Circuit court was a common event back in the 1970’s and 1980’s in the province of Newfoundland and Labrador. The judge, court reporter, prosecutor, and defence lawyers would travel to designated communities to hold court in service club and community halls, usually once a month. It was a big occasion for the local folk, and many came to watch the proceedings. They could see what was happening in their community and hear first-hand, the details of some of the crimes occurring in their neighborhood. Some were just rubber-neckers, trying to see what kind of trouble their friends or neighbors had gotten into, but some were just interested in seeing how the justice system worked.

Justice represents fairness in our society. Fair treatment for all, offenders, and victims alike. It is a high ideal; whether it is an achieved is always open to opinion. Victims of crime argue they have no rights in our system. An offender has the right to silence, to a lawyer, to be tried within a reasonable time, and many more. However, a victim of a crime must provide information to the police, must testify in court before the accused, must be subjected to cross examination by defence lawyers, must wait months and/or years for the resolution of a case. Otherwise, there likely will be no charge and the lawbreaker walks free.

That discussion has been ongoing for years, and hopefully, at some point it will be fully resolved, until then, we will have to take things as they come. The circuit court continues today but they do not travel to as many communities as they once did. Today it has been more centralized, and modern technology has opened new doors in serving justice to the masses, such as closed-circuit television to facilitate proceedings like bail hearings, witness testimony, and other similar hearings. It might be working better, but I think we lost something when the courts stopped going to these small towns. These forums of justice might not have been as polished as what we have today and in some cases, they may have been somewhat backward. However, it was where justice was served best; it was justness closer to the bone. People are human and not just another number on the docket.

The Newfoundland and Labrador court system in the 1970’s did not have many lawyers on the prosecution side outside of the St. John’s area and in some places the RCMP policed, a police officer took on this duty. When I was in Grand Falls there was a sergeant who was the operational non-commissioned officer. He reviewed all the investigative files and supervised the members on the general duty shift. Part of his duties was overseeing the prosecution of cases that went to court. This sergeant knew the criminal code inside and out. I would say he had a better knowledge of criminal law than most of the lawyers, and some I think were a little afraid to face him. He was deadly.

He did not only intimidate lawyers, most of the police officers on the detachment did not argue any legal points with him. You could not bullshit your way through a file. If you tried that, when he reviewed your file the red ink would be flowing like a severed artery. And, if the Montreal Canadians lost a game, you better choose your words wisely if you were stupid enough to speak to him. Those who did not follow hockey much, often made the mistake of commenting on the game. Those folks quickly found out how it felt to have your bare brain spanked with a leather belt.

The province started staffing more lawyers for the prosecution in the late 1970’s and members did not have to fill in this role as often. If you were a senior member (five years of service or more) back then, chances are you would have taken on this function at some point in your career. I never liked performing this duty. At no point in my life did I aspire to be a lawyer. Just give me what I need to enforce it was my attitude towards the law. Despite my feelings, I had to represent the prosecution on occasion. You never received a lot of notice when you had to do this. Sometimes it was the night before and sometimes you found out the morning court was held. 

Most of the work did not require a lot of effort, reading the details of the offence on guilty pleas but occasionally there was a trial. This did not happen often, but when it did, you had to suck it up and do the best you could do. The circuit court when I was in Wesleyville was held in the community hall in Pound Cove. It generally had more spectators than provincial court sites in bigger centres, a lot more. There was a tendency for the audience to become a little unruly and if the judge did not exercise his control immediately, it could easily get out of hand. Generally, it was just a lot of talking during the proceedings but sometimes the community residents would take a more active role. On one such occasion, I was managing the direct examination of a witness in a trial of theft, I believe. I had just asked the witness a question and before he could reply, a member of the audience jumped up and shouted, “Objection!” 

The judge who was present that day was a mild-mannered man who was just trying to perform his duty. He did not control the court room and things got off the rails. He did manage to explain that people who were viewing the proceedings had no right to interject in them. This did work to a certain extent but there was still a lot of low chatter which made it difficult to concentrate on the proceedings. 

There were two judges from Gander who oversaw the Wesleyville circuit court on a scheduled basis. The mild-mannered one and one I will reference as the gruff one. He was a big man with a deep voice and when he opened court you could hear a pin drop. No one dare speak for fear of spending a night in jail. This was the judge in attendance when I had one of my more memorable prosecutions. It was an incident of assault that I had investigated a few months previously. It involved an altercation between two fellows at a bar in which one was struck in the face with the other’s fist.

I presented my case, and all was going well. I did not have a defence lawyer to face as the accused was defending himself. I had the upper hand, things were proceeding smoothly to a win, but then I called my star witness, the victim. He swore to tell the truth with his hand on the Bible and sat down. So far, so good. I then asked him to tell the court the events of the night in question. Expecting him to relay the date, the location, and his surroundings like he did when he gave his statement, I was taken aback when he said in a squeaky voice,

“Well, he give I a flick and I give he a flick.”

I was speechless. The courtroom was silent as this man’s words hung in the air. How could I respond to this? The victim had now included a consent issue to the altercation. He had taken part in it which was not portrayed in his statement to the police. How could I resolve this? My mind was whirling with these questions when I looked to the judge. 

Upon hearing the witness’s comments, the judge’s jaw dropped. He remained with his mouth open in disbelief for a few seconds before slowly responding in his loud gruff manner,

“Sir, what in the hell, is a flick?”

The witness made a waving motion with the back of his hand, causing the judge to utter a painfully loud sigh. 

Sensing the judge did want any more of this foolishness, I conceded that I had no further questions for this witness. I stated unnecessarily,

“That concludes the case for the crown, your honor.”

“I guess it does. Case dismissed.”  The judge replied abruptly.

He then proceeded to give me a lecture regarding police evidence and court room procedure to the delight of the audience. Court ended shortly after, thankfully. The witness came to me as I was leaving the court, enquiring about his witness fees and expenses for gas. Through my teeth I advised him to attend the detachment office for this. 

The witness followed me down, and once inside, I got the advance to witness receipt book and paid him. He shook his head as he said to me,

“I guess things didn’t go well.”

I did not say anything. I just stared at him, my eyes piercing through him. After a few seconds, he backed out the door sheepishly. I continued to stare as he departed with one sole thought,

‘I should give he a flick!’