Court up in the drama

I'm in court again. No, no, it's not what you think. I'm here with my BBC News hat on, sitting in the press or public gallery, trying not to stare too intently at the accused in the dock. Court rooms are funny old places. It’s always a bit like being at the theatre; you arrive in good time, take your seats and wait for the action to begin in the form of the practised double knock and then the command “all rise!” as the judge sweeps majestically in. Seats are re-taken and the drama unfolds. Most of the courts I’ve been to are hermetically sealed boxes into which natural daylight is forbidden to penetrate and even everyday sounds like traffic, phones ringing and snatches of conversation are absent. The gentle hum of the air conditioning provides the backdrop to the voices that narrate the story. It’s very easy to lose track of time once inside; all the easier I suppose to surrender oneself to the tale being acted out in which everyone has a defined role. I, of course, form part of the audience. I’m not permitted to participate, interrupt or draw attention to myself in any way. Mobile phones, naturally, must be switched to silent. The barristers are the leading men and ladies, well-rehearsed and word perfect, eager for their moment to stand up and speak convincingly to the court. The jury playing the part of the chorus, lend the proceedings a Greecian element of tragedy as they glide in and out, stage right, moving as one at the appointed moments, occasionally passing a note to the judge questioning, probing, submitting careful queries to hold the rest of the court to account. Witnesses make cameo appearances, sometimes mentioned so often in other evidence, the anticipation of actually seeing them in the flesh and, gasp, hearing them speak, is nearly overwhelming. The judge, is of course, the director, sitting up on high, centre stage, elevated, lit, separate, controlling procedures from above, ably assisted by his charming stage hands, the ushers, who ensure that everything runs to plan. The hapless defendant sitting stage left, safely contained behind the glass of the dock, is undoubtedly the baddie of the piece. Watching how they react to evidence from various witnesses and more interestingly, how certain witnesses feel brave enough to eyeball them furiously from the safety of the stand, gives a real insight into the case. Props are deployed when necessary, occasionally one suspects, more for dramatic effect rather than to back up the evidence. Am I ever able to predict the outcome? Sometimes, rather pleasingly yes. The whisper of “verdicts, they have verdicts” ripples like a stiff breeze through the waiting hacks, some of whom have attended every day to report on a trial that may have lasted weeks or indeed months. Waiting for the jury members to come back with their decision reminds me of waiting to give birth. You know it’s going to happen, you know that logically it HAS to happen, but you have absolutely no control over when and it can be a bit of a bore just sitting around waiting. When I’m covering a trial, once that jury has been sent out to begin deliberations, it’s as if my life is suddenly temporarily, on hold. I can’t move too far away from the court, even nipping out for a bit of fresh air is risky as they may come back at any time. I can’t move onto another story as by now, too much time and too many resources have been put towards covering this verdict. The court tannoy, as indistinct as it’s humanly possible to be, (honestly railway stations and airports have nothing on this), crackles into life every few minutes and your ears strain for a mention of “your” courtroom. I’ve been doing this job full time since January and have so far been privy to a paedophile case where the evidence was so disturbing that afterwards the judge exempted the jury from further service for fifteen years, the longest he could give. A GBH case in which the victim was scarred for life was distressing too, especially when, after the defendant was found guilty, the poor victim ran from the courtroom in tears having sat through four weeks of having their life laid bare. It was something of a relief to cover a good old fashioned case of theft; the defendant walked free from that one, contrary to everyone’s expectations. I now have that particular defence barrister on speed-dial as if I’m ever in the dock myself, I want him on my side! By Easter when my contract comes to an end, I’ll be putting all this behind me and will attempt to morph seamlessly back in to my ‘normal’ life which is a mixture of freelance journalism, writing, kids, taekwondo and the odd building project. It’s a strange existence being a Courts Producer and I’ll miss it.