I have to accept that I was, when younger, a very earnest young man. I was also pretty gullible which made it difficult for new colleagues to resist sending me out for the proverbial pot of “elbow grease” or tin of “rainbow paint”. I was sure from a disturbingly early age that I wanted to be a lawyer so when I was 17 I signed up to work as an intern in a local law firm over the summer vacation. Mostly what I did was water plants and photocopy documents but every now and again a partner would take me along to see a case in court to further my education a little.
One morning the head of the Criminal Law department came into the airless cubby hole they had me sat in and invited me to come along to Colchester Magistrate’s Court with him. I was thrilled. As we strolled there I tried my best to impress. In retrospect I fully realise how irritating that must have been. He had a couple of cases on that morning and I sat and watched his cheerful and engaging advocacy whilst sat in my Mister Byrite suit sombrely making notes. Halfway through the morning a note was passed to him and he turned to me.
“One of my regular clients has been arrested. Go to the office, get a legal aid form and then go down to see her. Get her to sign the form, find out why she has been arrested and come and report back to me.”
The glamour nearly overwhelmed me. The excitment! I rushed to the office and sprinted down to the police station. I announced myself, gave the client’s name and was handed over to a friendly WPC who advised me gravely:
“We’ve done her for unpaid prostitution fines and there’s a van on the way down from Holloway Prison to pick her up. Be careful in there, she’s been a bit lairy.”
She then put the key into the big brass lock on the pale green steel door and opened it just enough to allow me to squeeze in. The cell was small and lined with white Victorian glazed bricks. The glaze had been picked at, cracked and scratched away by the inmates. A small high window let a few crepuscular rays in through tiny panes that looked like nicotine-stained teeth. Down one side of the room ran a heating pipe and on the other was a low wooden platform upon which sat my new client. My preconceptions of prostitutes had been formed by watching films and I had half expected a woman with a heart of gold wearing a bustle and bonnet. Instead, I found an obese woman with lank hair wearing an enormous grey shirt and, so far as I could tell, nothing else.
I introduced myself and explained about the form. “Sit down next to me dear” she said, her eyes fixed on my trembling teenage person. “No, no I’ll be fine here” I said and sat down on the heating pipe. For some reason it had not occurred to me that the heating pipe might be hot. It was like a branding iron and I popped straight up with a grimace. She tapped the platform with her palm patiently and I sat down next to her. From what I could tell from close up it had been a while since she had last bathed and I was finding it very difficult to see what erotic power she was capable of exercising but she seemed friendly and was remarkably relaxed about her impending trip to jail. I completed the form, hammered on the door and ran back to court.
When I explained her situation the partner asked: “Did you pay her fines then?”
“Er … no … should I have?”
“Of course, now she’s going to go to prison and it’s all your fault”
“Oh … look .. I’m really sorry … what should I do?”
“Go get the money from the firm and get her out”
I had to say I was quite surprised at this instruction. I had not understood paying fines to be a service solicitors offered but it seemed humane and I was awash with guilt at the thought of my client’s imminent incarceration. I knew I didn’t have long. I sprinted to the accounts department. I knew the ladies working there well having done a couple of days of data-entry for them.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but it is very urgent. I have to get a check for £400 immediately”.
“Why love?”
“[The Partner] wants it. If I don’t get it someone is going to jail in less than an hour”.
They seemed impressed by my vehemence. I couldn’t tell them who to make it out to so they trusted me with a blank cheque. But I needed it signed. No time to waste. I ran to the property department which was nearest and shoved the cheque under the nose of the deputy senior partner – a conveyancer with no experience of criminal law. He seemed sceptical about the good sense of the course of action upon which I had embarked. For my part I could not believe his foolishness. He was trifling with the liberty of a client by his humming and hawing. I fixed him with a look and told him that the Criminal Partner had insisted that this be done and that time was short. He sighed and said “OK” and then, pausing momentarily,  he signed. I took the cheque and ran back to court just to check with the Partner that this was indeed what he wanted to do. However, he had gone to Norwich Prison to see another client.
Off I set, tie flapping over my shoulder and ran into the police station and up to the desk.
“Can I help you young man?” I was immediately conscious of the Desk Sergeant’s patronising tone. I thought it unnecessary. I was there on official business and I needed him to take me seriously. “Is she still here?” I demanded. He nodded.
“Here is a cheque in respect of her fines, please be good enough to release her”.
He stared at me. “Do what?”
“Release her. She has been arrested for unpaid fines I am here to pay them”. I was brimful of self-importance.
“You are here to pay them?” He asked superfluously. He really was being infuriatingly slow when at any moment my client could be bundled into the back of a van and driven off. The Sergeant went off to have a chat with a more senior officer and then made a call to the Chief Constable’s office. “Yes” he said “we know the firm. Yes, very reputable. No, never done this before. OK will do.”
He informed me that whilst this seemed highly irregular they had been specifically authorised to take the cheque. Two minutes later I was engulfed in a crushing and noisome hug. My client was very pleased to be free and thanked me over and over. She took my hand and told me that there was a new regiment due into town that weekend and that she was confident she would have the money by the following Monday. That struck me as a rather ticklish issue ethically so I wished her well and made off. Back at the office I went to sit with the Family Law Partner in order to look at some papers, chuffed to bits at what I had done. I couldn’t wait to speak to the Criminal partner to let him know how I had handled it.
It seems he was equally keen to speak to me and he called the office and was put through.
“Moobs, did you pay off the prostitute’s fines?”
“Yes of course”
“Ha ha, of course. Did you pay in cash? Ha hahaha”
“No I got a cheque from accounts”
“Ha ha good one. Well done for having a sense of humour about it.”
“About what?”
“You know, my little joke”
“Er … I got a cheque from accounts and paid her fines. She’s free”
“Yes , haha. Look … er … hang on … did you really … er”
“I got a cheque from …”
“Oh FUCKING HELL!”
