LAWYERS CAN BE HUMAN

by ECB Wijeyesinghe

When lawyers die there are no comets seen. Unlike judges who leave the stamp of their personality in their pronouncements the average lawyer splashes about in Court, bamboozles the opposition if possible, collects his fee if any, and then proceeds to face his last judgment. What happens after that is anybody’s guess.

Judges are different. They find it so much easier to get a visa into the Hall of Fame. Take the case of Sir Thomas de Sampayo: his erudite judgments cover several buckram-bound volumes, but he is chiefly remembered by the layman for his egg-shaped head and for his having given utterance to that paradoxical aphorism “a joke is a serious thing”.

One sometimes wonders whether he meant what he said, or whether he was merely joking. There is another historic case: Pontius Pilate. Some readers may recall the lackadaisical role he played in a famous trial nearly 2000 years ago. He just asked one question, “what is truth?”, made a quick exit from the Judgment Hall and thereby gained immortality. Pilate was, of course, intelligent enough to know that there were a thousand answers to that question and had he dilly-dallied any longer he would have been pestered by endless supplementary queries.

Camera Artists

I was assailed by these thoughts when the portrait of George E. Chitty Q.C., was unveiled a few days ago at Hulftsdorp. As a lawyer he would have been in the top rung in any civilized country but half the income he received from his practice must have gone on his expensive hobby – photography. In this respect he reminds us of his illustrious neighbour across the road – Lionel Wendt –who was essentially a musician, but devoted most of his time to an art which placed him in the world class among camera artists.

Those Philistines who think of the law merely as a parasitic profession should have known lawyers of the calibre of George Chitty. Apart from photography, music and art, one of his most rewarding hobbies was dipping his hand into a fund from which he gave freely to his less-fortunate brethren. By that I do not mean merely his poor relations, but any miserable acquaintance who has had a rough deal from Life.

Nimble brain

It has been my good fortune to have seen and met a few of the great lawyers of the past. There are cynics who maintain that the only good lawyers are the dead ones. A man now almost forgotten is E.J. Samerawickrema, father of Mr. Justice George Samerawickreme, the unassuming recluse of “Villa Cecillia.” E.J.S was a slightly built man with a merry twinkle in his eye. Physically he was unlike some of his sons, but he made up for his lack of avoirdupois by the weight of his legal opinions.

His nimble brain was in great demand not only by aspiring politicians, but by businessmen and society women in a tight corner. In a word, he was the trusted adviser of all those in distress in his time and the iron safe in which their secrets were locked up. The memorials on constitutional reform which he wrote for D.S.Senanayake and his friends cannot be counted on the fingers of one hand. As the draftsman of legal pleadings in Ceylon he had no peer. But alas, illness struck him where it hurt most. Though he lost the power of his vocal chords the voice of his opinions could not be stilled. From then onwards till his death, everything he had to say had to be written out and his children proved most cheerful amanuenses.

H.V.Perera

E.J. Samerawickrema’s mantle as the Solon of Ceylon fell on H.V. Perera whose memory is still alive and whose Appeal Court exploits have acquired a legendary aura. One of H.V’s favourite stories concerned a witness who bore an extraordinary resemblance to the presiding judge. All those present in Court twigged the similarity and also the judicial embarrassment.

In order to keep the record in proper perspective, the Judge, whose father’s Walauwa was in the village from where the witness came thought he would rise to the occasion. “Tell me,” he told the villager, “was your mother ever in the habit of visiting the Walauwa ?” “No my lord,” replied the man, who was simple but knew something of the facts of life, “it was not my mother, but my father who worked in the Walauwa and used to spend his nights there.”

Laughter held both its sides as the judge adjusted his wig and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

Leonine face

A lawyer whose face was his fortune, was H.J.C.Pereira. His handsome leonine countenance was an inheritance of the legal family from which he hailed. His brother, Mr. Justice Walter Pereira, and his nephew, R.L.Pereira, had the same cast of features and the same sonorous voice, which caused confusion among witnesses and persuasion among juries.

During my first experience of Jury service there was a memorable battle of wits between H.J.C.P. and the slim, slightly-bald Counsel for the Prosecution, Stanley Obeyesekere, whose retorts sounded like whip-cracks on a recalcitrant horse. Obeyesekere like all Obeyesekeres, had the prominent nose of his clan. It made him look like a bird of prey, especially when he was summing up for a conviction.

He was, besides being a first-class lawyer, a first-class horseman and used to take part regularly whenever the Turf Club meetings had an event for Gentlemen Riders. Even otherwise, he used to compete on level terms with the professionals. The jockeys kept a respectable distance from him when the starting tape went up, because the sting of Obeyesekere’s whip-lash was mild compared to the fury of his tongue-lash.

Punters used to back Obeyesekere’s mount even when the odds were fairly long because they were sure of a clean race and the bumping and boring of the more aggressive riders would be reduced to a minimum. In every race reserved for Gentlemen Riders, Obeyesekere’s mount was always the favourite. His chief rival was a planter, Capt. A.J.S. Featherstonhaugh, who later acted as the Turf Club’s official starter most efficiently.Going back to the Courts, the case in which Obeyesekere was pitted against H.J.C. the leader on the Criminal side, was one in which a fairly elderly man was charged with rape.

Clean rider

The Judge was Mr. Justice Akbar who spent all his leisure in communion with the Deity. Even when he traveled in his rickshaw from his home to Hulftsdorp he used to read the Koran, and when the jury retired, Akbar would be praying in his room hoping their verdict would be correct. In this particular case, the salacious details must have been absolutely abominable to a man of Akbar’s temperament.

The accused was found guilty and he staggered as the maximum sentence was awarded. I believe it was 15 years’ rigorous imprisonment. H.J.C. Pereira pleaded hard for a remission and said that the man would never complete the sentence. Akbar was adamant. “Try to do as much of it as you can,” he said and went back to the Koran in his chamber.

(Excepted from The Good at Their Best first published in 1977)