He disappeared. Had I been a Plowden I should have added “and utter contempt there.” But I only thought of that going home in the tram.
And when I think of the judges of yesterday I think first of all of the great and honest services they rendered to the State, and then I recall them through some quaint story, or maybe some trick of speech or manner, just as you may remember a great cathedral both as a mighty and noble building and as the edifice from which sprang some grotesque gargoyle whose humours have always haunted you when the name of the building was sounded.
Of the many judges that came the Northern Circuit during my short career at the Bar some few are still, I am glad to say, judges of to-day, and several have but recently passed away. And the figure that is perhaps in the foreground of my memory is that of Mr. Justice Grantham, who, less than a year ago, vigorous and popular as ever, celebrated his silver anniversary on the circuit. I was present at the banquet given to him by the circuit, and as he stood before us, four-square to the
winds of criticism and popular—or perhaps I should say unpopular—disapproval, what human sympathy and enthusiasm rang out in our cheers. We knew him only as a hard-working, conscientious judge, as a clean, honest man, and as that rara avis, a south country man who understood and admired the bracing atmosphere of the north. He told us how, when he was junior judge and the circuits were chosen, that every circuit was taken by his seniors except that containing Manchester and Liverpool, for which he had to start out with the condolences of his brethren. Now when he was senior judge he had the first choice, and despite his years he came back to Liverpool and Manchester because he liked the straight, manly business methods in which the work of the Northern Circuit is done. And what he said was no mere after-dinner compliment, it was as honest and true as the cheers of those who welcomed him back. I have seen Grantham at his very worst sitting on the bench, trying a political libel action; I have seen Grantham at his very best standing in an old Sussex wagon and judging a Bar point-to-point steeple-chase, and I have seen him presiding as judge in many different cases with varying success, but I have never seen him do anything but what he believed to be the only straight, honest thing to do. That is why he was so exasperating and lovable. He not only had strong, simple English ideals, but he acted up to them in open daylight. Any man of his ability and without his sincerity could have steered a safer and easier course. Grantham could
only steer the straight course—once his course was set, he followed it with dogged fidelity. Small wonder, therefore, that sometimes he ran on the rocks. But when he did he bore no malice to the rocks—indeed, so optimistic and full of good humour was he that he scarcely knew that there had been a collision.
A little while ago Grantham made a speech to the Liverpool grand jury which attracted much attention. A few days afterwards I was present at the banquet given to the judges at the Town Hall, and the Lord Mayor of Liverpool called upon me to propose the toast of the grand jury. There were no reporters at these festivities, so it was not inconvenient to make some humorous remarks at the learned judge’s expense—if one dared. I recall the shudder of aldermanic apprehension when I started, and its quick change to purple laughter when it was seen that Grantham was thoroughly enjoying it all. I remember as we left the banqueting hall his friendly pat on the shoulder and his kindly laugh as he said, “Very good fun, Parry! Just like old times! But I was quite right, wasn’t I?” And there you had the man at his best. There was no meanness or littleness about him. He was honest, simple, outspoken, cocksure, keen to do right and English to the backbone. There was no policy or finesse in anything that he did, and he was out for work and business. That is why he was so welcome and beloved on the Northern Circuit.
But his slackness in finesse often cost him tricks
in the Court of Appeal. Here is an example of what I mean.
I appeared for a small carpenter whose shop had been injured by the pulling down of adjoining buildings to clear the site of a new infirmary. The defendants were trustees of the institution. The claim was £175 11s. 2d.—or some such figures—and I got a verdict for every pound, shilling, and penny, in spite of Gully’s eloquence.
Grantham started his summing-up as follows—I quote, of course, from memory:—