Peter Murphy - Judge Walden: Back in Session

Resident judge Charlie Walden is back, to preside over a new collection of stories from the Bermondsey Crown Court. Retired resident judge Peter Murphy takes us back to the world of criminal trials in South London, with Charlie keeping the peace between his fellow judges Marjorie, Legless and Hubert while fighting off attacks of the Grey Smoothies, the civil servants who seem intent on reducing the courts dwindling resources to vanishing point in the name of business cases and value for money. Fortunately, he has Jeanie and Elsies lattes and ham and cheese baps, and newspaper vendor Georges witty banter, to sustain him in the mornings; and in the evenings, the Delights of the Raj, or La Bella Napoli, to enjoy with the Reverend Mrs Walden, priest in charge of the church of St Aethelburgh and All Angels in the Diocese of Southwark.

Peter Murphy graduated from Cambridge University and spent a career in the law, as an advocate, teacher, and judge. He has worked both in England and the United States, and served for several years as counsel at the Yugoslavian War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. He has written seven novels: two political thrillers about the US presidency, Removal and Test of Resolve; five historical/legal thrillers featuring Ben Schroeder, A Higher Duty, A Matter for the Jury, And is there Honey still for Tea? The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr and Calling Down the Storm. He lives in Cambridgeshire.

FOR WALDEN OF BERMONDSEY

No one writes with more wit, warmth and insight about the law and its practitioners than Peter Murphy. He has no equal since the great John Rumpole Mortimer David Ambrose

Though his exasperation is sometimes palpable, what triumphs over everything is his sense of humour. And it is the humour that makes Walden of Bermondsey such a delightful read. Think of him as what Rumpole would be like if he ever became a judge, and you get some idea of his self-deprecating wit and indomitable stoicism. Add a dash of Henry Cecil for his situation and AP Herbert for the fun he has with the law, and you get a sense of his literary precedents Paul Magrath

By Lord Judge, former Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales

Charles Walden, the Resident Judge of Bermondsey Crown Court, is amply qualified for inclusion in any list of fictional National Treasures.

With the support of his delightful wife, the Reverend Mrs Walden, he is able to fulfil his judicial, pastoral and administrative responsibilities at a small Crown Court. He has the advantage that his cases are always interesting. In this second collection of his experiences, for example, he describes how the defendant in one case was mortified at the deliberate insult paid to him and his family when the police sought to treat him as a minor criminal; in another, the defendant is a vicar seeking mortification of the flesh for penitential relief. Beyond the ongoing trials themselves there is always a simultaneous compelling outside distraction impacting on the work of the Court, not least the discovery of an ancient artefact, now, after a struggle with bureaucracy, forever to be identified as the Bermondsey Cannon.

Judge Walden is a wise, patient and thoughtful judge, cocooned by his self-deprecating humour against that dreadful disease, judgitis. He is not anxious to emerge from the jurisprudential shadows into the predatory sights of the Court of Appeal. He is acutely aware of the foibles, and prejudices of his colleagues, but recognises that together they form a sound judicial team. He notices the qualities of the advocates who appear in front of him, describing one advocate who prefers to muddy the waters rather than pour oil on them, and another who is excellent, short and to the point. The forensic process is examined in a light touch, good-humoured style, which will evoke a constant stream of smiles, and chuckles from nonlawyers and lawyers alike.

At times there is a sharper tone to the humour, never departing from the humorous but occasionally touching the satirical. At these times, the defendants, the witnesses, and indeed all those directly participating in the judicial processes form the backdrop, while the main focus shifts to others. Sometimes this focus falls on the senior judiciary. But Judge Waldens particular anxiety is the way in which the Grey Smoothies, as they call them at Bermondsey, do not always appreciate the true nature of judicial responsibility. When they are being obtuse, he is nevertheless extremely skilful at finding or waiting for a satisfactory solution to emerge. Within this sharper tone you can discern some of the frustrations and anxieties of the judiciary in the Crown and County Courts. This collection is much more than a series of funny legal stories.

I like Judge Charles Walden, the human being as well as the judge, and I have come to relish and respect his subtle, thoughtful insights into and observations arising from all the processes by which justice is administered in his Crown Court.

Igor Judge

Few words uttered by a member of staff at any Crown Court are more calculated to strike fear into the heart of a judge than those our list officer, Stella, spoke this morning when she came into my chambers to go over the weeks schedule. Stella is given to sounding rather like the voice of impending doom, but I dont blame her for that at all. Theres a lot that can go wrong in Stellas job. She has the unenviable task of making the work of four judges and four courtrooms run smoothly, in the face of the constant efforts of defendants, solicitors, barristers clerks, the Crown Prosecution Service, and not infrequently the judges themselves, to throw spanners into the works. Stella has learned to see catastrophe lurking just around every corner, and as a result, often sounds rather fraught. So I make every allowance. But her tone has conditioned me to expect the worst whenever she comes into chambers, and this morning my expectations have been fully realised.

Such a shame. Id passed a very agreeable weekend with my good lady, the Reverend Mrs Walden, priest in charge of the church of St Aethelburgh and All Angels in the Diocese of Southwark. On Saturday, the parish held its annual spring fete insofar as any parish in Inner London can credibly hold an event with such a bucolic ring to it as a spring fete. It was all very Jam and Jerusalem: the choir belting out a selection of thoroughly modern hymns no one else seemed to know, accompanied by the churchs resident guitar and vocal duo, Ian and Shelley; a bouncy castle for the children; stalls selling candyfloss and ice cream and doubtful-looking hot dogs; others inviting you to throw a ball and knock various items off a shelf, or score a double twenty at darts, to win a stuffed animal or a box of chocolates: and of course, the inevitable tombola and raffles to raise money for various parish projects.

It was the kind of thing that would have seemed more natural in a churchyard in rural Lincolnshire, surrounded by open fields and ancient trees, than one in Bermondsey, surrounded by your stereotypical inner city decay. But due in part perhaps to the beautiful weather, it was surprisingly well attended, and the Reverend Mrs Walden pronounced it a great success, which it therefore was. This led to a very pleasant evening for the two of us at La Bella Napoli, where we partook of sea bass baked in salt, roast potatoes, spinach with garlic, and a bottle of the houses special reserve Chianti to wash it down. And on the following morning, the sermon had positive, cheerful themes not always the case with the Reverend Mrs Walden, who can sometimes give way to a certain judgmental tendency when it comes to the perceived shortcomings of her congregation.