A Barrister

With a barrister’s confidence, I would go far. Stereotype: white male, middle-class, middle-aged, Oxbridge-educated, three-piece suit, last button undone. Fortunate beneficiary to bank of mum and dad, city home, country home. Stands to inherit: a property or properties, in due course, and substantial funds. Family signet ring, left pinky. Confident. Self-assured. Belongs.

 

‘Hi. I’m Virginia. Ginny for short.’ She pronounces her words in a way I don’t. ‘Ver-gin-nyah.’ We meet at a RealLaw Prisons Training Session. A pro-bono programme, student-led and delivered to prisoners and ex-offenders on topics of legal relevance: Stop and Search law, housing and immigration. I am the Student Director of the programme and motivated by the work. In training sessions, I talk students through the process of volunteering to present. Female students should not wear low-cut, cleavage-revealing tops or heels. Don’t talk down to the men. Prisons are restricted environments, so the men are generally very grateful that you have taken time out of your day to come and speak to them. They are interested to hear what you have to say and to learn. Don’t make assumptions. Don’t ask them why they are in prison. Don’t ask personal questions. Basic common sense. I want to add ‘but for the Grace of God’, we could be in their shoes and vice versa, but I keep it simple and secular.

My first visit to HMP Pentonville is memorable. I have followed the prison’s protocol to the letter. I present my driving licence on arrival and take a photograph for my ID badge – to be worn at all times – and visibly. I walk through D Wing with butterflies in my stomach.

‘Just be careful you don’t lean against that red panic alarm behind you by accident, Miss Sai. It runs all the way around.’

Most of the men are dressed in unbranded grey tracksuits. They are intrigued by my presence. There is a snooker table in the middle of the landing. The lights are an offensive shade of yellow and it is noisy, grey noise. Chatter. Inmates talking. Wardens talking – distinct. Shouting. TV channels in conflict with one another. Laughter. Banging against steel. I want to see inside a cell. The cell doors are open – if not, ajar. The rooms are basic but personalised. Family photos on the walls. Bunk beds. An open toilet – in a shared space. I smile gently and try not to prolong eye contact as I am escorted through the wing.

I have a class of pre-release prisoners enrolled in the prison’s education programme.

I have prepared and memorised an icebreaker:

‘Hi. I’m Stella. I’m a law student. I’m studying to become a barrister. I’m originally from Brixton, so I’m not used to being on this side of the river. I’m really pleased to be here with you today and I hope we can have a useful discussion on the subject of housing law. I would like to share with you some information that I hope you will find useful. I’m very interested to hear your views and experiences in the two hours we have together this afternoon. If you have any questions at all, please feel free to ask. Before we start, I would like to know everyone’s name and something about you. So, if we start from this side of the room, can you tell me your name and something you are good at?’

‘Miss, my name is Jerome. I work as a chef in the prison, and can I just say, I would love to cook for you.’

The laugh leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

‘Wow. Thank you, Jerome.’

The ice has been broken, and from that moment, working with the men is without fear and purposeful. They have so many questions for me.

‘How long they can keep me after I finish sentence? They want deport me.’

‘I’m being released in three weeks and I’ve got nowhere to live, Miss. Can I still see my kids?’

I answer what I can and promise to research the answers I don’t know. I will feed information back through the Education Coordinator. My mum arranges a collection of unwanted books through Sacred Heart Church to donate to the prison library, for which the men, and I, are immensely grateful. After each session, I feel that I have done something good in, and with, my life.

 

Virginia stays behind after the training session. She really enjoyed my talk and would love to give a presentation when a slot becomes available. I glance at the list of registered students. She has a double-barrelled surname with multiple syllables. She wears a signet ring on her left pinky, bearing a family crest. I didn’t know that women wore signet rings. She would have been at home at Kennard Hall. She is too enthusiastic. We talk – just friendly, I decide. She has a nice smile. My suspicion dissipates. We agree to go to a dining session together. As she says goodbye, I notice on her left hand, fourth finger, a diamond-encrusted pearl ring.

 

I have to complete twelve ‘qualifying sessions’ before I can be called to the Bar. Qualifying sessions are designed to complement the Bar Vocational Course, we are told. Tonight’s session is an educational talk at Gray’s Inn on ‘The Rule of Law’. It is my first time dining at the Inn. Custom dictates that we must wear to dine what we would wear in court:

 

A dark suit, shirt and a dark tie or blouse. A dark dress or skirt of appropriate length and worn with a jacket. Gowns will be provided and worn during dining.

 

We look like Harry Potter Hopefuls. There is reference to a ‘Loyal Toast’, proposed by the Inn and drunk when seated. I have no idea what it means. We are to sit in groups or ‘messes’ of four. I know what a group is. A ‘mess’? I have no idea. I feel like one.

 

The Student Barrister nearest the top of the table on the right-hand side of each mess is the Captain. The Captain serves himself first and then passes the food anti-clockwise. The Junior, who sits beside the Captain, serves himself last.

 

It sounds like a posh man’s game of ‘Pass the Parcel’.

I meet Ginny outside Gray’s Inn. Her enthusiasm is unabated. She gave a presentation on Stop and Search law at Wormwood Scrubs this morning. She has thought of an update to the presentation pack and she is keen to share it with me. I have compiled the presentation packs with care. They are sufficiently detailed and comprehensive, I am sure. I listen, half intrigued, half insulted, as Ginny shares the details of her prison visit experience with me:

‘Er, Miss?’

‘Yes, Billy.’

‘When they search me—’

‘Yes?’

‘Can they ask me to roll back my foreskin?’

‘I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Billy!’

 

‘Stella,’ she says, giggles surfacing, ‘I couldn’t find the answer in the pack!’

We are doubled over with laughter that will not cease and disturbed by the image. Our laughter carries across Gray’s Inn Fields and accompanies us into the dining hall.

I am still laughing when the Loyal Toast is given. The kind of laughter that quietens and is triggered moments later by eye contact, expressing itself in stifled snorts and giggles. It is not until the session speaker approaches the lectern that I notice the silverware laid neatly in front me. I count my cutlery in silent horror: three forks, three spoons, two knives and three glasses. When my mum makes omo tuo and groundnut soup at home, we eat it with our hands. Mercy. I forget the customs I have studied in preparation. When the soup starters are served, I still don’t know if I am the Captain of the Mess. Pea and mint. I find it difficult to settle. I watch Ginny, carefully, as she works her way through the silverware in front of her, from the outside in, with comfort and ease.

She tells me a story about her grandfather. An Air Marshal in the RAF. At a formal dinner, just like this. Attended by senior officers. Among them a junior officer, looking extremely nervous. He starts to eat his peas – with a knife. Laughter, laughter, lots of laughter. His face takes on the colour of beetroot. What does Grandpa Air Marshal do? He puts his fork down and starts to eat his peas with his knife, the most senior person at the dinner. That is how she defines good manners.

Ginny doesn’t hint that she senses my nerves. She comes from a kind family, I conclude.

 

The dining experience passes without further complication and I am relieved that I have shared it with Ginny. She is the only person I know to receive pupillage offers from every Chambers she applies to. Ginny is hard-working and well deserving. A rare combination of humility and grace. A lady with a pinky ring. I want to expand RealLaw Prisons to work with female prisoners and ex-offenders, a project. My grin mirrors hers, as we laugh once more across the table. Oh Billy! You little goat.