Case for the defence of our jury system

One must never hurry into a decision merely because the lunch hour is approaching

Now that I've just completed jury service for the first time, I've been asked if it actually bears any resemblance to Twelve Angry Men. My answer is yes; but it's not the Henry Fonda film, it's Tony Hancock's identically titled television pastiche that my experience at times resembled.

All around me were people acting a part, in true Hancock style. One of my cases involved a man accused of theft of a £200 car, not the biggest case ever to come before a crown court; possibly, indeed, one of the smallest. But this did not deter the defence barrister, like all barristers an actor manqué. He opened his speech with a quote from Martin Luther King, delivered with the great civil rights campaigner's rhetorical flourish, then proceeded to cite speeches by the late Lord Devlin. What a motor this must have been.

In another case the judge, too, seemed to be auditioning for a role. Judges are not so much actors manqués as cabinet ministers manqués. This one, depriving us of our much-anticipated session in the jury room, directed us to find a defendant not guilty, then went on to make to us a political speech so rousing that Iain Duncan Smith should beg him to come on to his front bench. During the case the police officer had admitted that he had lost his notebook. Referring to this and other lapses, the judge told us he would like the case to have proceeded, but was stymied by "this sham of a police force, underfunded by an inadequate executive". A plague on both their houses was neatly conveyed in the long sigh and shake of the wig that followed.

All human life is in the jury room. I was elected foreman; well, actually, elected is putting it a bit strong. I simply grunted at the end of a long, embarrassing silence when we were asked who would like to take on the role. How I would have loved to emulate Hancock, also the foreman of his jury. Remember his emotional tirade as he appealed to his fellow jurors: "Does Magna Carta mean nothing to you? Did she die in vain?"

But neither the Fonda film nor the Hancock pastiche included my own favourite characters in the cast: the court ushers. Ours was a Dickensian-looking woman, her long grey hair cascading down her black gown, who, mindful that she must not be privy to jury discussions, would enter the room with a loud knock on the door and a terrifying cry of "Silence!"

During the fortnight she would often resolutely march us from the jury waiting-room to the antechamber of the court, would leave us for a moment, return and march us down the flights of stairs again. "But why does the judge not wait until everything is ready until he calls us," we would inquire with increasing desperation and aching limbs. "He likes to have his juries in place," she would answer enigmatically, the threat of the command "Silence!" hovering on her lips.

In those long pauses, sometimes lasting days, between being called into court, I glanced at the suggestions book. It contained a jury service to die for. Why, demanded various jurors, was there no pool table in the assembly room; why no movies; why no videos? Why, I was dying to ask on my third day of waiting, were there no cases?

But all was worth it when one experienced the real fascination of the jury room, the gathering together of 12 people of different class, lifestyle and outlook: something that happens much less than we might imagine.

The jury room divides almost by osmosis into its reactionary and liberal wings. Dress is no longer a clue. Few of the men wear a tie any more. That, apparently, would be too obvious an indication of attitudes to the criminal justice system. But there are other ways of finding a like-minded soul to sit next to – the book or newspaper they have been reading, their whispered asides about the defendant in the corridor.

In the Queen's Speech today the Government is expected to indicate a restriction in the type of cases that will go to jury trial. But actually my experience has not dented my confidence in the essential democracy of the jury room. I found an earnest desire to discuss and analyse the cases, a determination that the Crown must prove its case, however unappealing the defendant; and a willingness to listen to and be influenced by opposing views, which is something that one seldom finds outside the jury room.

Perhaps more in Sid James than Tony Hancock mode, I had to remind myself that one must never hurry into a decision merely because the lunch hour was approaching, at which time you were locked in, literally, and the only foodstuffs were the crown court sandwiches. Ice-cold tuna and cucumber in stale bread is not the ideal accompaniment to considering a verdict; but as Martin Luther King once said ...

d.lister@independent.co.uk