Rumpole is a fundamentally British comic character, a collection of quirks in the robes of an Old Bailey hack. But what John Mortimer does with his chief protagonist is to make him a surprising hero by virtue of his realistic honesty, his lack of actual sexism, racism or class prejudice in a world of characters more overtly respectable and more secretly unpleasant in the British legal system.
As with some other Rumpole collections, there's a timeliness to some of the subjects covered here, from children and devil worship to a famous miscarriage of justice (Mortimer more or less steals the Derek Bentley case wholesale, even to the point of having a dramatisation produced, with 'an intense young actor in the role of the accused' - Christopher Eccleston, in one of his earliest roles, played Bentley in 'Let Him Have It, Chris'), to the rise of popular psychics and even the fallacies of right-wing, disciplinarian groups who aim to 'teach moral fibre' to young ne'er-do-wells. And where would a Rumpole collection be without the looming threat of the end of Rumpole's career? In Rumpole On Trial, the title says it almost all, as a colleague in chambers contrives a chance to win their case, but the way they choose puts Rumpole himself in the frame, facing the prospect of being disbarred for breaking the rules of courtroom procedure. Meanwhile, there's also the possibility that Rumpole might be elevated beyond the circular rituals of an Old Bailey hack and made a circuit court judge, with the slow, inevitable death-by-boredom that would entail. More than in some other collections, this one shows you its workings earlier on, so you never particularly fear either for his elevation or his disbarring, but it's certainly well enough written to keep you listening without it becoming a chore - particularly as in the audiobook version, and in the absence of Leo McKern, Timothy West makes an absolutely serviceable Rumpole and gallumphs you along with him from witty riposte to wordy address to the jury, and eventually to a satisfying conclusion as Rumpole is forced to pay homage to the wisdom of his wife, the ever-formidable She Who Must Be Obeyed.
In a time when good, strong comic writing acts as a palliative against the Real World and its foolishness, you could do a lot worse than grabbing yourself some Rumpole, and this one in particular has some strong notes of social justice without turning Rumpole into a hippy. He's always cared about getting innnocent people acquitted - that's one of his strongest moral fibres, expressed in the idea that he will never turn prosecutor - and here, there are at least a couple of strong punches of a genuine, strong, simple morality, surrounded by people who say the right things while using innocents for their own purposes, allowing Rumpole - crusty, habitual, arguably cliched Rumpole - to stand relatively proud of the page, and of the society he keeps.