A trial in itself

THE whole jury service experience was summed up perfectly by one of my fellow 12 good men during another bout of sitting around waiting for something to happen.

“Jury service is the most boring interesting thing I have ever done in my life,” he said.

In doing my fair share of court reporting for The Press, I had an idea that serving on a jury was not going to be as exciting as it seems on the TV.

I had noticed that whenever I was covering a trial and the dozen jurors took their seats, the presiding judge would invariably apologise for keeping them hanging around for so long.

That it was not going to be a white-knuckle ride was confirmed when I received a chunky envelope through the door with the word “Court Services” printed across it. After first thinking “Oh heck, what have I done?” I tore it open to find the summons itself and a paper explaining the importance to society of jury service and a booklet telling me what to expect.

It warns you to bring along “a newspaper, book or some form of personal entertainment”.

I was on jury service for about eight days over the two weeks; during that time I read several newspapers, got through most of John Steinbeck’s Grapes Of Wrath and played a lot of Angry Birds on my mobile phone.

So what can you expect from the whole experience? When you are called up there’s no getting out of it (unless you’re very ill, a convicted criminal or a few other exceptions).

You can defer it once – I did when I was originally asked to turn up on the morning of my 40th birthday last year, but when you’ve put it off once you have to be available next time they call you.

Turning up at York Crown Court I was told to sit in a waiting area with the other people who were to be my fellow jurors. After a while, you’re all taken to the jury room and welcomed by the jury officer who shows you a short film about the whole process.

Jury service lasts ten days, not including weekends, but a trial may spill over into a third week. A case could go on for months, but that’s highly unlikely.

A jury consists of 12 people and there are usually three “spares”. Once a trial is under way you will all be led into the court room and a dozen names will be read out. If yours is among them it means you’re up. The spares will be asked to hang around for a while but will probably go home for the day and told to come back in the morning if there’s another trial scheduled.

A trial will probably last a minimum of three days. I was involved in three throughout my time – all very short.

What struck me was the number of cases which are “alcohol-fuelled”, to use a favourite phrase of the media. At times, I wondered how some of the cases ended up before a judge and jury in the grand and sobering surroundings of York Crown Court. It seemed such a waste of court time and money, with most cases seemingly hinging on who slapped who first during a drunken night in some city centre bar.

It is here I have a degree of sympathy with the jurors who were roundly derided in the media recently for requesting a definition of “beyond reasonable doubt”.

While I am absolutely forbidden to say what was discussed during deliberations in the jury room, I can say that heated debate can go on for hours over the tiniest of details.

One thing I’ve learned about court cases as a reporter and juror is this – they never ever happen like they do on TV.

A television drama will invariably see the defendant asked probing and clever questions until he or she breaks down in the dock, head in hands, and wails “OK I did it, damn you...I did it.” The prosecution then folds their arms, a smug grin on their face as they say “I rest my case”.

In real life, however, as a juror you will hear the witnesses, the prosecution and defence lawyers’ cases and then the judge sums up – and then you think: “I haven’t got a clue.”

It is seldom clear cut and it often falls on the defence to create just enough uncertainty in the jurors’ minds to put the case short of the vital “beyond reasonable doubt” mark. Arguing in the jury room over the minutiae of a case can be exhausting and can go on for several hours. If you don’t reach a verdict that day you have to go home with the whole lot swirling in your head and you are strictly forbidden to discuss it with anyone.

Then you are back in the courtroom and the verdict is delivered by the jury chairman, who is picked from one of the 12 of you.

At this point, there’s no going back so you better have done your best to make sure you are as certain as you can be about your verdict. Throughout my time I never forgot that someone’s freedom and whole future could be affected by my decision.

And then that’s it – your duty is done, you file silently out of the court and either go home or settle in for a whole lot of hanging around again waiting to see if you are picked for the next trial.

Did I enjoy the whole experience? Enjoy isn’t really the right word. It’s a lot of responsibility and can be exhausting. It’s certainly interesting but there are long tedious spells where nothing happens.

Oh, and just to shatter a few more myths; I never heard anyone say “objection, your honour,” or “silence in court” and the judge doesn’t bang his little wooden mallet (or gavel) on his bench. In fact, judges don’t even have them in English courts.