Wigs and Gowns: barristers' curious obsession.

Why do barristers wear wigs and gowns? How did the practice begin? I mean, why not corsets and suspender belts? Good questions indeed. This is the first of three articles that answer the questions.

English judges have worn wigs and gowns in court since the Royal Decree of 1635. Some wear them out of court too, but that is an entirely private matter.

         Barristers were not subject to the decree but stupidly followed suit nonetheless.

         Colonial good sense meant that the practice was resisted in Australia. The notion that a mullet-cut horsehair beanie and woollen man-gown somehow bestows dignity was met with suspicion. That doubtfulness and the heat meant that they weren’t widely adopted until the mid 1800’s.

World's Best Joke Lawyer (sorry, Lawyer Joke)

A crusty old judge was about to sentence a man convicted of indecently dealing with a chicken. He peaked over his glasses and asked the man’s barrister.

‘Mr Fotherington, what does your client have to say for himself before sentence?’

Mr Fotherington looked at his client, who dutifully leaned towards him and whispered, ‘Fuck all Your Honour.’

Mr Fotherington looked away and nuisanced his brief.

‘Well’, demanded the judge, ‘what does he say?’
Fotherington cleared his throat. ‘Fuck all Your Honour.’

‘Really,’ replied the judge, ‘I could have sworn I saw his lips move.’

The Most Dangerous Room in the House. Masterchef Mishap: witness statements can be funny things.

After every crime come witness statements. There may not be a right way to draft them but there are plenty of wrong ways. For example:

'Max William Leigh states: I am a twenty-six year old male and reside at an address known to police. I am a chef. I know the accused, Lisa Rawlins. She is a caterer at the mines. We met a year ago and became friends. This changed in January when we had a brief relationship. I would call it a fling.

Cleaver Greene Without the Rake

I once appeared in court naked, crouched inside a glass sphere hanging from a crane. Below were a cantankerous judge, bemused jurors and a packed gallery. Worst of all, I’d forgotten my wig and was completed unprepared for trial.

It was a nightmare of the kind I had experienced early in my career, when for a short time antidepressants and sleeping tablets were good friends. After twenty years at the bar I’d hoped such fears were behind me.

Just Like Alice: a short story

The old Aboriginal man stirred. The scavenging dogs woke him. That and the cold. He had slept in the dry creek bed that twisted though town; in the belly of the snake.

The sand was cold and his blanket not good enough to stop it. He pulled the rag tight about his chest. He coughed and shivered. Up and down the Todd people coughed. One farted and growled at the cold and someone laughed.