Grimsby Telegraph court reporter Mark Naylor was one of only four regional journalists allowed to sit through the Huntley and Carr trial. Here is his account of the events that unfolded in the historic Court One at the Old Bailey.

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Electrifying drama, ferocious cross-examination and gruesome detail dominated the trial of Grimsby couple Ian Huntley and Maxine Carr.

The marathon hearing at the Old Bailey was billed as the “trial of the century” and the highly emotive courtroom scenes attracted unprecedented and unremitting media coverage.

The high-profile trial was rarely off the front pages, especially during the prosecution’s eagerly awaited opening of its case and the dramatic appearances of Huntley and Carr in the witness box.

The setting for the trial, in the historic, wood-panelled Court One, was especially appropriate because it has been the venue for many notorious cases over the decades.

The Grimsby Telegraph was one of only two regional daily newspapers allowed inside the famous courtroom to cover the case.

But, even with official accreditation, the task of actually getting in to the famous central Criminal Court each day made the many trips on packed and heaving Underground trains seem like a stroll in the park.

Security was so tight that, on many occasions, queues of people stretched right up the street outside the court.

They included reporters, legal teams and even jurors – all waiting to be allowed through the airport-style security.

Photographers and camera crews lined the tiny entrance to the court – and the road opposite – and immediately sprang into action if they spotted any of the trial’s key players, notably leading counsel, arriving.

Reporters had to wear a clip-on, laminated security pass, which they all had to sign for before the trial started.

But that, predictably, was not good enough for the security guards standing inside the court’s revolving door entrance.They insisted on seeing a National Union of Journalists Press pass as well.

An ordinary Press pass, issued by the journalist’s employer, was not deemed acceptable.

Any reporter who did not have an NUJ pass was forced to telephone his or her office to ask for a special letter, signed by the editor, on headed paper, to be faxed directly to the court. The logistics of this could take some time.

One well-known TV news anchorman was caught out by this extra tier of security.

He was forced to suffer the indignity of hurriedly making repeated mobile phone calls to his office – before, apparently, finally being let through because staff recognised him.

The queues in the often packed foyer filtered along towards two automatically opening space capsule-type isolation units.

“Wait for green light” was the only instruction near the machine’s glass front.

When the capsule opened, you stepped inside and, as the outer entrance closed behind you, you were trapped there momentarily.

The inside door sprang open and then it was the turn of more guards, this time with metal detecting equipment.

Anything containing metal – keys, purses, wallets, mobile phones – had to be put in to small trays and all bags, cases and briefcases had to be lifted on to an airport-style roller.

Security images of the bags were checked by a guard studying a monitor and, just for good measure, anyone still attracting suspicion was subjected to a hand-held metal detector body search.

The comparatively easy task of walking up several flights of stairs to the courtroom – and actually covering the trial – was about to begin.

But, of course, no one could enter the courtroom itself without one last security check. The clip-on laminated passes had to be scrutinised by the guard outside the door before entry was allowed.

Once inside the chamber, there was, in the early stages at least, something of a free-for-all as reporters scrambled for the 53 allocated Press places.

But this rush gradually waned as some journalists started to drop out, returning only to the “big days”.

The families of Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman were always allowed in first, as were the police and legal teams.

Reporters tended to sit in the same seats day after day – with pride of place, in the best viewing and listening spot, deferentially afforded to a veteran TV reporter.

He cannily staked his claim to a back seat from day one by putting his business card in a name slot on that bench.

The courtroom itself was undoubtedly the ideal place to see and hear the many dramas that unfolded over the weeks but there was also a downstairs overspill annexe where 40 back-up reporters could follow proceedings via a video and sound link.

The red-robed judge, Mr Justice Moses, presided over the trial with a mixture of stern authority and gentle good humour.

He told reporters, during one exchange, that he was slightly miffed at being described by one broadsheet as behaving like a “headmaster” while warning the jury panel about the momentous task it faced.

He regularly made it clear that he disliked time-wasting of any type and carpeted one unfortunate prisoner custody officer after a valuable 20 minutes of court time was lost.

The incident happened because of a misunderstanding over the judge’s instructions about access to the dock for Huntley’s barrister.

“I run this court,” declared the judge, after the mix-up led to that afternoon’s proceedings finishing early.

Mr Justice Moses proved to have a keen sense of humour, often making little witticisms to defuse particularly tense situations, and showing a clear grasp of the realities facing witnesses attending the trial.

He told Grimsby coach driver Paul Walmsley: “I am very sorry you have been dragged all this way.”

The judge caused a few raised eyebrows during a break in Carr’s evidence – addressing her informally as “Maxine” and not, as would have been expected “Miss Carr”.

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