Unlike New Zealand courts it's illegal to film inside British courts – or anywhere on the grounds for that matter.
So this is an attempt – as the Chris Cairns trial draws to a close – to paint a picture of the trial from inside courtroom one at the Southwark Crown Court in London.
I've helpfully drawn a wee sketch (not drawn while in court, that's also illegal):
Cairns arrives at court most mornings nice and early. Most mornings he pauses to be 'papped' by the media and says a word or two to our clamouring microphones though he's obviously unable to say much. It's usually along the lines of, "morning" and on chattier days, "good morning".
Southwark Crown Court isn't the most salubrious courthouse in the land. It's no Old Bailey but it has its charms and quirks. For example, the entire entrance and foyer of the court was blocked off with hazard tape and barricades for a while after a square of the ceiling fell down, thankfully not killing or seriously maiming anyone. The ceiling landed on the small coffee cart permanently set up in the foyer, smashing the grinder and leaving a massacre of coffee beans.
There's much milling around in a small, stuffy entrance area outside the court room before the usher opens the doors. Media mingling with the accused, mingling with the public, mingling with lawyers. Some days there are crowds of New Zealand cricket fans. They're not hard to pick, they're the ones wearing jandals to court.
Inside courtroom one Cairns sits next to his co-accused Andrew Fitch-Holland in a glass room (see diagram), a bit like a display cabinet, with a court officer keeping an eye on them (when they're not sleeping that is). Cairns mostly sits and stares, Fitch-Holland mostly potters away on his laptop. Some witnesses, like Daniel Vettori, stir Cairns more than others and instead of sitting and staring Cairns sighs loudly, shakes his head, puts his face in his hands, generally behaves like a person exasperated.
Fitch-Holland has a condition called supraventricular tachycardia, which means his heart rate can increase suddenly and dramatically when stressed or emotional. He's also claustrophobic so the door of the glass room has to be kept open. He's hard of hearing too so wears headphones that look a bit like the top half of a stethoscope. Awkwardly the part that hangs below his chin also serves as a microphone. Neither he nor Cairns realised this at the offset so their occasional whispers were amplified through the court.
At one point Lou Vincent mistook their mutterings for commentary on a silent video of a cricket match. In fairness, but disappointingly for the eavesdropping media, the Judge warned the co-accused that we could all hear them and they ceased most of the chatter but still, when Fitch-Holland blows his nose it's really loud.
Every side is represented by a Queens Counsel and each QC is coupled with a "learned junior". The QCs are big time.
Sasha Wass for the Crown took down Rolf Harris, she has a photographic memory, won Crime Silk of the Year 2015 and used to be a judge. She is cool and fierce, The Times described her as "clever and ice cool". Other high-profile cases she's worked on include serial killer Rosemary West and Kweku Adoboli who was behind Britain's biggest banking fraud.
Sasha Wass (Getty)
Orlando Pownall for Cairns defended the Omagh Bomber, he was Crime Silk of the Year 2008 and described by the Daily Mail like this: "With his handsome profile and muscular courtroom style Orlando Pownall is the pin-up of the legal business thanks to a string of big-name successes."
Orlando Pownall (2 Hare Court website)
Jonathan Laidlaw for Andrew Fitch-Holland was Crime Silk of the Year 2014 (yes, there's a theme here), he successfully defended Rebekah Brooks during the phone-hacking scandal, he's also acted for Hugo Boss and the Football Association.
Rebekah Brooks (L) and Jonathan Laidlaw (The Guardian)
The Judge is about as highly respected as they come. He sent Harris and the killers of Lee Rigby to jail. The Sunday Times describes him thus: "In court his grip is sound, his wisdom deep, his demeanour humane but intolerant of knaves." I agree. He's very, very smart, as you'd expect. His recall is frighteningly sharp, he seems fair but definitely doesn't suffer foolishness.
On first impression to the unlearned eye (i.e. mine) High Court judges look like Santa Claus; bright red robes, white fur cuffs, a big black belt and of course, the powdered wig. The wigs must be itchy and, because it's so rigid and so nicely matches his actual silver hair, when the judge lifts it to have a wee scratch it looks like he's lifting his scull up to really get in there. Unsettling.
Nigel Sweeney (Daily Mail)
Interaction between the lawyers is excruciatingly British. They have made an art form of passive-aggression and self-deprecation. There's a lot of, "oh I do apologise", "it's no doubt my fault", "forgive my clumsy delivery", "forgive me but I suggest you're lying, you're a liar" and that sort of thing.
It speaks to my maturity but the extreme manners and respect held for the court makes all the "f***" this and "shit" that seem a little out of step. Counsel often reads witness statements riddled with expletives and, again it may just be me but, they seem to swear with far more ferocity than the rest of us. Don't get me started on the judge.
Mr Pownall is king of the passive aggressive, Ms Wass tends to be more of a straight shooter, whereas Mr Laidlaw often opts for just plain aggressive.
The commonly held favourite quote of the trial came from Mr Laidlaw who while addressing the judge suddenly stopped and snapped at Ms Wass, "Spare me the faces."
What faces she was making, none of us are sure, but the judge was forced to urge, "Calm, calm."
It's not just the barristers the judge has had to chastise. Cell phone sounds are strictly forbidden. The judge stopped everything once when a phone went off warning those present to make sure it didn't happen again. Minutes later another phone went off, there was a collective intake of breath which turned to collective laughter when the judge confessed, "It's actually me", before assuring the court he'd admonished himself severely.
There are 12 jurors – seven women, five men. After seven long weeks of evidence the pressure is now on them. Do not underestimate how hard this must be. They have to be unanimously certain – 100 percent sure – that Cairns match-fixed and only then can they begin to consider guilty verdicts for any of the charges Cairns and Fitch-Holland are facing.
If they can't reach a unanimous verdict the judge may move to allow a majority verdict of 10-2 or 11-1. I imagine that would be even harder for a jury knowing there's doubt among your number whatever their collective decision.
For the most part they've been attentive – as you'd expect, it's been a fascinating trial. They're laden with myriad big folders, their 'jury bundles' full of all the evidence. They've had a full run through by the judge of everything's that's been said during the trial which felt a bit like story time.
Now it's on them to condense it all – seven weeks, screeds of paper, the theatre of the court, all the tears, anger, frustration from the witness box, all the drawn out technical stuff, all the welcome moments of levity – condense it all into one or two words that will change two men's lives. Guilty or not guilty.
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