Histories

As a young chancery judge, Sir Christopher Slade faced some unexpected opposition when he was asked to preside over one of the most contentious issues to have affected the game of cricket. In 1977 he had to pass judgment on whether the governing bodies could legally prevent prominent players who had signed for Kerry Packer’s breakaway matches from plying their trade for their counties and countries. “Slade Out” was the verdict in daubed paint on a wall outside the Oval.

No one was quite sure if this referred to him or to the pop group Slade, who were no less prominent than Packer, the brash Australian tycoon, in the 1970s. Although a serious-minded man, the judge saw the funny side. He had to set aside his own love of cricket when reaching his judgment, which ran to more than 200 pages of foolscap. He found in favour of the players in that the Test and County Cricket Board, representing the International Cricket Council (ICC), should not prevent them from earning their living.

It was perhaps the most significant legal decision made in any sport, for this changed the face of cricket for ever. Coloured clothing, helmets, day-night matches, to say nothing of much-improved financial rewards for the players, became the norm. Doug Insole, representing the cricketing establishment, remarked after the High Court hearing: “We were well and truly stuffed.” Their belief was that if the top players left the structured game to join Packer, gate receipts at international matches would fall. Slade found this as amusing as the graffiti and he judged that the ICC was merely trying to protect its own interests at the expense of the players’ personal choices. The concept of loyalty might have been stretched too far.

The somewhat naive viewpoint of the governing bodies was that they were decent, upstanding people doing their best for cricket and that Packer was a vulgarian and Tony Greig, the England captain who had recruited the star players to his cause, had abandoned and let down his adopted country. There was a good deal of truth in their reckoning but that was not Slade’s concern.

He did state of the authorities: “I have been impressed by their obvious, disinterested dedication to and concern for the game.” Restraint of trade, however, was the issue in question and it was no surprise in legal circles when he found in the plaintiffs’ favour on all points, with costs estimated at £250,000.

John Woodcock, the cricket correspondent of The Times, who was implacably opposed to Packer, admitted he had not appreciated that “every man has his price”. Slade, however, emphasised that professional cricketers needed to make a living. Players could not be criticised for signing their contracts in secrecy as the authorities would have denied them the opportunity to enjoy the advantages offered by Packer’s World Series matches.

“The very size of profits made from cricket matches involving star players must for some years have carried the risk that a private promoter would appear on the scene and seek to make money by promoting matches involving world-class cricketers,” observed Slade. “My father’s judgment was decisive,” said his son, Richard Slade, a QC. “There was no appeal so his decision remains a leading authority. The governing bodies had such a traditional and conservative point of view that they thought they couldn’t be wrong.”

There had been scant opportunity for levity in the long hearing — a legal version of a “timeless Test match” — not even when Geoffrey Boycott, who had turned down Packer’s lucrative offer, took the stand in his no-nonsense Yorkshire manner. The great batsman began by recounting a conversation with Greig, who, he said, had told him: “We’re looking forward to throwing a bit of mud at you.” The judge instructed Greig’s legal counsel, Robert Alexander to warn the (by now sacked) England captain about his conduct. Greig cringed at Slade’s rebuke.

In subsequent years Slade was less amused when an Australian television production recreating the High Court hearing featured a portrayal of him as a judge in his sixties, whereas he had been 50 at the time. He would continue to watch matches at Lord’s but sat in the stands and never encountered the administrators again. He did, however, attend Greig’s memorial service in 2013.

Christopher John Slade was only 14 when his father died, which made him determined to succeed in the same profession. Born in 1927, he was the eldest of three sons of George Slade KC, a chancery leader of the inter-war period and May (née Carnegie). Christopher’s brothers were Julian Slade, the writer and composer, and Adrian Slade, the last president of the Liberal party.

At Eton College, where his room was shaken by a bomb that fell nearby in 1940, Slade was president of Pop and captain of the school. He went on to New College, Oxford, where he was a scholar and won the top law prize, the Eldon Scholarship. He undertook some tutoring at the university after he graduated with a first. Slade was called to the Bar by the Inner Temple in 1951 and became a bencher at Lincoln’s Inn in 1973. He took silk in 1965, along with Peter Oliver and Brian Dillon, a future Law Lord and Lord Justice respectively.

Although appointed to silk at the comparatively early age (for those days at least) of 38, he was a far less spectacular figure at the Bar than that statistic might suggest. Indeed, his appointment to the Bench was to some a surprise. But he grew steadily in stature, becoming a distinguished judge of first instance and one of the outstanding appellate judges of his generation. He had the happy capability, which he never lost, of taking the heat out of a case at the earliest stage and clarifying quickly and without apparent effort what the real issues were and which principles to apply. He combined this with a learned and highly professional erudition in the law with unaffected charm.

Nobody who appeared before him could come away without feeling that he or she had received a patient and proper hearing, that the judge had fully understood the case and that counsel had been treated with good manners and understanding. Slade was appointed to the Court of Appeal in the last months of Lord Denning’s 20-year tenure as Master of the Rolls and he was the last surviving Lord Justice to have sat with Denning in the Court of Appeal. For his last three years at the Bar he held the appointment of Attorney General of the Duchy of Lancaster and Serjeant of the County Palatine. He served twice on the old Bar Council and on the Senate of the Four Inns of Court. He served also on the Lord Chancellor’s Legal Education Committee from 1969 to 1971.

Upon his retirement he took considerable pleasure in the fact that Lord Justice Buckley was present on the Bench and that he could once more address his father-in-law as his “brother”. He had married, in 1958, Jane Gwenllian Armstrong Buckley. She survives him, along with their son, Richard, and three daughters, Lucinda, a solicitor, Victoria, a teacher, and Amelia, who is married with children. His friends included Robert Armstrong, the cabinet secretary. Yet his fondness for his family was such that the celebratory party for his 90th birthday included 70 members — and no outsiders.

Passers-by outside his holiday cottage near Chichester would hear Slade in highly competitive games of croquet with his guests or playing the piano, often accompanying his grandchildren in duets or songs. He could play by ear with ease and he and Jane could do a good imitation of Flanders and Swann. Alternatively he could be found entertaining a large party at his local pub, The Barley Mow, or listening to cricket on the radio. Even in retirement, he would not disclose which party he supported at general elections.

Slade never lost his enthusiasm for his favourite sport, although he did not wish to see it played in the High Court. When Greig started playing shots all around the witness box, he was swiftly put in his place. “This,” the judge told him, “is not a game of cricket.”