London's Legal System in 1900

Arthur H. Beavan had this to say in Imperial London, published in 1901, about the legal systems and institutions of London:

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A fatality seems to attend every attempt to design a group of Law Courts that shall be acoustically perfect, properly ventilated, and at the same time comfortable and commodious; and it is doubtful if, after all, the new ones are much of an improvement on the old.

Two good results, however, have arisen from the opening of the new courts, viz., the sweeping away of several acres of filthy poverty-stricken tenements, and the concentration under one roof of the various branches of the Supreme Court.

The new Bankruptcy Court, a building of plain exterior, but light, airy, and comparatively commodious, is practically within the area of the Courts of Justice. The Ecclesiastical Courts remain in the neighbourhood of St. Paul's Cathedral; and the Appellate Tribunal, the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, the House of Lords, continue as formerly.

There was a period, not so long ago, when barristers and solicitors wasted their time, or that of their clients, in going from one court to another, the result being endless delay, and consequent piling up of costs.

Except at Westminster they were scattered about in all kinds of out-of-the-way places.

At Doctors' Commons were the Courts of Arches and of Probate, the Consistory Court of the Bishop of London, and the High Court of Admiralty, housed, as David Copperfield discovered, in large dull rooms, where usually some owl-like old gentleman presided over sundry learned Doctors-at-law, arrayed in red robes and grey wigs, seated in horse-shoe order on easy antique dining­room chairs.

Further east, at Guildhall, were the City Courts.

In Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, was the court for Insolvent Debtors.

The Courts of Equity, i.e. the Lord Chancellor's and the Vice-Chancellor's, were at Lincoln's Inn, and the Master of the Rolls ruled supreme in Rolls Yard, Chancery Lane.

There were, besides, sundry chambers, as at Serjeants' Inn, where Judges sat to issue committal, and other important "orders."

At Westminster, where, for eight hundred years past, courts of law had been held, were various halls of justice, all of them unsuited to the ever-increasing requirements of the world's capital, indeed, in many respects hardly differing from the Court of King's Bench (temp. Charles II) as described in Lorna Doone by simple-minded John Ridd:

"The chamber was not very large, though lofty to my eyes, and dark, with wooden panels round it. At the further end were some raised seats, such as I had seen in churches, lined with velvet, and having broad elbows, and a canopy over the middle seat. There were only three men sitting here, one in the centre, and one on each side; and all three were done up wonderfully with fur, and robes of state, and curls of thick grey horse-hair crimped and gathered, and plaited down to the shoulders. Each man had an oak desk before him, set at a little distance, and spread with pens and paper."

Dark, and already dingy, the result of London fog, the central hall, or huge vestibule, approached from the Strand, is unimposing and disappointing, and fully merits the description of it given by a well-known writer: "a stone hall immensely long, immensely high, and ridiculously narrow in its proportions."

All the Courts are above the level of the central hall, gained from it by contracted staircases and corridors, along which all who are interested in the different cases, as plaintiff, defendant, etc, must pass.

Strait is not the gate, but narrow indeed is the way that here leads to justice!

A description of one Court will serve equally well for all, though some are slightly more draughty, or more unskilfully ventilated than others.

From all alike comes the periodical wail against the architect, who, although he designed a really noble edifice of a Composite order, resembling the ancient Flemish, and containing with its eastern wing for registrars, masters, etc, over one thousand rooms, planned them in a mean and shabby style, unsuited to the dispensation of justice, and already inadequate for the ever-increasing requirements of litigious Britain.

English jurisprudence has been largely reformed, and the judicature Act has created almost a revolution in legal procedure since Queen Victoria ascended the throne, but very few changes have taken place in the general appearance and personality of a civil tribunal.

There are no Serjeants-at-law, the last of the rank and file of the ancient order of the coif, Mr. Serjeant Spinks, Q.C., having died in 1899; but the K.C.'s "silk" still occupy the front row of seats facing the Judges, while the gentlemen in stuff gowns are accommodated in the rear.

From a bench in a space below the level of the barristers, still called the "well" of the Court, the attorneys continue when necessary to whisper instructions to their counsel, and there occasionally sit their clients, as did Mr. Pickwick during the hearing of the immortal Bardell v. Pickwick case.

One notable change, however, there is: no mere spectators are allowed in the body of the Court, but are relegated to the gallery.

The witness-boxes still retain their resemblance to railed-in pulpits; the jury are still cooped up in the most uncomfortable kind of pews that the wit of man can devise.

At the opening of the Courts, the Judges, bewigged and robed, emerge from little doors at the side of the dais, and take their seats beneath an emblazoned canopy, "all ranged a terrible show"; their benches being specially protected from errant currents of air by a complicated system of screens and curtains.

In a little pew, with note-books before them, sit a group of individuals easily recognizable as reporters to the press, but, unlike the shabby gentlemen of a similar profession described by Dickens as generally neither neat about the cuffs or buttons, there is nothing in their dress or personal appearance to differentiate them from other people.

Electric light has, however, taken the place of oil-lamps, candles, or gas that once served only to accentuate the gloom of a November day; but whether, as the late G. A. Sala maintained, the amalgamated effluvium of stuff gowns, mouldy parchments, calf­bound law-books, and horse-hair wigs, is still an unmistakable characteristic of law courts, is a point every visitor must decide for himself.

The Judges have a quiet and comfortable entrance of their own in Carey Street, and robing-rooms and private apartments, where during the luncheon interval they can enjoy the traditional chop and glass or two of dry sherry, and refresh themselves for further labours.

Their working hours are said to average twenty-eight and a half in a week, and those who are aware of the very onerous and trying nature of judicial duties would hardly desire to increase them.

We also have it on the authority of Mr. Justice Bucknill, that although he was not sorry to be a Judge, "it was a rather dreary life."

Thus, we can understand the glee with which His Majesty's Judges welcome the little break in the monotony of the Trinity term afforded in June by their annual trip down the river to eat the traditional whitebait dinner at the Ship Tavern at a time of year when that delectable little fish is at its best.

But all the world knows that a Greenwich dinner is not confined to whitebait, and that ducklings and green peas are generally included, and that in hot weather, the "Ship's" famous iced punch is exceedingly pleasant and seductive.

October 24, the opening-day of the legal year, is marked by imposing ceremonies, when after special service at the Abbey, the Lord Chancellor gives a breakfast at the House of Lords to the Judges and the K.C.'s, after which the dignified company proceed to the Courts of Justice, into whose central hall they enter in solemn procession between rows of spectators largely composed of ladies, who with their friends cheer their favourite Judge or barrister; a very interesting sight, and one that should not be missed by the sojourner in London.

On New Year's Day, also, there is a stir and bustle in the Palace of justice, when the new King's Counsel rush from Court to Court to be called within the bar, "bobbing" themselves out again with great alacrity.

Again, on the first Sunday of the Trinity term, according to a very ancient custom, His Majesty's Judges attend St. Paul's Cathedral in state, for the afternoon service, when they are received by the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and Aldermen in their robes.

Escorted by the City Marshal and the sword and mace-bearers, the procession, viewed by an enormous congregation, moves up to the Choir from the great door, and the sonorous-phrased old-fashioned "bidding prayer" precedes the sermon.

Next: London's Legal System in 1900: Some amusing Breach of Promise cases.