The Dublin Circuit Family Court is located directly opposite the Smithfield Luas stop. Once you are aware of that, it’s impossible not to notice the ever-changing small huddles of people gathered near its doors, taking time out while waiting for their cases to be called.
Whether smoking, talking intensely or leaning over phones, all of these diverse people have something in common: they look incredibly anxious.
It’s unsurprising everyone looks worried about what will be ahead for them in court 30, 31 or 32. Behind those three courtroom doors, every working day of the week, decisions are made that will have a serious impact on the lives of those who come before the judges dealing with their cases.
Decisions about access to children; about what constitutes a fair division of assets following the breakdown of a relationship; about what those assets actually are, as some cases are taken in an attempt to get former partners to reveal income sources they suspect have been concealed from them.
The three courts sit simultaneously. Three are needed – if not more – because, while some cases can be adjourned in minutes, the complications of others mean they are scheduled to run for days.
Inside the foyer of the family courts, there are a number of small rooms where people can consult privately with their solicitors in advance of being called to the courtroom. They are occupied on a first-come basis. On the two days I am there, these rooms are in almost constant use.
In court 30, shortly after 10am, Judge Kathryn Hutton calls the cases due before her that day. The windows are frosted glass, so nobody outside the room can see who is present. It’s a courtroom that could resemble an anonymous conference room in any corporate office: carpet tiles, a potted plant, chairs that were once smart and now look a little worn.
During my first couple of hours observing family court business, it becomes apparent that virtually everyone before the judge has either been here several times previously, or will be returning again. It appears a straightforward case is a rarity.
The tradesman
Some parties each arrive with legal representation and some represent themselves. One such case is a man choosing to represent himself in a maintenance case. He separated from his former partner last year, and the issue before the court is his failure to comply with maintenance payments for his two minor children. None of the weekly maintenance payments of €175 has yet been forthcoming, and there is a sum of several thousand euro now outstanding.
His former partner is not present in court, but her legal representative is. It’s clear this case has come before the judge several times, and this is the latest in a series of appearances, while the unpaid maintenance continues to build up. Her barrister says, “He does have access to money. He’s spending it, just not on maintenance”. At this point, she produces a number of bank statements, and they are passed up to the judge. Privacy is not an option when your circumstances have brought you to court. The judge reads some of the transactions aloud: payment for a holiday in the Canaries, restaurant bills.
“He has showed no indication he’s going to make any provision for his children,” the barrister says.
The man takes the stand to explain his finances. He is a tradesman, he says, and although large sums have been lodged to his account, including €27,000 on one occasion, he says, “That’s not my money. That’s money to purchase materials.”
“How many bank accounts do you have?” the judge asks.
“One.”
“So you service your personal life from your professional account?” the judge says, reading out yet more financial details: a dress-suit hire, Sky Digital payments, iTunes debits, ATM withdrawals. She asks if he has filed accounts with Revenue. He has. “You have had some fairly substantial contracts, and still paid no maintenance,” she says. There is currently in excess of €70,000 in the account.
“My turnover and income are totally different,” the man says. He says he cannot afford to pay the €175 maintenance a week, let alone the substantial arrears.
The judge looks at him. “You haven’t even contributed €10 a week,” she says, enunciating her words slowly and carefully. “This matter is extremely serious. I don’t think you realise how important it is.”
What she means is: unless he starts paying maintenance in some form, as has been directed by the courts, he could be facing a jail sentence. The proceedings are adjourned, and it is agreed the man will seek free legal aid for his next court appearance.
The gym member
Over the course of the two days I am in the family courts, I realise that almost all the cases that come before it involve disagreements about money in some form or other. Even cases where access to small children has been painstakingly figured out in previous court appearances continue to drag on, due to money issues.
One such case to appear before Ms Hutton is a separated couple. A safety order that was previously in place has been lifted, they are talking to each other about facilitating additional access at Christmas, maintenance has been agreed, and their small child is apparently now doing very well. It looks as if this case will be signed off on today. “The whole object of today is to get these people out of here,” as the man’s barrister tells the judge.
Cases are called into the courtroom via an intercom and it is astonishing the number of people who fail to turn up.
That doesn’t happen. It all goes back to money. The woman has discovered her former partner is paying €80 monthly on a gym membership and €50 a month on a lottery syndicate. “I struggle in seeing those figures he is spending on himself while I am trying to provide for my daughter,” she says. They will be back in court again on a further date, trying to come to some agreement over these sums.
Judge Susan Ryan is in court 32. Cases are called into the courtroom via an intercom and it is astonishing the number of people who fail to turn up. Sometimes one party turns up, but their former partner does not, and then the case has to be adjourned. Sometimes people turn up and it soon becomes clear they have very little understanding of how a court works.
The confused couple
One such separated couple who appear before the judge are not native English speakers. They are both representing themselves, and they both look utterly confused and overwhelmed by the formality of court. They are also missing crucial paperwork. The judge is seeking the court order paperwork from the District Court. What the woman hands up is a summons to attend the District Court.
At issue is the fact that material circumstances have changed. When the couple first separated, the man was ordered to pay maintenance of €440 a month towards their small children. Since then, he has lost his job. However, when he applied to the District Court to adjust the amount of the payments, he was refused. It is unclear why.
Everything about this case is unclear. What is clear, however, is that despite having lost his job, the man is still responsible for the monthly €440 payments. It’s also clear he doesn’t realise this.
The couple sit at opposite ends of the long table that faces the judge and speak to each other in their native language. The judge reprimands them: “This is a courtroom,” she says sternly.
She is obviously deeply concerned that they don’t understand the current legal process. “I think you are both at sea. Would you think of getting free legal aid, or a solicitor?” she suggests. “I’m really concerned you’re not understanding the legal process.”
The case is adjourned, as the necessary paperwork is not presented. The couple leave, still looking bewildered, having been given information about where to go to seek free legal aid.
The 60s couple
The longest case of the day in court 32 concerns a separated couple in their 60s. It’s about money. Both parties are present in court, and it soon becomes evident that relations between them are extremely poor.
When the man takes the stand, he refers to his former wife, as “the respondent”. She sighs loudly as he speaks, shakes her head, and over the hours I sit following this case, passes several messages on Post-It notes to her barrister.
“Is there any possibility of reconciliation?” Judge Susan Ryan asks early on in the hearing.
“No,” the man says bluntly, and the woman who is sitting near me actually laughs – until her barrister turns around with a glare to shush her.
They separated some years ago, and their family home in Dublin was sold. It was mortgage free, and the proceeds of the sale were divided equally between them. His pension was divided between them. They each went on to buy their own new homes. He had lost his high-paying job in the recession, prior to their separation. Then he got a new job.
“Until I got employed again, our lives were happily separate,” he says. What is now at issue is that his former wife wants regular additional income from his new earnings, while he considers that his financial responsibilities to her have ended.
He cites his age, the fact the work is on a contract basis, and that he has been “saving assiduously” since starting paid employment again, as he considers his earning ability will end at retirement age, which is close. He also points out that he made an additional cash payment to her on the sale of their former home. “I suppose I thought it would buy goodwill,” he says.
He spends a long time on the stand and while scrupulously polite in answering every question from the judge, his entire demeanour radiates a barely contained rage.
He recounts how he spent the money from his share of the property. He bought an apartment with most of it, and has saved the rest which he considers prudent due to his uncertain employment status. In painful detail, he reveals his outgoings. He does not run a car.
The judge examines some of his bank statements. “These are very modest outgoings,” she says. The woman beside me looks as if she is going to explode.
There is a break for lunch. Before the court rises, the judge has something she wishes to say. “The best outcome for you both would be agreement. Reflect on that. Costs associated with prolonging matters are not something you want to get into.”
The access battle
At court 31 Judge Mary O’Malley Costello is presiding over a case that is scheduled to take three days. It is now midway through the second day, and I anticipate it will take some time trying to figure out what is going on, but it doesn’t take long. This case is about access to small children in a relationship gone very badly wrong.
The father wants unsupervised access of his children. The mother does not agree. There is a long cross-examination of the father, who takes the stand. He explains previous mental health issues.
There is a long analysis of what happened on the first occasion the father had unsupervised access to his children, when they stayed over with him for a weekend. One child obtained a serious burn to his hand; a burn which the mother said occurred while the child was in the father’s care. The father argues it happened after the child left his home.
Wherever it happened, it necessitated a visit to the Emergency Department, upon which it was noted the child had not been brought for treatment in a timely manner, and social workers were alerted.
And so the hours pass, with the father counter-arguing various allegations about his behaviour around the children. He is not prepared to compromise and start rebuilding his relationship with the children by agreeing to supervised access. But he will have to if he wishes to see the children who, we hear in court, miss him terribly. It is pointed out to him that he has chosen not to see his children since July of last year due to his refusal to accept anything but unsupervised access. At one point, he bursts into tears.
It is all dreadfully sad. After his lengthy time on the stand, an independent child psychologist takes the stand. She is calm and neutral and utterly clear in her findings. It is the small children who are currently being fought over who are suffering the most from their parents’ inability to agree access terms. They should be coming first in all of this, she says, and they are not.
By the time I leave court 31, the judge is wondering if the case will go into yet further time.
In the two days I spend shuttling between the three courts, not one case reaches a final resolution. The prolonged nature of the process must come as an unpleasant surprise to many people whose family circumstances cause them to end up here.
