This article looks at the public disclosure of political donations as a case study to examine the role of transparency in addressing concerns about undue influence and corruption. The article will explore three issues. The first is to understand what it means to say that a political donation is corrupt. There is considerable disagreement on the ethics of political fundraising and this article will show how public opinion has a role in setting the standards expected of politicians. The second issue is what role the public disclosure of political donations plays in deterring and detecting corruption. While the disclosure requirements were introduced to promote greater trust in politics, it will be argued that increases in transparency have fed a growing culture of mistrust. The logic of the transparency requirements also requires the free public discussion of particular political donations and related ethical issues. The third issue is how that process of free discussion can come into tension with rights to privacy and reputation. The article will explore how the attempts to reconcile the different areas of law both reflect and shape the political culture.

Computerisation facilitates instantaneous and direct links between all of us in our work and social lives. At the same time, and counter-intuitively so, securities are increasingly held indirectly through chains of custodians that operate between issuers and investors. This disconnects investors from issuers and can significantly reduce the value of assets. The regulatory framework does not prevent this effect. UK-regulated holders of client securities should be required to hold these directly in the name of the investor. At an international level, it is worth asking whether the technology underlying bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies can be used to create an un-intermediated securities ledger connecting investors and issuers directly.

“Justiciability determines whether there is a potential availability of judicial review of the exercise of the prerogative of mercy. “Justiciability is the name given to the constitutional concept which recognises the capabilities of the courts are limited. The societal concern is that the courts only perform functions that are appropriate to their place in the constitution and the way they are structured and expected to operate. Is it appropriate that the executive government's decision-making in respect of mercy be subject to judicial review? Different courts have made different assessments of this appropriateness. In a series of decisions in different common law jurisdictions over the last seventeen years the law has moved from the non-availability of judicial review, to recognising the potential for review, then back to denying the potential, and finally in the Privy Council in Lewis v. Attorney-General of Jamaica to accepting again its potential availability.

There is currently a good deal of disagreement concerning the constitutional justification for judicial review in English law. The ultra vires doctrine holds that review is simply a function of legislative intention. In contrast, a number of commentators argue that administrative law is a body of judge-made common law which is unrelated to the will of Parliament. The truth lies somewhere between these two poles.

The traditional ultra vires doctrine is unsatisfactory because, inter alia, it is unrealistic to assert that judicial review constitutes nothing more than the implementation of legislative intention. However, the attempt of some commentators to exclude intention from the justification for review is equally deficient since this is an affront to the sovereignty of Parliament. By locating the interpretative methodology of ultra vires within its proper constitutional setting and by recognising the importance of the rule of law to the process of statutory construction, it is possible to articulate an explanation of judicial review which is consistent with Parliament's legislative supremacy while avoiding the shortcomings of the traditional ultra vires principle (notably its inability satisfactorily to explain the derivation of the grounds of review; the courts' treatment of ouster clauses; the development of administrative law across time, and the extension of judicial review to non-statutory powers).

In 1723 a statute was enacted (9 Geo. I, c. 22) bearing the following title: ‘An Act for the more effectual punishing wicked and evil disposed Persons going armed in Disguise, and doing Injuries and Violences to the Persons and Properties of His Majesty's Subjects, and for the more speedy bringing the Offenders to Justice.’ This statute is commonly known as the Waltham Black Act—a name indicative of the local circumstances which led to its being passed. According to Blackstone, the statute was enacted to stop the depredations which were being committed near Waltham, in Hampshire, by persons in disguise or with their faces blacked; he also observes that the technique of these offenders, who operated in the forests of Waltham, seemed to have been modelled on the criminal activities of the famous band of Roberdsmen, or followers of Robert, or Robin, Hood, who committed great outrages in the reign of Richard the First on the border of England and Scotland. An interesting reference to the Waltham Black Act occurs in Gilbert White's ‘The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne in the County of Southampton,’ and it is significant that while Blackstone cautiously refrains from expressing any opinion on this statute, White says that it is ‘severe and sanguinary’ and that ‘it comprehends more felonies than any law that ever was framed before.’ Actually, no other single statute passed during the eighteenth century equalled 9 Geo. I, c. 22, in severity, and none appointed the punishment of death in so many cases. The Waltham Black Act may, in fact, be looked upon as a kind of ‘ideological index’ to the large body of laws based on the death penalty which were in force in England at the end of the eighteenth, and the beginning of the nineteenth, centuries. The main features peculiar to this Act reappear, sometimes in a modified form, in almost all the other capital statutes of the period. Thus, an accurate knowledge of the Waltham Black Act is essential if the structure and guiding principles of the capital enactments in general are to be understood; moreover, the fact that the struggle for the repeal of this extraordinary statute was both intense and prolonged, further enhances the symptomatic importance of the Act, which might otherwise seem to be but an obscure enactment designed to meet a purely local emergency.

It is widely accepted that the British intelligence dossier of September 2002 claiming that Iraq possessed “weapons of mass destruction” (WMD) which could be deployed “within 45 minutes” was critical to the British Government’s decision to invade Iraq in 2003. Given that no such weapons have materialized despite careful, comprehensive and labour-intensive searching, the dossier is now seen by many as a self-serving attempt by the Blair administration to “spin” the country into war.

This article seeks to analyse the part of interpreting contractual documents that deals with supplementing the (linguistically encoded part of the) contract, and it is argued that the implication of terms in fact is an instance of this interpretation by supplementation. A reason for the strictness of the implication in fact test, as contrasted with the basic objective test of interpretation, is proposed: some information (new terms) is more primary than other information (details added to existing terms), and such primary information is less likely to be intended to go without saying by the contractors. As a result, although implication in fact should be seen as an instance of interpretation, interpretation through supplementation should take account of the primariness of the information by which the contract is being supplemented. To put things another way, the strict officious bystander and business efficacy tests of implication should be seen as at the strict extreme of a continuum of tests of interpretation by supplementation.

Liability for independent contractors generally poses few difficulties in the law of contract, whereas in tort it is a vexed question. The difficulties are only compounded by the governing concept: the so-called “non-delegable duty”. This article explains the differences and argues that no easy parallels can be drawn from the contractual position to answer the riddles in tort. Neither does “assumption of responsibility” help. There is undoubtedly a case for recognising vicarious liability for independent contractors when businesses and public bodies alike now outsource so many of their functions. This issue needs to be confronted squarely, not through unconvincing contractual analogies.

During the last Long Vacation—which I am afraid, by the way, will be the last long vacation—I Was just about starting out to indulge in a pastime which a don of the rival, but much inferior, university has described as “putting little balls into little holes with instruments singularly unadapted for the purpose” when a letter was put into my hand with an American stamp and a United States postmark. I opened it hastily and glanced at it, and gathered the impression that some unknown society in the United States was inviting me to proceed there in the month of November to deliver an address on some legal subject. I was flattered and puzzled. I threw the letter on the table and went out to indulge in the aforesaid pastime. It was not till I got home and read the letter carefully that I discovered what it was all about. I gathered that your Downing Professor, who prefers to spend his holiday in a dry climate—a bone-dry climate—was conveying to me the request of the University Law Society that I should come back to my old university and my old college and speak to the law students, and I was very much flattered and grateful. I felt a little, however, like the Prodigal Son, for I thought that for the Cambridge Law Society and the Law School of Cambridge to invite a man who had paid little attention to them while he was up, to come and address them, was heaping coals of fire upon his head.

In the spring of 1925, the public fancy was caught for a moment by a Privy Council case involving the legal position of Hindu idols. The Times newspaper discussed it in a leading article. The case was fully reported in India and attracted some attention there; but, though it was also reported here, it does not seem to have interested English lawyers. Few readers of this Journal are particularly concerned with the technicalities of Hindu law, but the case seems to have for students of jurisprudence a much more general interest.

Although rare, giving birth in secret or in concealed circumstances still happens in the United Kingdom. The new born child's existence is unknown to his or her biological ‘father’ and or to the wider biological family of the birth giver who wishes to place the child for adoption without his or her existence being revealed to them. Legal decisions need to be made judicially when a local authority seeks orders as to whether it is required to make further inquiries to identify and notify the biological father and or wider biological family as to any forthcoming adoption proceedings. Developments in European human rights law's protection of a right to respect one's private life provided by Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) towards a right to personal autonomy, identity and integrity can be interpreted in different ways. However, three positions are argued here to guard against an erosion of women's confidentiality and privacy in these circumstances. First, women's choices of concealment should be accepted with respect rather than perceived as inauthentic and therefore impermissible; this is in keeping with Article 2's right to life and Article 8's right to personal autonomy and integrity. Second, the right to family life protected by Article 8 of any wider biological family and father is not contravened by allowing women to give birth discreetly. Third, openness and transparency, when it comes to exact knowledge of one's parents in this context is not necessary for a child's identity rights, which are also protected by Article 8's right to personal identity, to be legally protected.

SECTIONS 459–461 of the Companies Act 1985 are at the forefront of the remedies available to protect minority shareholders from oppression. The danger is that companies will be run exclusively in the interests of the controlling shareholders, and that the interests of the minority shareholders will be ignored, or at least not fully recognised. These sections provide general protection from oppression for minority shareholders. They are drafted in deliberately wide terms.

THE right not to be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment is guaranteed in absolute terms in Article 3 of the ECHR. This article imposes on a State both a negative and a positive obligation. In recent months, the House of Lords has considered cases raising both obligations pursuant to Article 3. This paper will examine first the nature of Article 3 and these obligations, second the jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights on the issue of State responsibility, and finally the recent decisions of the House of Lords in R. (on the application of Adam, Limbuela and Tesema) v. Secretary of State for the Home Department

Coke and Bacon, the two greatest lawyers of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, were members of Trinity College. Bacon was the greatest jurist of his day. Coke was the greatest of our common lawyers. I account it a great honour that Trinity College should in 1926, the tercentenary of Bacon's death, have asked me to say something of Bacon as a lawyer, and that in this year, 1934, the tercentenary of Coke's death, it has asked me to give this lecture.

This article proffers a hypothesis about a persistent historical mystery: Why did the use of defence lawyers in felony trials at the Old Bailey increase so noticeably in the last quarter of the eighteenth century?

The object of this paper is to give a general account of the nature and development of the prerogative writs. Of these writs the best known are habeas corpus ad subjiciendum, to bring up the body of a person imprisoned on a criminal charge or in private detention; certiorari, to review orders and convictions of inferior tribunals and to remove indictments for trial; prohibition, to prevent inferior tribunals from going beyond their jurisdiction; and mandamus, to compel the performance of a public duty. All four are of high constitutional importance, and the last three in particular play a central role in administrative and magisterial law. In the common-law jurisdictions overseas their significance is not less than in England, and in some instances it is even greater because of the more extensive spheres of operation conferred upon them. In England an Act of 1938 replaced the prerogative writs of certiorari, prohibition and mandamus by orders of the same names, but the change of designation reflected only a simplification of procedure; the substantive law remains the same, and for convenience they will here be described as if they were still prerogative writs.