I’ll have my day in court – one day

When the case comes to court,' I wrote here in October, 'I hope we can prove the accused guilty.' At the time, I thought the knife-wielding nutter who had terrified my companion would be charged with something more serious than possession, but you can't win them all. So in January, when my case liaison officer sent me notification - and a pamphlet on Being a Witness in Court - I thought that at least the creep's crime would be on record.

In March the summons came, and I was told to be on call for 11 days in May, and ready to appear as a prosecution witness at an evening's notice - even though the case was to be heard in south London and I live in Worcester.

That didn't suit me, and it was impossible for my friend, so we rang our friendly liaison man - let's call him Fred - and he told the judge, and the judge said okay, but if it doesn't happen on 1 July, it's off.

That seemed fair enough, so last week I called Fred, who had some cheering news: the trial should now only take one day. What time should I turn up on Wednesday, then? "Well, if it's on, I'll let you know on Tuesday afternoon." And can I stay in a 50-quid-a-night hotel? "I'll let you know on Tuesday evening." And can I charge parking, the tube and congestion charge? And how about mileage and a per diem? "Oh yes," said Fred. "The Crown Prosecution Service will help you with all those. But do remember these costs are borne by the public purse."

‘Some of the gang are in the gallery, but there’s no need to feel intimidated’

And so I drove out of Worcester at 6pm on Tuesday, with an appointment on the stand 17 hours later. On Wednesday morning, I was past court security 15 minutes early, and into the care of the team from Witness Services, a charity that guides people through the process.

The waiting room was comfortable enough, bustling with court and police officers. An Indian gentleman with breathing difficulties sat in one corner, where a plainclothes cop was reassuring him: "Some of the gang are in the gallery, but there's no need to feel intimidated. I know who they all are."

Next, a lady from Witness Services appeared with a 'court simulation', an aerial view made from brightly coloured cardboard, with cut outs representing the various officials ("except the judge, I'm afraid we've lost him").

If it was better suited to a remedial class, perhaps that's no bad thing, as even the meanest intelligence could have grasped her explication. She was followed by Fred and the bobby who had originally arrested the knifeman, bearing my eight-month old statement for me to check, revise and sign. Would I have to wait long now, I asked? "Well," said Fred, "that depends on whether the defendant turns up."

Wouldn't you know it? I'd been on tenterhooks for days, before making a last-minute dash, costing the taxpayer well over £200 in expenses. Two policemen had been taken off their duties for several hours. Two other witnesses had given up their time, court staff had pushed paper, barristers had robed, solicitors briefed - and the object of our attention had declined his invitation.

"Can't he be tried in his absence?" I asked. "Yes," said Fred, "But this judge likes to play it by the book."

"So we"ll have to come back?"

"I'm afraid that's the way it's shaping up." The bobbies went off to discover more, while I contemplated the time and money wasted. When they returned, Fred said: "No sign of the defendant, so the judge has issued a warrant for his arrest - which certainly won't look good for him - and don't worry, we'll catch him soon enough."

Indeed, so confident was Fred that, as I can't do August and he can't do September, we're tentatively looking at dates in October. Which will make it a mere year between crime and punishment. Oh yes, I live in hope. ·