There ain't no justice

If you have not managed to watch the drama series Criminal Justice running all this week on BBC1 get over to BBC i-player and catch up while you can. It's one of the best pieces of TV drama I have seen for a long time.

The courtroom scenes brought back a lot of unhappy memories. I have been to crown courts many times in my life as a news reporter but only once as a witness - an experience that I wouldn't want to repeat in a hurry.

The case involved the prosecution of a British Rail guard accused of assault occasioning actual bodily harm. According to the prosecution, the guard had beaten up a passenger in a darkened first class carriage because the passenger, holding a second class ticket, had refused to leave the compartment.

It was one of those old-style compartments with two rows of three seats facing each other. The passenger, a young man, had been drinking at a Christmas lunch in Leeds and had settled in the middle seat of the compartment. When instructed to leave by the guard he refused, so the guard stood over him and rained blows on his head.

The guard told the court he had been acting in self-defence, believing the passenger had possessed a knife. The jury, which had been shown pictures of the victim's badly bruised head - found the guard not guilty.

As a barrister in tonight's episode of Criminal Justice pointed out, a jury must be convinced "beyond reasonable doubt" that the accused is guilty.

A solicitor in the drama said: "I know that the vast majority of those I defend are guilty and half of them get off."

Violent attacks on rail guards are not uncommon. Violent attacks by rail guards are rare. When the guard was committed for trial in Liverpool his trade union staged a 24-hour stoppage in protest against "violence on their staff."

A problem for the prosecution was that they had just the one witness - the belligerent young man who had been attacked. I was that witness. The external bruising has long gone. Inside it's still there.

A stone setting of ginnels and snickets

We're heading north once more for the fishing. This time it's the River Dee and I feel a bit more optimistic than I did about the Tay. I love the Dee. I love spring salmon. There is no finer fish on no finer river.

But first we have a 25th wedding anniversary party in Leeds for Gill's sister, Alison, and her husband Richard - the Whitakers. They're having the party at what used to be Dyson's jewellers - now the Georgetown Restaurant. It's a place I remember well.

I once spent many hours in an upstairs room with a photographer for a newspaper investigation, watching out for people coming out of a ginnel opposite. Or should I call it a snicket (pronounced in the same way that Geoff Boycott says cricket, i.e crickitt)? Either term would suffice in Yorkshire but for the rest of the world I suppose I should reveal that it is an alley or a cut-through or a passage.

My other memory of Dyson's goes back nearly 30 years when Gill and I went there to choose an engagement ring. I only had £200 to my name, just enough to buy a ring with the tiniest sparkly diamond. We could afford something more showy now but would never replace it. The ring was good for us then and it's good for us still, like our marriage. I wouldn't claim that it was set in stone, but this is the stone setting.