You can't fight crime when the courts are collapsing

The Crown Prosecutor has lost the file. The witnesses haven't turned up. The case has to be cancelled or postponed. In the afternoon court there's a list of 150 people who have been caught stopping on a red route. As one of the Lord Chancellor's lay magistrates, I have spent an increasing amount of the 21 years I've spent in court wondering why I'm devoting an unpaid day a week to work that I used to find challenging. I could be doing what I much prefer, which is writing cookbooks. Well, now I have had enough. In what I hope was a piece of public service, I have tried to do my bit, but disillusion has got the better of me.

I don't say there haven't been interesting cases. A man said to have slashed his partner with a razor was asking for bail. Were we right to keep him in prison while awaiting his trial? Another accused of assaulting the police turned out to have been brutally attacked by one of 10 officers searching his home for drugs. A London Underground employee, accused of carrying an offensive weapon, claimed he was on a diet and needed the eight-inch carving knife to peel fruit.

I'm going because I'm disillusioned with the system. The Crown Prosecution Service is woefully disorganised. The same case comes to court over and over again, as papers go missing and calls for witnesses are not sent out. CPS staff are underpaid and lacking morale. Around 38 per cent of cases collapse.

The commonest penalty imposed by courts is a fine. But most fines are never paid. In the inner London area alone, there is £23 million in outstanding fines. Convicted defendants have rarely brought any money with them, and the system simply can't cope with chasing them up.

Part of my magistrate's work was always routine. Like doctors, we have to take our share of less serious matters. And in Westminster this means motoring. Two years ago a striking decision was made: most of the criminal work was taken away from Marylebone Court.

So now we have long lists of people accused of minor offences. Whole days are now devoted to motorists who've jumped the lights or been caught by a speed camera. Did you know that if you do 45mph in a 30mph zone you can be disqualified from driving? Or that a two-minute dash to a chemist, leaving the car on a Red Route will get you a fine of £100? Yet a potentially serious motoring offence - like a coach driver chatting on a mobile phone - is not against the law.

The huge emphasis on chasing motorists reflects the fact that there are vast numbers of traffic wardens on our streets and almost no police.

Countless cars are broken into in the area, but because of the lack of visible police officers to deter such crimes - or catch the perpetrators - the offenders never come to court. They just get away with it. But even when someone is convicted of an offence, there is a good chance they will ignore a court order.

It's clearly announced that driving while disqualified is serious; failing to keep to bail conditions or not turning up for community service "may result in a prison sentence". But these are rarely enforced.

Why? Because magistrates don't want to add to the numbers in already overcrowded jails. With little other sanction at the magistrate's disposal, is it any wonder the authority of the law diminishes?

A magistrate's motives for doing the job are many, and public service is one of the most important. But there are other reasons, and they need to be addressed if able, publicspirited individuals are to be tempted to take it on. If magistrates are to play the role of mere collectors of fines for motoring offences, allowing minimal scope for using their discretion and judgment, then the post holds little appeal.

I used to find before me some fascinating cases in which I really felt I was wrestling with difficult issues and where - and I hope I'm not being immodest - I had something constructive to offer the proceedings, which often I found engrossing.

Even sitting around waiting for witnesses was interesting. Fitting court days into an ordinary work schedule are air stewards and inner-city newsagents. I learned a bit about co-ordinating ambulances and sheep-farming; they heard from me about chocolate making and why intensively farmed strawberries taste so bland.

At one time, magistrates were chosen for their " standing in the community". Criminals would expect to be judged by someone middleclass and white. The women wore hats and the men looked prosperous. Today's teams are mixed race, younger and far more streetwise, and that is presumably as it should be.

Unlike juries, magistrates decide on both the verdict and the sentence. To do this, we've been trained to reach a structured decision. It's not a hitand-miss affair. We weigh up the evidence, discuss it at length and only in extreme cases send people to prison.

Having a defendant or witness three feet from our nose gives us an insight into who is telling the truth. More importantly, we see the full picture, unlike reading the papers which give a brief account of a trial, or watching a television report filed from "outside" a courthouse. "Forming a judgment" was something we thought long and hard over.

Recently, though, the whole process of being a magistrate has become mechanical. I have been presiding over the collection of debts like a carpark attendant. My lengthy magistrate's training might as well never have happened.

I shan't miss the calls in the middle of the night. The police need a magistrate to sign search warrants when they are looking for arms or drugs. The local "Noise Team" also needs our signature for permission to turn off a burglar alarm that's been ringing for hours.

The Lord Chancellor will write me a "thank-you" letter. I don't think he will miss me. He has more than 28,000 unpaid magistrates on his books. He should value them more. They do a great job, when they get the chance.