Wig Betrayed by Charles Courtley Page A

walk to the law courts from Pall Mall but as it was raining I attempted to catch a cab, but without success. So I set off for Piccadilly Circus to get the tube instead. The problem was that midway between Embankment and Temple stations, the train broke down in the tunnel and there we remained for nearly an hour.
    I didn’t know this particular Lord Chief Justice – Lord Macfellon – but just hoped and prayed he was not similar to one of his predecessors, Lord Flaggett, who had been renowned for his intolerance, amongst other vices.
    On arrival in the anteroom of the judges’ chambers, I began to babble an apology to the clerk who stopped me in my tracks.
    â€œDon’t worry, sir, you’re not the only one that’s been caught up in the tube. The chief’s here though – on his own at the moment – and will see you straightaway.”
    Lord Macfellon was the absolute opposite to his predecessor. Tall and quietly spoken, he ushered me to a chair. I was about to begin my tale when to my consternation the other judges trooped in. Hurriedly, I rose to leave.
    â€œNo need, no need, my dear chap.” The chief said, waving me back to my chair. “You are a judge, after all – might be interesting for you to see how we deal with our business. We’ll just finish discussing the case in hand and then you can tell me more about your problem if you like.”
    Now I found myself sitting in the middle of the three Court of Appeal judges, soaking up the atmosphere. The morning light filtered through the small, square panes of the window softly lighting up the beautifully carved woodwork of the room. What a privilege to be sitting inside the magnificent Gothic building which houses the Supreme Court of Judicature!
    Lord Macfellon introduced me to the others who glanced at me curiously. It was obvious that they had no idea why I was there. The chief now cleared his throat and indicated that they should simply continue with their discussions despite my presence.
    â€œWell, the authorities are all in the appellant’s favour. We should simply quash the conviction in my view,” one of them said.
    His colleague countered, “I couldn’t disagree more – this is a case where commonsense should apply rather than a strict analysis of the law.”
    Macfellon sighed.
    â€œWhich leaves me with the casting vote, gentlemen. Justice must be seen to be done, however. The conviction can’t stand.”
    The matter settled, their lordships trooped back into court leaving me alone for a moment. Minutes later, the chief returned unaccompanied.
    â€œThe others are in their rooms, reading the papers in the next case which I’ve dealt with before so we have time for a chat. As you know, Rex has already told me about your problem.”
    â€œOh, I hope you don’t think I’m imposing on you...”
    â€œNot for a moment. Indeed, I have already formed a strong view from what I’ve been told. The General’s complaint and investigations by the Army Board are quite unwarrented. It’s an utter disgrace that you’ve been stopped from sitting and I regard that as deliberate interference with the independence of the judiciary so quite intolerable.”
    â€œYou mean that...”
    â€œI mean that you’ll be back on the bench next week. I’ve spoken to the Lord Chancellor who told the Prime Minister the same thing. Moreover, the former has instructed the Judge Advocate General to reinstate you immediately...”
    This had been no thanks to Binden but, at least, he had been instrumental in having Roland Gafford’s conviction quashed by order of the Sovereign, and, in due course, Roland sent me a note of thanks.
    â€˜I’m so glad that my name had been cleared at long last, but as you can imagine the taste of bitterness is bound to remain. However, if you hadn’t spotted the medal nothing would ever have happened in the first place and