Costs

Costs have been an issue in litigation for a long time. Charles Dickens published Bleak House, which has been described as a satire on the delays and expense of Victorian civil litigation, in monthly instalments between March 1852 and September 1853. The following extract sums things up from the perspective of one of the parties to Jarndyce v Jarndyce

"Of course, Esther," he said, "you don't understand this Chancery business?"

And of course I shook my head.

"I don't know who does," he returned. "The lawyers have twisted it into such a state of bedevilment that the original merits of the case have long disappeared from the face of the earth. It's about a will and the trusts under a will--or it was once. It's about nothing but costs now. We are always appearing, and disappearing, and swearing, and interrogating, and filing, and cross-filing, and arguing, and sealing, and motioning, and referring, and reporting, and revolving about the Lord Chancellor and all his satellites, and equitably waltzing ourselves off to dusty death, about costs. That's the great question. All the rest, by some extraordinary means, has melted away."

"But it was, sir," said I, to bring him back, for he began to rub his head, "about a will?"

"Why, yes, it was about a will when it was about anything," he returned. "A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great fortune, and made a great will. In the question how the trusts under that will are to be administered, the fortune left by the will is squandered away; the legatees under the will are reduced to such a miserable condition that they would be sufficiently punished if they had committed an enormous crime in having money left them, and the will itself is made a dead letter. All through the deplorable cause, everything that everybody in it, except one man, knows already is referred to that only one man who don't know, it to find out--all through the deplorable cause, everybody must have copies, over and over again, of everything that has accumulated about it in the way of cartloads of papers (or must pay for them without having them, which is the usual course, for nobody wants them) and must go down the middle and up again through such an infernal country-dance of costs and fees and nonsense and corruption as was never dreamed of in the wildest visions of a witch's Sabbath. Equity sends questions to law, law sends questions back to equity; law finds it can't do this, equity finds it can't do that; neither can so much as say it can't do anything, without this solicitor instructing and this counsel appearing for A, and that solicitor instructing and that counsel appearing for B; and so on through the whole alphabet, like the history of the apple pie. And thus, through years and years, and lives and lives, everything goes on, constantly beginning over and over again, and nothing ever ends. And we can't get out of the suit on any terms, for we are made parties to it, and MUST BE parties to it, whether we like it or not. But it won't do to think of it! When my great uncle, poor Tom Jarndyce, began to think of it, it was the beginning of the end!"

Nothing much has changed costs are still an issue in litigation and if settlement negotiations are left until the parties are at the door of the Court the costs they have incurred often get in the way of an agreement.

A negotiation

The monologue below is one of my favourites. It was written by Marriott Edgar for Stanley Holloway in 1932 and it tells of a long negotiation between Noah and Sam Oglethwaite. The dynamic of the negotiation will be familiar to many of you. One of the parties considers that circumstances give him the upper hand and the other will not give an inch. There are two versions of the monologue and this is the one I prefer as it leaves the ending open for the reader to interpret as he wishes. For those who are curious about “long bacon” think “thumbed his nose".

Three Ha'Pence a Foot

 

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I'll tell you an old-fashioned story 
That Grandfather used to relate,
Of a joiner and building contractor;
I's name, it were Sam Oglethwaite.

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In a shop on the banks of the Irwell, 
Old Sam used to follow 'is trade, 
In a place you'll have 'eard of called Bury; 
You know, where black puddings is made. 

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One day Sam were filling a knot 'ole
Wi’ putty, when in thro' the door, 
Came an old fellar fair wreathed i’whiskers; 
T'ould chap said ‘Good morning, I'm Noah'.

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Sam asked Noah what was 'is business
And t'ould chap went on to remark, 
That not liking the look of the weather,
  ‘E were thinking of building an Ark. 

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'E'd gotten the wood for the bulwarks 
And all t'other shipbuilding junk, 
Now 'e wanted some nice Bird’s Eye Maple 
To panel the side of 'is bunk. 

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Now Maple were Sam's Mon-o-po-ly 
That means it were all 'is to cut, 
And nobody else 'adn't got none; 
So 'e asked Noah three ha'pence a foot. 

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'A ha'pence too much,' replied Noah,
'Penny a foot's more the mark; 
A penny a foot and when rain comes,
I'll give you a ride in me Ark.' 

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But neither would budge in the bargain; 
The whole daft thing were kind of a jam, 
So Sam put 'is tongue out at Noah, 
And Noah made long bacon at Sam. 

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In wrath and ill-feeling they parted, 
Not knowing when they'd meet again, 
And Sam 'ad forgot all about it, 
'Til one day it started to rain. 

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It rained and it rained for a fortni’t,
And flooded the 'ole countryside,
  It rained and it kept on raining 
'Til th'Irwell were fifty miles wide. 

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The 'ouses were soon under water, 
And folks to the roof 'ad to climb,
They said 'twas the rottenest summer 
As Bury 'ad 'ad for some time. 

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The rain showed no sign of abating, 
And water rose hour by hour,
'Til th'only dry land were at Blackpool,
  And that were on top of the Tower. 

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So Sam started swimming to Blackpool
It took 'im best part of a week,
‘Is clothes were wet through when 'e got there 
And 'is boots were beginning to leak. 

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‘E stood to 'is watch-chain in water, 
On Tower top just before dark, 
When who should come sailing towards 'im 
But old Noah steering 'is Ark. 

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They stared at each other in silence 
'Til Ark were alongside, all but, 
Then Noah said ‘What price yer Maple?' 
Sam answered: ‘Three ha'pence a foot.'

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Noah said ‘Nay; I'll make thee an offer,
Same as I did t'other day, 
A penny a foot and a free ride 
Now, come on lad, what do tha’ say?'.

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'Three ha'pence a foot,' came the answer.
So Noah 'is sail 'ad to hoist, 
And sailed off again in a dudgeon, 
While Sam stood determined, but moist.

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So Noah cruised around flying 'is pigeons 
'Til fortieth day of the wet, 
And on 'is way back, passing Blackpool 
‘E saw old Sam standing there yet.

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‘Is chin just stuck out of the water 
A comical figure 'e cut, 
Noah said: ‘Now whats the price of yer Maple?' 
And Sam answered: ‘Three ha'pence a foot.'

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  Said Noah: ‘You'd best take my offer;
It's last time I'll be hereabout; 
And if water comes half an inch higher, 
I'll happen get Maple for nowt.' 

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'Three ha'pence a foot it'll cost you, 
And as fer me,' Sam said, 'don't fret,
The sky's took a turn since this morning;
I think it'll brighten up yet.'