Phillipps Get Carman

In court with George Carman QC, Britain's most feared lawyer - The man behind the advocate
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-78590-952-8
Verlag: Biteback Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 352 Seiten

George Carman QC was, and perhaps still is, Britain's most famous lawyer within living memory. Equally feared and respected, he made his name as an erudite and incisive advocate largely in the field of libel. Coming to prominence with his superb defence of disgraced former Liberal Party leader Jeremy Thorpe on a charge of conspiracy to murder, Carman subsequently defended many well-known faces from the worlds of entertainment, sport, politics and business, including Ken Dodd, Richard Branson and Elton John. Away from court, Carman was a complex and private yet not unsociable man. In 1986, he met barrister Karen Phillipps and, although she turned down his immediate marriage proposal, the two would have a close platonic relationship for the rest of Carman's life. Carman intended to write his memoirs but became too ill to complete the book and died in 2001. Using his papers, press cuttings and court transcripts - along with the testimonies of some of those who saw him in action and her own extensive memories of her close friend -Phillipps presents a portrait of this eminent advocate through the cases that made him famous. All the drama of the courtroom world that Carman belonged to is here, along with some of the best and most entertaining theatre the English justice system has ever seen.

Karen Phillipps is a legal adviser, mediator and qualified barrister who practised at the Chancery and criminal Bars. She was for many years the close companion of George Carman, working and travelling with him. Because of her strong bond with Carman, Karen was uniquely well qualified to write this book, exploring his many courtroom dramas as well as the man under the wig struggling with his own demons.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Phillipps, Karen

Leseproben

Introduction
George Carman QC was, and perhaps still is, the most famous British lawyer within living memory. Equally feared and respected, he made his name as an erudite and incisive advocate largely in the field of libel. In the 1980s and 1990s, no high-profile libel case was complete without the diminutive QC whose ability to wipe the courtroom floor with the high and mighty, often with a smart turn of phrase that guaranteed headlines in the following day’s newspapers, was unmatched. Following a spell working in the north-west, Carman moved to London, coming to prominence with his superb defence of disgraced former Liberal Party leader Jeremy Thorpe on a charge of conspiracy to murder. The odds seemed stacked against Thorpe, but he was acquitted – and George Carman was on his way. In subsequent years, he rubbed shoulders with many well-known faces from the worlds of entertainment, sport, politics and business, among others. Many of these were the beneficiaries of his superb advocacy; others, however, would never forget the bruising they received under his forensic cross-examination. Those who won the day include Ken Dodd, Richard Branson and Elton John. But the likes of Jonathan Aitken, Neil Hamilton, Ian Botham and Gillian Taylforth were among those who succumbed to ‘Killer Carman’. George was commissioned to write his memoirs from the time he was forced to retire in August 2000 due to his advancing prostate cancer. He was offered a publishing contract for the manuscript and, knowing he was unwell, began to put his cases into categories, along with a personal chapter of reminiscences from his early years. However, he became too ill to complete the book and died on 2 January 2001. Although George fully intended to complete his autobiography, I do wonder whether, had he lived, he would actually have managed to finish it. This isn’t because he was indolent or easily bored – in fact, quite the opposite. George was a workaholic who tied himself up for weeks and months on end with court cases, and while his intentions towards the writing of his autobiography were good, my opinion is that he simply wouldn’t have had the time. I became George’s confidante and he talked to me many times about the way he would like his memoir to flow and what he intended to include. And he certainly didn’t plan that I – or anyone else – should write it for him. That said, he did leave me his papers in his will, so perhaps he was dropping a posthumous hint. We will never know. Either way, George was a driven man who was dedicated almost wholly to his work. He wasn’t much interested in having hobbies, and unlike a lot of lawyers, he didn’t play competitive sports. If I invited him to the theatre or an exhibition, he’d happily come along, yet he was equally happy not to bother if he needed to work. He wasn’t an unsociable person by any means; he enjoyed meeting people and chatting, though the conversation was almost invariably about the law. George had a few good friends, but on the whole, they tended to be lawyers he was working with. So work was intrinsic to him. He didn’t know what to do when he wasn’t working. If he hadn’t had the health issue which finally killed him, he’d have worked until his life ended. He wouldn’t have retired; he couldn’t have occupied his time in a meaningful way. When he was in the middle of a case, he would talk of nothing else, always pondering and picking his various arguments while trying to think what his opponents might say or do next. And every time a case ended – even if it was a high-profile one that had gone in his favour – he would experience a real dip in confidence, thinking that he might never work again. In a way, he was more like an actor than a lawyer, terrified of the dreaded ‘resting’ period that sometimes comes even after a successful show. As soon as he was hired for another case, he was back on cloud nine. This is why I’ve decided to write a book predominantly about George’s work – because his work was his life. We could spend time dipping into the whys and wherefores of George’s day-to-day personal life, but inevitably, this would still bring us back to the subject of his work. Had he managed to finish his autobiography, there’s no doubt that it would have contained a certain amount of personal reflection and, in fact, those chapters written by George shortly before he died do exactly that. He delves into his past with surprising candour, insight and a great deal of brutal honesty about himself: I am a complex person, a driven person and at times an arrogant person. I totally lived for my career and was in control, which I needed. At times, it was a very lonely place, unless you had people of similar thought processes around you. I now realise it was hard for others to understand me regarding my professionalism. I realised I was living my mother’s wishes as ‘the prodigal son’. My mother always sought to do her best. She was at times very judgemental of people who were not of the same thought process. Her drive and standards helped me on my journey. I realised I had her traits not my own. I have been guilty of being in judgement of those around me and again that core footprint of my mother was repeated on those occasions. It is sad that George didn’t live to write any more of his story, as it would have been fascinating to have read his thoughts about the cases he worked on and the ways in which he conducted those cases. However, we at least get a tantalising glimpse of the man beneath the barrister’s gown in these brief reflections, a sketch of a person with outward charm, confidence, wit and intellect, as well as a soul that, while not quite ‘tortured’, comes some way to meeting that description. As he said, it’s all rather complex. Because of the Jeremy Thorpe case and various other high-profile trials, George’s reputation preceded him, so, like most lawyers working in London in the mid-’80s, I had heard about him a while before I met him. Having qualified as a barrister, I was offered a pupillage in 13 Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn, the chambers of Charles Sparrow QC, a bencher of Gray’s Inn, my chosen inn of court. It was a fascinating time, and I would often walk back from court at lunchtime to chambers with my pupil master, Patrick Talbot QC. These Chancery chambers were unusual in that many of the tenants were in the High Court or Privy Council regularly, often making new law with intricate cases. Elizabeth Appleby QC was the only female QC and there was one other female tenant, Beverley Briggs, now Lady Briggs KC. I was one of only two female pupils, the other being a woman called Belinda. My pupil master had never worked with a female pupil before and joked he would never have a male pupil again! I left these Chancery chambers to seek experience in common law. I was now receiving my own criminal work and had not ventured into a criminal court before. I undertook six months’ pupillage in the chambers of Margaret Puxon QC, an eminent doctor. I was then invited to spend a few months at 4 King’s Bench Walk with Michael Latham. He was amused that I never did spend time with him, as I was either doing my own work or acting as pupil to another tenant. I then applied for a tenancy in 2 King’s Bench Walk, the chambers of Lord Campbell of Alloway. One of my fellow tenants, George Papageorgis, was friends with George Carman. Papageorgis said he had told him about me and that Carman would love to meet me. The two Georges hatched a plan and eventually I met them both in Daly’s Wine Bar in 1986. I thought I was going for a drink with my colleague, but George Carman was already there with him. I grinned at seeing the ‘Silver Fox’, as the press dubbed him, in the days before he was renamed ‘Gorgeous George’. I was aware that Papageorgis was trying to set me up romantically with Carman, but at that time, I had a boyfriend. Nevertheless, we hit it off, and when Papageorgis got up to leave, Carman persuaded me to stay and continue the conversation. So I did, later accepting an invitation to lunch. I can’t say I approved of George’s chain-smoking, especially in the confines of his car, but I liked his warmth and found him entertaining. He wasn’t remotely pompous, but he was immensely clever, amusing and genuinely interested in people. In that sense, he wasn’t a typical barrister! And he communicated extremely well. That, I think, was his greatest asset: he was able to mesmerise anyone he was talking to and had a wonderful command of the English language. He focused on you as a person, as he did with juries, and from that moment, you were under his spell. During the lunch, he asked about my relationship, and I said I hoped to be married to my then boyfriend ‘one day’. At the time, he was separated from his wife. George assured me he would never fully leave her. Despite the charm, however, I wasn’t romantically interested in George. ‘I love my boyfriend and I’m prepared to wait and see,’ I said. ‘You’re wrong,’ George insisted. ‘You should marry me.’ I was taken aback by the immediacy of his proposal and...