Part 1, Chapter 24

‘Called’, but Then What?

4 min

I have deferred saying anything up to now about the purpose for which I went to England, viz. being called to the bar. It is time to advert to it briefly.

Until now, I have said nothing about why I went to England, namely, to be called to the bar. It is time to discuss that briefly.

There were two conditions which had to be fulfilled before a student was formally called to the bar: ‘keeping terms,’ twelve terms equivalent to about three years; and passing examinations. ‘Keeping terms’ meant eating one’s terms, i. e. attending at least six out of about twenty-four dinners in a term. Eating did not mean actually partaking of the dinner, it meant reporting oneself at the fixed hours and remaining present throughout the dinner. Usually of course every one ate and drank the good commons and choice wines provided. A dinner cost from two and six to three and six, that is from two to three rupees. This was considered moderate, inasmuch as one had to pay that same amount for wines alone if one dined at a hotel. To us in India it is a matter for surprise, if we are not ‘civilised,’ that the cost of drink should exceed the cost of food. The first revelation gave me a great shock, and I wondered how people had the heart to throw away so much money on drink. Later I came to understand. I often ate nothing at these dinners, for the things that I might eat were only bread, boiled potato and cabbage. In the beginning I did not eat these, as I did not like them; and later when I began to relish them I also gained the courage to ask for other dishes.

A student had to meet two conditions before being formally called to the bar: ‘keeping terms’ for twelve terms, equivalent to about three years, and passing examinations. ‘Keeping terms’ meant eating one’s terms, i. e. attending at least six of the roughly twenty-four dinners held each term. Eating did not mean actually eating dinner. It meant reporting at the appointed time and staying throughout the meal. Usually, of course, everyone ate and drank the good food and choice wines provided. A dinner cost from two shillings and sixpence to three shillings and sixpence, or two to three rupees. This was considered moderate because, at a hotel, one had to pay the same amount for wine alone. In India, if we are not ‘civilised,’ we are surprised that drink should cost more than food. When I first learned this, I was greatly shocked. I wondered how people could bring themselves to throw away so much money on drink. Later I came to understand. I often ate nothing at these dinners because the only things I could eat were bread, boiled potato and cabbage. At first, I did not eat them because I did not like them. Later, when I began to enjoy them, I also found the courage to ask for other dishes.

The dinner provided for the benchers used to be better than that for the students. A Parsi student, who was also a vegetarian, and I applied, in the interests of vegetarianism, for the vegetarian courses which were served to the benchers. The application was granted and we began to get fruits and other vegetables from the benchers’ table.

The dinners served to the benchers were better than those served to the students. A Parsi student who was also a vegetarian and I made a request in the interests of vegetarianism. We asked to be served the vegetarian dishes prepared for the benchers. Our request was granted, and we began receiving fruit and other vegetables from the benchers’ table.

Two bottles of wine were allowed to each group of four, and as I did not touch them, I was ever in demand to form a quarter, so that three might empty two bottles. And there was a ‘grand night’ in each term when extra wines, like champagne, in addition to port and sherry, were served. I was therefore specially requested to attend and was in great demand on that ‘grand night.’

Each group of four was allowed two bottles of wine. Since I did not drink, people always wanted me to make up a group of four. That way, the other three could empty both bottles. Each term, there was also a ‘grand night’ when extra wines, such as champagne, were served alongside port and sherry. So people especially asked me to attend, and I was in great demand on that ‘grand night.’

I could not see then, nor have I seen since, how these dinners qualified the students better for the bar. There was once a time when only a few students used to attend these dinners and thus there were opportunities for talks between them and the benchers, and speeches were also made. These occasions helped to give them knowledge of the world with a sort of polish and refinement, and also improved their power of speaking. No such thing was possible in my time, the benchers always sitting at a respectable distance from the students. The institution had gradually lost all its meaning, but conservative England retained it nevertheless.

I could not see then, and I have not seen since, how these dinners better prepared students for the bar. There was a time when only a few students attended the dinners. They had opportunities to talk with the benchers, and speeches were also given. These occasions helped the students learn about the world and gain some polish and refinement. They also improved the students’ speaking skills. None of this was possible in my time. The benchers always sat at a respectable distance from the students. The tradition had gradually lost all its meaning, but conservative England kept it anyway.

The curriculum of study was easy, barristers being humorously known as ‘dinner barristers.’ Every one knew that the examinations had practically no value. In my time there were two, one in Roman Law and the other in Common Law. There were regular text-books prescribed for these examinations which could be taken in compartments, but scarcely any one read them. I have known many to pass the Roman Law examination by scrambling through notes on Roman Law in a couple of weeks, and the Common Law examination by reading notes on the subject in two or three months. Question papers were easy and examiners were generous. The percentage of passes in the Roman Law examination used to be 95 to 99 and of those in the final examination 75 or even more. There was thus little fear of being plucked, and examinations were held not once but four times in the year. These convenient examinations could not be felt as a difficulty.

The course of study was easy, and barristers were jokingly known as ‘dinner barristers.’ Everyone knew that the examinations had practically no value. In my time, there were two examinations, one in Roman Law and the other in Common Law. There were prescribed textbooks for these examinations, which could be taken separately, but hardly anyone read them. I have known many people to pass the Roman Law examination after cramming from notes for a couple of weeks. They passed the Common Law examination by reading notes on the subject for two or three months. The examination papers were easy, and the examiners were generous. The pass rate for Roman Law used to be 95 to 99 percent. For the final examination, it was 75 percent or even higher. So there was little fear of failing, and the examinations were held four times a year rather than once. These convenient examinations could hardly be considered a difficulty.

But I succeeded in turning them into one. I felt that I should read all the text-books. It was a fraud, I thought, not to read these books. I invested much money in them. I decided to read Roman Law in Latin. The Latin which I had acquired in the London Matriculation stood me in good stead. And all this reading was not without its value later on in South Africa where Roman Dutch is the common law. The reading of Justinian therefore helped me a great deal in understanding the South African law.

But I managed to turn them into one. I felt I should read all the textbooks. I thought it would be dishonest not to read them. I spent a lot of money on them. I decided to read Roman Law in Latin. The Latin I had learned for the London Matriculation served me well. And all this reading proved valuable later in South Africa, where Roman Dutch is the common law. Reading Justinian therefore helped me a great deal in understanding South African law.

It took me nine months of fairly hard labour to read through the Common Law of England. For Broom’s Common Law, a big but interesting volume, took up a good deal of time. Snell’s Equity was, full of interest, but a bit hard to understand. White and Tudor’s Leading Cases, from which certain cases were prescribed, was full of interest and instruction. I read also with interest Williams’ and Edward’s Real Property and Goodeve’s Personal Property. Williams’ book read like a novel. The one book I remember to have read, on my return to India, with the same unflagging interest, was Mayne’s Hindu Law. But it is out of place to talk here of Indian law-books.

It took me nine months of fairly hard work to read through the Common Law of England. Broom’s Common Law took up a lot of time because it was a large volume, though an interesting one. Snell’s Equity was very interesting, but a little hard to understand. White and Tudor’s Leading Cases, from which certain cases were prescribed, was both interesting and instructive. I also enjoyed reading Williams’ and Edward’s Real Property and Goodeve’s Personal Property. Williams’ book read like a novel. After returning to India, I remember reading one book with the same lasting interest: Mayne’s Hindu Law. But this is not the place to talk about Indian law books.

I passed my examinations, was called to the bar on the 10th of June 1891, and enrolled in the High Court on the 11th. On the 12th I sailed for home.

I passed my exams and was admitted to the bar on June 10, 1891. I enrolled in the High Court on June 11. On June 12, I sailed home.

But notwithstanding my study there was no end to my helplessness and fear. I did not feel myself qualified to practise law.

But despite my studies, my helplessness and fear never ended. I did not feel qualified to practice law.

But a separate chapter is needed to describe this helplessness of mine.

But I need a separate chapter to describe my helplessness.