My cuppa with the Krays

In 1958, I had recently obtained my first tenancy at 3 Hare Court, a modest set of prosecution chambers at the top of Middle Temple Lane.

The Crown Prosecution Service was still a twinkle in the eye of the legislature, and all London prosecutions were in the gift of the Scotland Yard solicitor. And he didn’t like women.

This put me in a difficult position. Chambers relied heavily on prosecution work. I was barred from it - even from humble traffic offences. The only work open to me was the lowly ‘dock brief’.

Here unemployed barristers would present themselves at the sessions to be inspected by the unrepresented prisoners who would select someone to represent them, purely on the basis of their looks.

One Friday evening, my luck changed. Jean, who doubled up as a junior clerk and secretary, typed up my instructions. The case, in