Senator Hazel Thompson-Ahye
I was saddened to learn of the death of our former chief justice and first president of the Caribbean Court of Justice, Michael de la Bastide, who, having “(bestrode) the narrow (judicial) world as a colossus,” went “gentle into that good night” on March 30.
Former chief justice de la Bastide was a legal luminary, who was larger than life. Apart from his brilliant career, one thing I admired in him was his love for his older sister, my high school principal, Sister Bernadette, who had taken over the role of caring for him when their mother died. He shared with us some of her caring ways in the eulogy he delivered at her funeral.
He lived a full and enjoyable life, involving all aspects of our culture and, in his youth, like the vast majority of us, did not aspire to be a candidate for sainthood like his sister. Older judges and senior lawyers in the Caribbean mischievously shared widely a joke from his youthful days.
One morning, I attended the Court of Appeal Chamber Court, where the recently-appointed Chief Justice de la Bastide was presiding. A young lawyer asked for an adjournment.
Chief Justice de la Bastide took great exception to his request and admonished the attorney, saying, “This is not a court for adjournment. This is a now-for-now court. Are you ready to proceed?”
As I left the court, I thought the Chief Justice’s remarks would be a good topic for a calypso I could sing for the forthcoming first Lawyers Under Lights concert.
As I drove down St Vincent Street, I recalled snippets of his first address at the ceremonial opening of the legal year. He had made it quite clear that it was not going to be business as usual.
He was going to change the justice system in this country by creating some innovations to clear the backlog of cases and the way the practice of law was being conducted here. He planned, among other things, to shorten the long vacation, encourage written submissions, eliminate disparities in sentencing, and encourage alternative dispute resolution.
Lawyers were shaking in their boots and even some judges were perturbed. By the time I got to the lighthouse, I had composed the entire calypso in my head. I could not wait to put it down on paper.
When he learnt that I had written a calypso on him, the Chief Justice requested the lyrics. I knew it was a command and wondered if he wanted to censor my calypso. Shortly after I had composed the calypso, I called my mentor, friend and dean of the Faculty of Law, retired Justice Telford Georges in Barbados, and sang the calypso to him as I knew that he and the chief justice had a mutual admiration society.
Justice Georges had laughed heartily and given the calypso his stamp of approval. He said he did “not think Michael would have a problem with it.”
He then asked me, “But Hazel, who tell you, you could sing?”
The Chief Justice approved the calypso. In fact, his son, Simon, told me that he loved it.
When I hit the stage the night of the concert, dressed in my lawyer’s robes, a white mop on my h
