SOCIETY TODAY

Ordeal by jury

Michael Stourton

After each battle, I've read, the survivors begin to think the bullets aren't meant for them. By the same kind of token I, too, thought I was safe. It-was fairly easy to imagine that the officials who control these things had placed a tiny asterisk against my name, based on a secret survey, and on sound sense no doubt, denoting fundamental unsuitability to judge one's fellow men. Or, less dramatic, that the computer had helpfully hiccoughed me out of its system.

After a delirious moment of thnking that the buff envelope contained a repayment of income tax, my main source of income these days, truth dawned. In two and a half weeks' time I was to report for jury service.

Any faint feeling of being flattered by the attentions of the Supreme Court of Judicature melted quickly enough when I consulted my diary. The date, a Monday, was marked for an important business meeting. I returned to the printed enclosure. There were several pages. Some paragraphs seemed designed to bring out one's sense of service to the community, others threatened dire consequences if anyone dared to default, others still demanded instant submission and a signature to that effect.

Then, on the fourth page, my eyes lighted on the grounds for non-attendance. I read them and I re-read them. Even in these times, I could hardly claim to be entering the state of motherhood in the next two weeks. Alas, our family holiday in the Isle of Wight would not quite measure up to "unavoidable absence from the United Kingdom."

Grateful for small mercies, I made use of the official paid envelope and signed the confession that I was wholly, unalterably and irrevocably available on the due date, under summons No. 4896842,

By the time one's reached manhood, puberty I was going to say, one should have learned that life is never plain sailing, but if there was one thing I was absolutely certain of it was the date of my jury service. Had not my boss disrupted at least eight people's lives by changing the date of the meeting? Had I not inscribed it on my heart and in ray diary? Had I not

succumbed to a little discreet boasting, indeed, among my friends over this belated mark of civic recognition?

Five days before the due date there tumbled through the letter box another little buff envelope. "Circumstances have arisen which make it unnecessary for you to appear on the date mentioned on your summons, but you are required to attend instead on Wednesday." Not a hint of regret. Even British Rail ... Ah well, forget it. As a man of affairs I must act responsibly. I quickly recall that one of my colleagues is a JP. He'll know the ropes. He'll know who to get on to about this unseemly miscarriage of justice. And he does. There's a gentleman it the Supreme Court called the Administrator. He knows his telephone number.

Six telephone calls later, at 10p a time, the Administrator is still "with the Judge". "Is it connected with jury service?" the young lady asks blandly. "In that case can I help you — what's your name?"

I had to break off for refuelling with a fresh supply of 10p pieces, but that wasn't going to deter me. Reconnected, I explained my predicament to the young lady and waited for her sympathetic undertaking to replace me with another. How many poor innocents must have waited longingly for this siren call? In carefully measured tones she said, "But, Mr Stourton, surely you kept the whole week free in case the proceedings continued for that length of time?"

Never discuss religion or money to strangers, never get angry, my elders had warned me. I should have known better. "Look, Madam," I said, "do you people at the Supreme Court imagine that the rest of the community is permanently waiting at your whim and fancy? I know that the unemployment figures are pretty bad but a few of us are still lucky enough to have jobs. No wonder this country.

When, next day, I did get through to the Administrator I was calm and polite. So was he. "I'm sorry Mr. Stourton. There are no reserves. I'm afraid you'll have to attend on Wednesday."

Missing the usual train I arrived home at 8 p.m. "Did you get the message?" my wife asked casually. "What message?"

"You're not required at the court until Thursday."

Came Thursday, I selected my most anonymous suit hoping to be as inconspicuous as a woodworm in the courtroom panelling. There had been rather too many jokes about jury foremen emerging naturally through their obvious qualities of leadership. "Now that's a foreman's suit if ever there was one," said my wife as I prepared for breakfast.

"Ah yes," I said, "but you don't know about the extras. I'm wearing baseball boots for a start. I've been practising a very convincing frenetic twitch in my right shoulder and I've developed a swingeing stutter. Also, I shall be flashing a copy of Private Eye. If they elect me on that showing I shall be very surprised."

With enormous difficulty I parked the car. On the way to the

court I passed a cinema. It was showing Emmanuelle. I wondered how long the lunch interval would be.

With some five minutes to spare I was directed into a room. I avoided the gaze of my fellow sufferers and sat down. A lady usher with long blonde hair and platform shoes of immense thickness came into the room and handed to each of us a printed form for completion. It was for our travelling and subsistence expenses.The questions filled me with the same sort of mental numbness brought on by the forms I receive now and then from my insurance broker.

1 looked out of the corner of my eye at the nearer jurors. One man with greying temples and a pro minent brow looked good foreman material to me. Or, if they wanted someone this side of the generation gap, there was a bearded fellow of promise.

I was beginning to feel positively relaxed when the blonde reap peared. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced breathlessly like an air hostess about to tell us that a hijacker is on the flight deck having a chat with the pilot, "I have to tell you that you will not be required until 1120. You may leave the building until them, if you so wish." Now, ever since I put my name on a list for parachute training merely to show off and was taken seriously, I have been a little cautious over the more blatant acts of volunteering, Therefore, at a minute or two after 11.20 a.m., when the usher, a man this time, said to the assembled jurors, "May I please have six volunteers?", I joined in the deathly inactivity while each wrestled inwardly With the comparative merits of stepping forward or pretending one hadn't heard. Someone stood up, then several others. With near panic I realised it was now or never. With a — gas chamber resignation I strode towards the door, deterring a waverer, rather a small man, with the aid of my elbow, and filed into sixth place.

After the march along the corridor we were introduced into a room already filled with another lot of would-be jurors. They examined us, hackles up, with the resentful suspicion of a pack of dogs approached by a strange one with different smells.

No sooner were we beginning to feel a little accepted by our new fellows than the usher addressed the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, you will not be required until 2 p.m. You are therefore at liberty to leave the building. Please report back punctually at two o'clock." Obediently, we shambled out of the room, down the vast staircase and out into the street.

Returning at 1.55 p.m. there was not long to wait. "Very good, ladies and gentlemen, will you kindly follow me." We trooped along behind the usher until, lo and behold, we entered the great place. Bewigged heads turned languidly in our direction. The usher herded all nineteen of us into the far corner. Someone read out individual names in sonorous tones. Having second and third Christian names about which I am rather self-conscious, not that I am in any way responsible for them, I was dreading the moment when mine was reached.

"Just one more formality, gentlemen," the usher said. "Complete and sign your travelling and subsistence claims before you leave. Anyone need any help?"

He was a kind man. Between us, we struggled through it and I was handed £6.22. He took quite a personal interest in me. As I was about to make for the door he caught my arm and said, "Don't forget. As soon as you can, complete the loss of earnings form and get your employer to sign it." Then, looking at me closely a sudden doubt seized him. "Or are you unemployed at the present time?" he inquired softly and sympathetically.

All the way home I kept trying to remember. What exactly was it that Sir Robert Mark had said he'd got against the jury system? For the life of me I couldn't remember.

I need not have worried. Twelve places were filled, the accused failed to object to anyone and the remaining seven of us continued to cower in a corner of the courtroom, feeling more unwanted than ever.

The judge rose to his feet and bent forward slightly in an attitude of genuine concern. Politely, very courteously, and he really did have a charming manner, he told us seven that we had played an invaluable part by making ourselves available but that the law demanded twelve jurors only and that it was therefore his duty to dismiss us. The door was opened and we filed out.