the court in West Hendon.

He had a well-rehearsed routine for a law breaker. He would lean forward in the direction of the defendant, call him or her by their first name, then say that he had listened intently to what they had to say and was going to deal leniently with them.

Then, with the defendant relaxing and breathing an obvious sigh of relief, he would pause for dramatic effect before announcing .... "Six months" - the maximum in a local court.

One memorable reaction from a lady on hearing her sentence of three months was to rip the left side of her white blouse to expose her bra and shout at Teddy: "Take a running jump at this".

The clerk of the court, one Major E. R. Raymond-Bond, stood up and called on the police: "Take her down". The imperturbable Teddy added a quick footnote: "Make that six months".

You knew where you stood with Teddy. And with a latter day chairman named Eric Stitcher.

Eric, on remanding a defendant for reports, used to beam as he announced": "Don't forget to bring your toothbrush with you when you come back".

I will never forget my first day as a reporter. The editor instructed me to go to Hendon Court with a former Fleet Street member of staff, who used to carry a spare bottle of Guinness in his coat pocket and would have comfortably won Mastermind on a chosen subject of 'The hostelries of North Finchley".

I was instructed to sit quietly and take in the proceedings in the charges court. When the prosecution had presented their case my reaction was to send for Albert Pierrepoint, the renowned hangman of the day, to apply instant justice.

A short time later, after hearing the defence, I'd have given the chap in the dock a fiver from the Poor Box. Here ended my first lesson in journalism, one I never forgot ... there's always two sides to a story.

In those days London had three evening newspapers and an alert group of we eager-beaver reporters on the Times series ensured that they were updated on court days with news of who Teddy and Eric were sentencing. Hendon Court was second only to Bow Street for column inches from the courts.

We even covered speeding in those days, probably 60 at every hearing, and each and every one was recorded in the Times under a bright intro.

My father had a pal living in Edgware named Jimmy Cardash, who had a penchant for exceeding the speed limit.

He always made the intro in our paper and three or four times a year I used to earn 7s 6d from the Evening News for reporting the same paragraph: "A man called Cardash was fined £5 at Hendon Court today for speeding".

Happy days. One memorable Monday morning was when a defendant was asked if he wished to be represented by a solicitor. He seemed a bit bewildered.

The bearded reporter from the Wembley News sitting next to me on the Press seats leapt to his feet, saying: "I'll take this case".

He spoke eloquently for the defendant and got him acquitted. Instead of earning accolades from his newspaper rivals for his initiative all he got was: "What some people will do to get their names in the paper".

I gave evidence at Hendon Court and even appeared on the list once as a defendant on a driving offence. They pulled in a chairman from Wembley to deal with me as I was part of the fixtures and fittings.

In the lobby before the case I met Michael Sherrard, at that time courting a friend of mine who was later to become his wife. "I'll speak for you ", agreed the man who was destined to become one of the most famous (and expensive) of post-war QCs. What a result that was.

I like to think that speaking up for me was the basis of his subsequent fame and fortune.