Ooh this is wonderful, said Janner as he f inally shuff led in to court... for 59 seconds
With his baseball cap, windcheater, walking stick and look of wide-eyed surprise, he could have been a stray tourist drifting in from Madame tussaud’s just across the road. Lord Janner certainly didn’t look like a man finally being dragged into court after four police investigations, four court hearings, 22 charges of child abuse and some of the most extraordinary legal gymnastics veteran court reporters could recall.
As far as he was concerned, it was all rather fun. Such are the effects (dare one say blessings?) of advanced dementia.
‘Ooh, this is wonderful,’ exclaimed the 87-year-old former Labour MP, shuffling into Court 1 at Westminster Magistrates’ Court on the arm of his daughter for a 59- second appearance – which he followed with an ice cream.
this was emphatically not the view of his family and legal team. they had been f i ghting this moment right up to the wire.
Despite an edict from Britain’s senior magistrate earlier in the week, reinforced by two high Court judges, that Janner was to appear here yesterday morning, his lawyers still turned up yesterday minus their client.
District Judge Emma Arbuthnot could have issued an arrest warrant on the spot. instead, she listened patiently as his barrister, Paul Ozin, proposed various alternatives.
the peer – who was still to be seen in the house of Lords as recently as last year – should surely be allowed to appear on camera like a young person giving evidence, he said. if not, Janner might suffer an ‘adverse reaction’.
there was also talk of shifting this entire operation to Wood Green Crown Court in North London, in order to be nearer Janner’s home. As the court adjourned for half an hour, i popped up to Wood Green to find a pair of youths in the dock on various counts of wounding with intent. it was hard to see why this considerably rougher setting should be any less ‘catastrophic’ for the former MP for Leicester, given his perilous fragility.
As the hearing resumed, Mr Ozin continued to push for a live video link from his Lordship’s armchair.
Were it not for the seriousness of the subject and the state of the central character, we could have been watching some sort of legal comedy.
By now, eyes were rolling on the prosecution benches. And, finally, the judge snapped. Janner, she said forcefully, would either be delivered to her court or arrested forthwith.
‘i’m warning you,’ Ms Arbuthnot assured Mr Ozin. ‘Stop messing around.’
Reverting to compassionate mode, the judge assured Janner’s team that if their client showed any signs of distress, she would instantly ‘abort’ his appearance.
he could be driven into the court through a side entrance, enter the courtroom through a side entrance and have a private room in which to gather whatever thoughts he might be having. Nor would he even have to stand in the dock.
But having opposed this moment for as long as they had, Janner’s lawyers had also succeeded in stoking up the anticipation of a large crowd of photographers, onlookers and oddball publicity-seekers.
As the peer arrived in the back of a toyota saloon with his daughter, Marion, the car simply ground to a halt in the melee.
At 2pm, t he public gallery was packed as the court rose for the arrival of the j udge. An awkward pause followed for a minute or two as we all sat wonder- ing what might happen next.
On thursday at the high Court, Mr Ozin had said Janner was extremely frail, confined to a wheelchair and has ‘virtually no language left at all’.
he said ordering him to appear court risked a ‘catastrophic reaction’ and would be ‘barbaric, inhumane and uncivilised’.
So what should we expect? the usher’s side door opened and in walked the stooped figure of Janner on his daughter’s arm. Wearing a windcheater over a wellworn green cardigan and crumpled blue shirt, he seemed both startled and excited as he looked across at the lawyers, the Press and the public gallery.
‘Ooh, this is wonderful,’ he cooed. Wonderful? Did he imagine that this was some sort of surprise party? here, unquestionably, was a tragic figure, a shell of the brilliant Cambridge and harvard-educated barrister who once commanded the attention of both houses of Parliament. Yet, at least, he retains the power of speech.
Marion, 66, was carrying her father’s stick and steered him to a desk below the dock where chairs had been arranged. On his other side was a carer, a kindly-looking lady twice the size of her charge who suddenly realised he was still wearing his black baseball cap. She gently prised it off.
the judge, who will surely be played by Patricia hodge if this case is ever dramatized, adopted a firm, matronly tone. ‘Are you Lord Janner,?’ she asked. ‘Ye- es,’ he replied, somewhat taken aback. Who was this woman? how did she know his name?
Ms Arbuthnot went through the briefest of formalities – he would be tried at Southwark Crown Court and was on unconditional bail.
‘Well Dad, that’s it,’ said Marion, helping him to his feet. ‘We’re off. Going to go home and have an ice cream.’ it was an incongruous yet r ather t ouching end to t his extremely protracted, expensive judicial saga. Janner’s appearance had lasted all of 59 seconds. he seemed perfectly content as he left.
it was certainly one of the more challenging assignments the three court artists on duty could recall. the poor things had waited all day to sketch this scene for the evening bulletins and it was over in a blink.
Unlike defendants in other cases, Janner did not have to listen while all the charges against him were recited. Nor did he have to run the gauntlet of the cameras outside. A few minutes after leaving the courtroom, his car shot out of the side entrance to the court and straight through two red lights.
he was serendaded on his way by a man in traditional irish costume playing a folk song, dancing a jig and waving a banner assuring Janner of forgiveness in the hereafter. it was by no means the strangest sight of the day.