Lawyer by any other name

Classes were mercifully cancelled Wednesday as the LLM programme organized a legal tour of London. The practice of law was once under the purview of the church, where ecclesiastical courts were organized to settle both civil and criminal matters, so our tour started at the Temple complex, a massive legal community on the northern bank of the Thames steeped in religious history. The name derives from the Knights Templar, a chivalrous order founded on the same spot in 1118 for the express purpose of protecting pilgrims traveling to the Holy Land. It seems pilgrim-protection was big business, so much so that in 1312 the Crown confiscated all Templar holdings, charging the Order with immorality and heresy (synonyms for “too rich” and “too powerful”). In a move that I’m sure many a monarch has since regretted, the estate was deeded in perpetuity to England’s lawyer guilds and today two of Britain’s Inns of Court, or Honourable Societies of Barristers, reside in the complex. According to ancient custom, any student wishing to practice law as a barrister must join an Inn of Court (there are four in total), pass all of their exams, and dine in their guild’s Great Hall no less than 24 times. We navigated a maze of gas-lit courtyards and passageways during our tour of the Middle Temple and Inner Temple. Besides feeling as though I had stepped back to the 19th century, I found the sheltered gardens and fountains a pleasant respite from the bustle of noisy London. Our guide pointed out one garden in particular, littered with red and white roses, that figures prominently in British history. Here in 1455, the descendants of King Edward III, who were vying for the English Throne, demanded that parties swear allegiance to their respective claims by picking either a red rose for the House of Lancaster or a white rose for the House of York. This marked the beginning of a thirty-year civil war known later as the War of the Roses. I really wanted to get a picture of the Great Hall of the Inner Temple, but photography was strictly forbidden. The Great Hall looked very similar to the banqueting hall in “Harry Potter”, except that it was more elaborately decorated. Members of the guild sit at long wooden tables and must observe a strict code of conduct during dinner. You can only speak to the persons on either side of you, or to the person directly across from you (I suppose this fosters greater and more varied conversation). Also, once the feast begins you cannot leave the table for any reason. Should you have to use the toilet, you must pass a note to the head of your table, written in Latin, and your table master must then approach the head table and ask permission for your departure from the head master. Cool. The massive wooden table at the head of the banquet hall is built from a single gigantic oak tree cut from Windsor Forrest and donated by Queen Elizabeth I. Oh, and Shakespeare directed a production of “Twelfth Night” here in 1601. I’m just a poor Texan, who’s used to thinking of the Alamo as part of ancient history, so seeing all this history played out in such a small space made me feel a little queasy. In the nearby courtyard there’s a bronzed fountain that Charles Dickens used to frequent when he was a barrister-in-training. Since one of Dickens’ protagonists, Mr. Bumble, famously observed that “the law is an ass”, I can only assume that Dickens was as learned a law student as I am. Across from the fountain is the Temple Church, a circular structure built by the Knights Templar in 1185 and modeled after the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Lying on the floor of the nave were marble effigies of the Knights (again, no pictures… sorry). Finally, our tour ended with the Royal Courts of Justice (photo above) where wig-clad barristers scurried through what can only be described as a cathedral of courtrooms. The highlight for me was watching the supreme judicial tribunal for criminal appeals decide the fate of a crack dealer. Guilty. Yea. The defendant’s barrister made a good show, but the judges took his legal arguments, inverted them with their own brilliant jurisprudence, and proceeded to bludgeon his rhetorical framework to death. It was the best theater I’ve seen in a while. Towards the end, the judges complained that the barrister hadn’t proven as worthy an intellectual challenger as they had hoped, and they expressed regret at having granted him an audience. Ouch. I usually have to suppress my tongue and keep from eviscerating people with harsh words… but these guys get paid to do it. I think I’ve found my ideal job. After the courtroom drama I attended an organ concert at the Temple Church before returning home. Is it just me, or do organs sound awfully muddled? It’s like listening to the French horn section of a junior high band… I dare you to find the melody. Apologies for the rapid-fire nature of this post - there's just too much information and not enough time to record it properly. On my way to York. Grace & Peace.