Courthouse for another age

Press, 9 July 1983, Page 8

Courthouse for another age

From

DIANA DEKKER

in London The appeal to the Privy Council in London by Mr Peter Mahon is unfolding in a building built for another age. Eleven legal counsel — four for the apellant and the remainder for the four respondents — crowd together. They take their slow, longhand notes and mark off their papers in bright felt pens at benches built to serve the demands of final Commonwealth justice more than 150 years ago. The Privy Council premises, a heavy stone building on the corner of Downing Street and Whitehall, was completed in 1827. Then there were fewer counsel, less public interest, and not nearly so much news media coverage. While Mr Mahon’s case is being pleaded by Sir Patrick Neill; a Queen’s Counsel from London, the press, ousted from the press bench in favour of wigged-j--andwgowned counsel, sit-Cjr'

squashed against the side of the courtroom with their pads on their knees. Only the London-based New Zealand press representatives are proving hardy enough to stand it. The man from the 8.8. C. left on Tuesday followed by the “Telegraph” representative and another London woman journalist An “Observer” staffer, sent to write a “colour story” on the proceedings, managed half an hour before opting out yesterday. Complaints from the New Zealand contingent resulted in a seldom-used sound system being turned on to magnify the soft, steady voice of Sir Patrick Neill, who has been addressing the Court since the case began. The building was not designed with acoustics in mind. It is as high as it is long — 12 metres as paced out by the Privy Council' usher, Mr George Pickersell. Even the most strident legal voices are hoisted up and away from the body of - the court • in the sticky London heat,

the windows must remain virtually closed to keep out the noise of the traffic. The conditions have emptied the small space allotted to the public. On Tuesday there were about 20 people crammed on to the ornate, carved oak chairs at the back of the courtroom. Air New Zealand’s former chief executive, Mr Morrie Davis, one of the four respondents in the case, sat with his wife, eyes down behind his glasses much of the time. Yesterday afternoon he was not present and the public gallery was completely outnumberd by counsel. Mrs Mahon, wife of the apellant, has attended each day’s hearing so far. Court staff confirm that the case is the biggest the court-room has seen since the Australian banking case of - 1948 which lasted from March 14 to June 1 — “inclusive,” added Mr Pickersell, who has been on the staff for 35 years. “What I* don’t know about this place no-one will ever know,”-*e said.

The heavily-panelled courtroom, as if to point up its inadequate space, is divided in half — half for the five law lords behind their table and half for the remaining crush. The law lords, sometimes disappearing behind the mountains of literature required by the case, are Lord Diplock, Lord Keith, Lord Scarman, Lord Bridge, and Lord Templeman. Their voices, when they are questioning, are not magnified by the sound system and are barely audible to anyone beyond Sir Patrick Neill, who stands behind a lectern just a few feet in front of them. The five law lords have much in common — distinguished legal careers, glasses, and grey hair. Lord Diplock, at 75, is the oldest of them, Lord Keith, at 61, the youngest. The average age of the five is a little more than 67. Lord Diplock and Lord Keith were both members of the Privy Council Board which ruled on the Samoan-“over-stayers” case of

In the heavy cube of a room, Sir Patrick Neill concentrates on issues as diverse as the technical data involved in the tragic DCIO crash in the Antarctic, and the colour of the volumes the law lords have stacked in front of them. “It is the salmon volume I am referring to, my lords, not the pink one.” Lord Diplock, a small man, either leans well forward over his desk to address an occasional question to Sir Patrick or slips down on his chair until he is almost obscured. His manner is sometimes smiling, sometimes irritable.

At the opening of the case on Tuesday he invited counsel to remove their wigs but only three did so. By yesterday, seven of the eleven had bowed to the stifling heat and stripped off the tightlycurled symbols of their profession.

It was counsels’ way of rolling up their metaphoric sleeves for the work involved in a case which is predicted to last another three weeks.