It was a trial.

Just not the kind

I had imagined

 

Sandy Ross

In the whole of my 60-something years I have never been summoned for jury duty. Until now. Friends who have been done it describe jury service as a dreadful experience. The hanging around, the seeming chaos of the system, the waste of time – 'court time'. But I have always been curious to see what it is like. After all, trial by your peers is one of the bulwarks of our democratic process.
     My presence was required at Edinburgh sheriff court on the 29th of the month – a Tuesday. The letter contained my citation. It warned me of the penalty prescribed by law if I failed to attend but included another sheet advising me of how I could get out of attending. After checking the list of 70-plus categories contained in the 'Guide to Jury Service Eligibility' I concluded I wasn't disqualified, ineligible or excusable. I read the brief booklet on what it means to be a juror and I looked forward to the experience.
     On the 28th I rang the jurors' attendance update line and was told to appear for service at 11am the next day. The booklet warned that there might be delays in the court procedure and asked for my patience. So I packed my rucksack with two books, a drink, a copy of the Scotsman, the Guardian, an MP3 player and set off for the court. The booklet advised me to dress appropriately and responsibly so as to reflect the importance of the task I was about to undertake. I decided on the smart casual look. No tie but chinos, smart shirt and jacket.
     I arrived at the sheriff court and with my potential co-jurors waited to sign in. I could see that I had got the dress code just about right. There were jurors in their work attire, housewives who had dressed up a bit and retired gentlemen who considered leaving the house without a tie as a mortal sin. We stood out.

 

     P G Wodehouse is credited with the observation: 'It is never difficult to distinguish between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine'. Well, once you are inside Edinburgh sheriff court it is certainly not difficult to distinguish between those of us who have arrived to be considered for jury duty and those of us who have arrived to be judged.
     When I lived in the north-west of England there was a Manchester gag.
     'What do you call a guy in a suit in Liverpool?'
     'The accused!'
     Well not in Edinburgh. The well-dressed Edinburgh defendant wears his shell suit, track suit or hoodie with pride. Dressing up for court is obviously a thing of the past.
     An official sat at a desk in a corridor. We queued to be checked in by her. After ticking us off she said, 'Just hover about here'. There were six seats against a wall. Fifty or so of us hovered in a corridor which was part of the through access of the court. Busy-looking policemen, court attendants, solicitors, perhaps even sheriffs for all I know, pushed past us to get to where they were going. 11am came and went.
     The official behind the desk announced that the court was running late and we would know soon what we were doing. Another half an hour passed. The corridor got busier. Suddenly there was movement and we were ushered into court 11. The clerk of the court introduced himself and said that when the sheriff arrived we would be briefed and a jury would be chosen. The clerk called the name of the accused. A man appeared. He took his place in the dock beside a security person.
     'All rise.' The sheriff. He explained that 15 of our names would be chosen at random. The clerk of the court produced a clear classic goldfish bowl. It was the kind that Oor Wullie or Dennis the Menace would approve of. Into the bowl went individual slips of paper containing our names. The clerk drew them out and announced the jurors. It was exciting. It was like waiting to see if you had won a prize in a raffle. My name did not come up. But then I never seem to win raffle prizes either. A very analogue process in a digital age.
     The 15 jurors chosen had the charge read to them. The sheriff asked them to retire to consider whether there was any reason having heard the charge that they should not serve on this jury. He told the rest of us, lucky or unlucky enough not to have been chosen, that we would have to wait on the outcome of this deliberation.
     Another 30 minutes passed. The jury door opened and a woman appeared. She had indicated some conflict of interest and was discharged. The rest of the jury returned clutching shiny new red clipboards and Bic pens. The clerk drew one further name from the bowl. A man took his seat in the jury box. The charge was read again and he was asked if he had any problems with it. He did not. The sheriff then thanked the rest of us for appearing and told us that we were not required for the rest of the day. However we now had to ring the jury helpline after 5pm for the rest of the week to see if we were required on the following day.
     As I was leaving the courtroom a rather well-dressed chap in a check coat with a velvet collar came across to me.
     'I say,' he said. 'Did he just say that we might have to go through all of this again tomorrow?'.
     'He certainly did,' I replied.
     'My God, what an absolute waste of time.'
     I rang the helpline on the Tuesday evening. The message was unclear. It said that jurors whose citation was dated 28th were not required but did not mention those dated 29th. I tried to ring the sheriff court to ask. After 5pm. No one there!
     The following morning I rang again. After nine of course. A woman took my details and within seconds told me I was not required today but I had to ring again that evening after five. It is funny how your day and your planning for the next day become obsessed with the 5pm call. I was due to play in a golf match on the Thursday and to attend a committee meeting on the Friday. I had no option but to scratch from the golf and put in provisional apologies for the meeting. You can imagine which of those I was more concerned about.
     Wednesday 5pm. Rang helpline. Not required. Damn. I could have taken part in the golf match.
     Thursday 5pm. Rang again. 'You are required to attend at court 10 at 11am on the Friday.' So no committee meeting.
     I pushed past the smokers in Chambers Street, went through the very cursory bag and body search. I recognised some of the faces from Tuesday, including the man in the check coat. I went upstairs to court 10. Potential jurors were hovering about in a vague semblance of a queue. I noticed some men waiting for a lift beside the jurors. With a shock I realised that two of them were handcuffed together. Prisoner and escort. In the public corridor. I checked in and was told to 'hover around'.

 

     11am came and went. Suddenly there was movement and we all shuffled into Court 10. We completely filled the public benches. Again there must have been about 50 of us. The accused's name was called and he took his place in the dock. The sheriff appeared on the bench. The solicitor for the accused told the court that his client would plead guilty to the first two charges on the indictment and subject to amendments also to the third charge. There was then a very detailed discussion of words to be inserted and words to be deleted from the third charge. After everyone agreed the exact wording the charge was read to the accused and he agreed that he would plead guilty to it.
     The sheriff told us that we were not now required. He apologised to us for the time we had spent waiting. He explained that this was the way the system operated. The accused was entitled to plead guilty at any time he chose. The sheriff then advised us that it was now Friday. We had done our duty and we were now discharged from our obligations as jurors or potential jurors. He invited us to stay to watch the disposal of the case. No one did.
     So my experience of jury service consisted of  two half days of hanging around the Edinburgh sheriff court and two days of uncertainty about whether I would be hanging around the Edinburgh sheriff court.
     I was that rare breed – a willing juror. It was a trial but just not the kind I imagined. In fact it reminded me of sitting in a taxi in a traffic jam watching the meter go up and up and wondering just what all of this must cost in a week, a month, a year. Because we are paying for it.
     If I am summoned again I might just be reading the exemption categories a bit more closely. There has to be a better way.