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Stuart Kelly - the Life and times of a lawyer to be
The onset of the winter chill reminds me, ruefully, that my last blog was back in the summer months - a lifetime ago. Back in those days, I was eleven months into the first year of my traineeship: enthusiastic and intrepid, I even displayed daring zeal in taking some annual leave for a summer holiday.
Now I am a second year trainee. It is perhaps only coincidence, but the half-way anniversary of my traineeship has accompanied the arrival of dark mornings and darker evenings, rain soaked lunch hours, and the cold winds of added responsibility. When employers tell trainees that the second year brings a difference, they mean it!
The last few months have, more importantly, seen significant changes to the profession of which we trainees are on the cusp of entering. The controversial Legal Services Bill has become an Act, whilst the Cadder decision brought significant implications for those practicing criminal law, and, for solicitors in commercial firms, a small talking point over brunch at Pret.
Never one to be outdone, reality TV star Tommy Sheridan’s trial has shown aspiring lawyers that even respected QCs get told to get lost occasionally; what’s more, immigration lawyers cannot recall a time when so many X Factor aficionados moved their academic interest with such ease from malaria diagnostics to the Gamu intricacies of deportation policy.
Amidst such talking points, it would be amiss of me, of course, not to similarly mention the significance of my ‘getting my gown’ since my last blog. In case you missed them - they failed to attract the same pre-emptive publicity of Tommy’s trial, you see - my first gowned appearances have been a sight to behold.
In itself, wearing a gown for court appearances has been a peculiar experience: a bit like going in to Tam Shepherds for a Batman outfit but then realising that you can wear it at work and not be sectioned.
Amused by my new attire, and displaying every mature day of my twenty four years, my first day at Glasgow Sheriff Court wearing the gown saw me pace the length of the building at various speeds to test how fast you have to walk in order for the gown to fly in the air. Thankfully one of the cleaners stopped me to ask if I was unwell. In thanking her for her concern, I heeded her advice and refrained from repeating said routine outside the bail court.
My first day gowned at court should not have been too difficult. Having braved the small claims court as a first year trainee, I felt I had mastered the art of finding different courtrooms and navigating the court roll. Indeed, as regular readers of this blog will know, small claims had even enabled me to master the distinction between shrieval Lords and Ladies: a useful education for any aspiring young adult. Now getting the chance to appear in Ordinary, I was content to allow people to presume that I could meet the challenge of being such.
To get myself off to a sure start, my first gowned day’s appearances were ‘simply’ to discharge proofs. Straightforward enough, I was told. Only in putting on my gown in the agents’ room, I realised upon tripping over myself that I had failed in the first task of ‘robeing’.
Lesson one: in the rush to get to court on a given morning, be sure to remember that gowns come in all shapes and sizes. Finding myself mercilessly joked at by bemused older lawyers who questioned whether I was “a midget or simply a moron”, I acceded to both descriptions as I sourced my arms under black cloth, scooped up my trailing gown tails and headed for the courtroom.
Entering the courtroom, I felt it best to sit in the public gallery, not yet feeling qualified enough to sit beside the big cheeses at the bar table. Furiously reading and re-reading my instructions, I had taken the liberty of bringing the full files with me, in case anything cropped up.
Lesson two: this is a mistake. When my first case called, I quickly stood up and, picking up speed as I approached the bar, I suddenly felt a jerk at my side. As I tried to balance two lever arch folders in one arm, it became clear that the other sleeve had caught a latch at the wall. What was I to do? My carrying folders in one arm ensured I was unable to use it to free the other.
It seemed at that point that the whole court was similarly considering their own next steps as they watched on - would another agent free me from gowned imprisonment? Would people nervously cough? Would they laugh? Before such thoughts could be developed, I managed to yank myself free, thereafter stumbling towards the bench, muttering a mixture of apologies, introductions, case names and motions. As far as sentences go, it was a long one.
Despite these technicalities, with two proofs safely discharged, my first appearances at least went to plan in terms of outcome. Afterwards I had to send the inevitable "how did you get on" text to my mum, who to only the night before I had described my future appearances in a gown as being akin to being a character in LA Law.
As I folded up the layers of gown and packed up the lever arch folders, it was apparent any characterisation would be as a Taggart accused. Heading out again once again to Carlton Place, as if by magic, the heavens opened, the winds bellowed and I scurried back to the office. Second year has arrived!
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