For The Tribune | March 31, 1968
''Politics", said Dr. Johnson, "is the last refuge of a scoundrel". In Punjab the study of law is often, the temporary refuge of students, who have been wash-outs in their academic careers. Men who have struggled through to a third and don't know what to do next, join law. It gives them time to think.
Some join to bury their heads in the sand for another three years. Much better to be perpetual school boys, with the parents providing the lollipops. Few join for a serious study of law with ambition to reach the Supreme Court. The university also more or less accepts this and tries to put up with the law students as best it can. The law students are the outcasts to be segregated in separate hostels lest they contaminate the main pedigree herd.
It reminds me of the treatment for the foot-and-mouth epidemic in England these days. Almost all strikes and agitations take birth in the inner sanctums of the law hostel. An uneasy peace often exists between the law and budding lawyers. Almost all agree that law students are in the university for purposes much loftier than those of mere learning.
Not so in Cambridge. The law Tripos is as respectable a course of study as any. The faculty contains some of the most famous legal brains of the world. The students are equal to the best, and all serious about reaching the Woolsack.
* * *
The other day I had a chance to see how seriously law students are taken in Cambridge. The law society arranges a mock trial in the Guildhall. The town clerk agreed to be the presiding judge. I found a place in the jury. Student lawyers were given a case to prepare a week before the trial. The prosecuting council happened to be from my college and for many days before the trial, afternoon coffee was ruined by tedious discussions of the medico-legal aspects of the case. The prosecutor even discussed the case with a university authority on drugs. No doubt his opponent was doing the same. For D-day my friend borrowed a wig and gown from Mr. Gooderson I.C.S., a law lecturer who was judge in Ambala in the twenties.
We assembled at 8 p.m. in the lovely oak-panelled court room of the Guildhall. The jury of 12 ordinary citizens took their place in the box. The opposing council looking grand and scholarly in their white wigs and gowns came in, followed by a formidable collection of marked law books. The public galleries were full of law students. At 8-15 his lordship entered the Court.
* * *
We all rose. The judge bowed gravely and took the chair. With a gentle tape of the gavel he boomed "Bring in the defendant". A young woman was led in and placed in the prisoner's box. The clerk of the court–another student–then solemnly read the charges. Briefly she–Joan Ashley–was accused of attempting to murder her lover Jaques and of actually murdering Brown. She pleaded Not Guilty.
Then my friend the prosecuting counsel gave the jury a narrative of the facts she was going to prove. Jaques had been Joan Ashley's lover for about three years and had promised to marry her. Lately he had taken up with another girl with the evocative name of Molly Lushbloom. On the 24th September Jaques went to a party with Molly. Joan was present but he ignored her. She expressed her anger in a letter to her friend Shirley. On the 28th Shirley gave a party at which Jaques humiliated Joan in Molly's presence. Joan got enraged, prepared coffee, to which she added sleeping pills and offered it to Jaques. But before Jaques could take it, Brown who was drunk grabbed the cup and drank it ... Soon after Brown collapsed and died in an hospital.
There was, however, a complication. When Brown fell he cut himself on the forehead. The doctor
first treated this injury and gave an Anti-Tetanus injection. He then discovered the poisoning and proceeded
to treat it. Brown also developed symptoms of anophelectic shock and died within five minutes. The question was, did he die of poisoning or of the injection.
A tricky case, indeed.
* * *
Finally, His Lordship summed up the points for discussion. It was 11 p.m. by then, and his lordship threatened to lock up the jury for the night unless they returned a unanimous verdict within five minutes. We discussed the case, all conscious of, but determined not to be swayed by the beauty of Joan Ashley, though some hoped for a date with her later. We were back in five minutes led by the foreman.
His Lordship asked: "Gentlemen of the jury, have you considered your verdict"? ''Yes, my Lord. We have. And we find Joan Ashley guilty of the attempted murder of George Brown".
His lordship chewed on this for a moment and then pronounced the sentence. "I direct you Joan Ashley to repair to the nearest pub with your counsel and have the largest glass of beer available".
At 11-30 p.m., I walked home down the quite lanes of Cambridge. It had been an enjoyable evening. And so instructive. The study of law was indeed a serious business in Cambridge.
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