Barristers, Law Clerks, and Fees (Oh, My)

Several decades ago, an American client asked me to help recruit some British barristers for an international project.  I flew to London and met in chambers with a QC and a junior, and we discussed other barristers who might be interested in joining the group.  After about thirty minutes, the conversation veered oddly off course, as the two barristers began talking about the need for “cases of claret.”  One of the possible recruits liked a particular type of claret, another one preferred some other claret, and they all seemed to be interested in acquiring it only by the case.  They went on this way for a good twenty minutes, matching barristers to claret and commenting on how many cases of claret each one usually brought home.

Finally, it dawned on me.  “Oh,” I said, in a direct manner that made my Chicago upbringing even more obvious, “you’re talking about money.”

The room fell deadly silent, as if I had uttered some unforgivable vulgarity in relation to the royal family. (This was in the days before scandal and divorce had rocked the institution, which was still spoken of in hushed and reverential tones.)

The junior barrister tensed in his chair, giving every indication that I had triggered the “fight or flight” reflex.  It was as though he had been surprised in a bordello raid, and was trying to decide whether to demand a search warrant from the constable or bolt for the back door.

The QC at first appeared paralyzed; his vigorously ruddy complexion having turned deathly ashen. Obviously shaken, he eventually stirred.  “Well, well,” he said, “that’s enough of that. Perhaps you should speak with the clerk.”  There was no more talk of claret, or money.  If my client had not been so internationally prominent, I am quite sure that I would have been shown the door.

Such was my introduction to the British law clerk – a combination major domo, operations manager, and bill collector, whose function bears no resemblance to legal or judicial clerks in the United States.  I was put in mind of this story by an outstanding article about the British law clerk institution recently published on Bloomberg.com.  It appears to have changed only slightly since the days of Charles Dickens.  Here are a couple of paragraphs:

Clerks are by their own cheerful admission “wheeler-dealers,” what Americans might call hustlers. They take a certain pride in managing the careers of their bosses, the barristers—a breed that often combines academic brilliance with emotional fragility. Many barristers regard clerks as their pimps. Some, particularly at the junior end of the profession, live in terror of clerks. The power dynamic is baroque and deeply English, with a naked class divide seen in few other places on the planet. Barristers employ clerks, but a bad relationship can strangle their supply of cases. In his 1861 novel Orley Farm, Anthony Trollope described a barrister’s clerk as a man who “looked down from a considerable altitude on some men who from their professional rank might have been considered as his superiors.”

Fountain Court is among the most prestigious groups in London practicing commercial law, the branch that deals with business disputes. One day last summer, Taylor gave a tour of the premises, just north of the River Thames. The waiting room had been recently remodeled, with upholstered sofas, low tables, and asymmetrically hung pictures that called to mind an upmarket hotel. Taylor explained that the barristers had tried to walk an aesthetic line between modernity and the heritage that clients expect of people who are sometimes still required to wear a horsehair wig to court. Barristers are self-employed; chambers are a traditional way for them to band together to share expenses, though not profits. The highest-ranking members, barristers who’ve achieved the rank of Queen’s Counsel, are nicknamed silks, after the plush material used to make their robes. But even the silks cannot practice without the services of clerks, who operate from a designated room in each chambers, matching the ability and availability of barristers to solicitors in need.

You can read the entire article, “The Exquisitely English and Amazingly Lucrative World of London Clerks,” by Simon Akam, here.

Comments

[Patrick S. O'Donnell]

Have you seen Silk* on Netflix? If so, is the portrayal close to the real thing?

* "a British television drama series produced by the BBC which was broadcast over three series on BBC One between 22 February 2011 and 31 March 2014. Created by Peter Moffat, the series follows the daily goings on of Shoe Lane Chambers and its members in their personal and professional lives."

[S. Lubet]

I have not.

[Patrick S. O'Donnell]

I just noticed it is mentioned in the article you cited (it's quite good in any case).

[best essay]

A gathering of seven senior assistants originated from five "enchantment circle" business chambers whose attorneys summon the most elevated expenses. Top of the table is David Grief, senior assistant at Essex Court chambers, who the Lawyer Magazine appraisals is on £350,000 a year. He began as a lesser assistant when he was only 17 years of age. The second most astounding positioned senior representative is Robert Ralphs, assessed to win £320,000.

[Bill Turnier]

Albert Handyside and Henry Trench, Horace Rumpole's two clerks, send their best from 3 Equity Chambers.

[Ian Holloway]

I once got to know the Clerk from a fashionable set of chambers. There was no doubt who was the voice of authority (hint: it wasn't the senior QCs). And he had the MBE - the only one in the whole shop to have such an honour. And he had left school at 15 to become an office boy.