SIR JOHN DENNISTON

Press, Volume LXXV, Issue 22906, 30 December 1939, Page 12

SIR JOHN DENNISTON

Self-Help, Self-Control A New Zealand Judge: Sir John Edward Denniston, By J. G. Denniston. A. H. and A. W. Reed. 151 pp. (7/6) rNote—Mr H F von Haast, who reviews this book, was Sir John Denniston's first associate. Some recollections by the reviewer, it is hoped, will be printed here shortly.]

Although there have been many distinguished men on the Bench in New Zealand, they remain “unhonoured and unsung” in our literature of 100 years just closing. A good start for a series of lives of the judges has been made by Mr J. Geoffrey Denniston with the life of his father. Sir John Edward Denniston, one of the soundest lawyers and most humane men in a long roll of honour. Although the author made education and not law his profession, he is himself an English barrister, able to appreciate correctly not only Sir John’s qualities as a judge, but also the defects of those qualities. Writing sympathetically as a son and objectively as a biographer, he tells in terse and simple English a fascinating story of self-help and self-con-trol. The early experiences of two families that played a prominent part in Otago, the Dennistons and the Bathgates, the ancestors of Sir John and his wife, give us all too brief a glimpse of pioneering days, and pave the way for “Jack” Denniston’s career, first in the Post Office and then in the Bank of New South Wales on the West Coast. One of his duties was to take notes from the bank to the diggings, and bring back gold. “I expected,” he writes to his father, “to be stuck up every time, always having my revolver in my pocket with my finger on the trigger.” There was need of such readiness, for in 1866 he _ was one of those who in relays carried the coffin of George Dobson, a young surveyor, strangled by bushrangers, *by bush and beach to the Greymouth cemetery, as he afterwards told his associate, Dobson’s nephew, on his return to the Coast as judge. Banking seemed to him a dead end. He needed a career giving more scope for his keen and scholarly intellect He read widely, tried' his hand at journalism as correspondent of the Christchurch “Standard,” and was lucky enough to find a true, cultured friend in Dr. Giles, then Warden on the gcldfields, who later was to give him sound counsel. Finally he determined, to read law and pass the Sydney examination, and began on Smith’s Contracts and Stephen’s Commentaries. Legal Vicissitudes A transfer to Dunedin, the opening of the University of Otago, the striking out for himself of Robert Stout, ■which left a vacancy for “Jack” as articled clerk in the office of Downie Stewart* gaye him his opportunity; He took it, and after rusticating awhile in Wanganui, rejoined

Downie Stewart, this time as partner. His industry and keen intellect soon made him a leader of the Bar in Dunedin; but his impetuous and irascible nature caused perpetual breezes in Court. The pillorying of his “snapping” and “frenzy” by the “Otago Daily Times” led to an illadvised -libel action, laughed out of Court. In his subsequent depression, Dr. Giles wrote him a letter, fortunately set out in full, which is worth the price of the book to every young lawyer beginning practice for its spiritual guidance and encouragement. Despite his temperament, the Atkinson Cabinet appointed him in 1889 a Judge of the Supreme Court. It was then that he took me over as his associate from District Judge Ward, , who was acting as Supreme Court Judge, and who. in his disappointment at the non-recognition of his claim to the post, wrote, “I had rather men asked why I had not been appointed than why I had!” Denniston was then 43; I was 25. On the day he took his seat upon the Bench he admitted me to the Bar, and then began a long and happy companionship and friendship. A man may not be a hero to his valet, but I testify tha' a judge can inspire not only respect but affection. for him in his associate, to whom the inner man is . evealed, and who often kets as a safety-valve through which steam can be let off that has been bottled up in Court. Discipline Thereafter the life becomes to a great extent an autobiography; for from that day Denniston kept a full diary, from which many extracts are given. “He recorded not only his difficulties in coming to n conclusion on subtle points and his recognition i r • some of the “errors and weaknesses” in his methods, but the frank criticisms of his friends as to his interruptions of counsel and so on, and his determination to heed their advice and keep himself in hand. He did so after a struggle and at a considerable cost to his nerves. Denniston possessed the qualities of a good judge—bar one. He had a sound knowledge of the law, a quick and analytical mind, a mastery of accounts, an instinct for doing equity, the . power of literary and lucid expression in his written judgments and a deep humanity. He never ordered a flogging. He combated all ideas of retribution and vengeance ’ in the punishment _ of crime, believing that "“the criminal himself should be considered more as a subject for pity than for hatred or revenge.” But. so far as his own peace' of mind and health was concerned, he had not the temperament for a judge. He was too emotional, too highly strung, too tenderhearted, too hesitant in _ making up his mind on difficult points of law to pursue with serenity the .even tenor of his way, as the ideal judge should. Dr. Giles, in the letter mentioned, gives the keynote to his nature when he refers to his “swift brain vibrations,” likely to produce explosions. His mental. vibrations jarred his nervous frame. Denniston records the strain of the criminal sessions upon him and the doubts that assailed him in framing his judgments, both, often producing sleepless nights. I well remember his agitation on passing his first death sentence-—upon mother and daughter for the murder of the latter’s infant child. Both shrieked and wailed. as he pronounced the dread words. He staggered to his chamber, trembling and as pale as death. The humane and emotional side of his character is well developed in the work, as is his happy and united family life. Scott and the Butcher' No “explosion” took place during my ' association with him; but counsel related to me one that was characteristic, and did honour to his patriotism, Mr H., endeavouring In vain to obtain the discharge of a dishonest butcher from his bankruptcy, played his final card: “There is nothing dishonourable, your Honour,, in being a bankrupt. Even Sir Walter Scott became bankrupt.” Then the explosion took place. Leaning forward over the edge of the Bench as if to spring at counsel, the judge almost hissed; “How dare you, Mr H., compare that great man to your miserable butcher? Do you not know, sir, that the debts were not incurred by Sir Walter himself, but by the publishing firm in which he was interested? Are you not aware that he spent the last years of his life, shortening that life, by writing to pay off those debts? And you dare, sir, to mention-that noble and honourable man in the same breath as your disreputable butcher! The application is refused.” • Denniston’s Humour Perhaps not quite enough stress is laid upon his humour. Denniston

was the New Zealand Darling, but his quick asides and quips in Court were often lost from the indistinct way in which they were uttered and the inability of counsel, except the late Alpers J., when at the Bar, to appreciate classical or literary allusions. Denniston had not only a keen sense of humour but could tell and 'enjoy a good story against himself. A lady once timidly hazarded the remark, “Oh, Judge, you remind me of Judge Jeffries. Do you mind?” “Madam,” replied the judge, with a courteous bow, “I deem it a compliment. Judge Jeffries was, I believe, a very handsome man.”

When in Edinburgh in 1900 he attended the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, he wore for the first time the full-bottomed wig and scarlet robes, which were de figueur there and which I sent him from London. Having regarded himself—as was his wont—with satisfaction in the glass, he turned to his' cousin. Miss McLaren, for the anticipated expression of emotion. “Hoots, John.” exclaimed his candid critic, “I didna think the Judges looked sae daft like!”

I can still hear the chuckle with which he related how the old Scotch nurse of the family, quite the character of fiction, declared, when she heard that his eldest son had determined to make dentistry, and not law. his profession, that it was a good thing that Master Maurice was not to be thrown awav upon law! This life of a judge, to whose “high ability, love of iustice. and fair nlav. and scorn of things base and mean” tribute is naid* who was a ring scholar, a nublic-snirited and kindly man. should anpeal not only to the legal profession, but to the public at large. ECSTATIC POET The Mao of Love. Bv Dylan Thomas. J. M. Dent arid Sons Ltdi 116 pp. (7/6 net.) The prose and verse of Mr Dylan Thomas are very eood. Miss Edith Sitwell says so. He has a greater promise and achievement than any other young poet she could name. This reviewer, ignorant or stupid or nerverse or insensitive as he may be, has read the 16 poems and the seven story-sketches of “The Map of Love” and can make nothing satisfactory of them. A tumultuous vocabulary, a preoccupation with madness, gentle womanliness: and fierce love, and a profound discontent with ordinary experience—these' attributes are in a dim and doubtful way perceptible. Those who wish to investigate for themselves may be encouraged b\ the following quotation, lines as straightforward and coherent as the book contains: Glory cracked like a flea. The sun-leaved holy candlewoods Drivelled down to one singeing tree With a stub of black buds. The sweet, fish-gilled boats bringing blood Lurched through a scuttled sea With a hold of leeches and straws, Heaven fell with his fall and one crocked bell beat the left, air.

OFFERINGS [By B. D. GERARD.] The Stkr: Follow, I will lead thee on/ Even when the night is gone. Even though the day be bright Thou shalt see my tender light. Follow thou, nor ever stay; Tarry not upon the way Till the splendour of my face Glows above a humble place; Till there comes a whisper clear—- “ Rest, the new born king is here.” Melchior: I bring him gold, red gold from past the sea, And gold as pale as moonlignt washen sand; And dusty gold from some far island strand. These have I brought him for his kingly fee. Caspar: I bring him precious- oil of frankincense . In jars of emerald, and vials of jade. For the slow pilgrimage so lightly made, His smile shall be my ample recompense. . Baltasar: I bring him myrrh from the embalmer’s store. Choice perfume blended for a royal tomb, , , From the close shelter of a garden s gloom, Where leaves are still and the sun burns no more. The Star: Follow thou, for after dawn Thou shalt greet the newly born; Here within the manger laid. Nurseling of a lowly maid. Baby King whose aimless hands Circle undiscovered lands; King whose citadel of tears Shall defy the angry years. , Follow, follow, thou shalt bring To his feet thine offering. Melchior: I give him gold, for they shall crown his brows. Caspar: . For his anointing in the temple dim , , . Is frankincense, to consecrate his vows. Baltasar: I give him myrrh, for they shall bury him.

Ethel Boileau, author of “Ballade in G Minor,” etc., is serving as an officer in the Women’s Transport Service. Her new novel, “Challenge to Destiny,” remains unfinished on account of her war activities.