A Voyage Round My Father

by John Mortimer

  FOWLE. I may have done.

  MORGENHALL. And planned to take her away with you?

  FOWLE. I did ask her.

  MORGENHALL. And when she refused …

  FOWLE (as Judge). Just a moment. Where’s all this leading?

  MORGENHALL. Your Lordship asks me! My Lord, it is our case that it was this man, Bateson, enraged by the refusal of the prisoner’s wife to follow him, who struck … You see where we’ve got to?

  FOWLE. I do.

  MORGENHALL. Masterly. I think you’ll have to agree with me?

  FOWLE. Of course.

  MORGENHALL. No flaws in this one?

  FOWLE. Not really a flaw, sir. Perhaps a little hitch.

  MORGENHALL. A hitch. Go on. Break it down.

  FOWLE. No, sir, really. Not after you’ve been so kind.

  MORGENHALL. Never mind. All my life I’ve stood against the winds of criticism and neglect. My gown may be a little tattered, my cuffs frayed. There may be a hole in my sock for the draughts to get at me. Quite often, on my way to Court, I notice that my left shoe lets in water. I am used to hardship. Speak on, Mr Fowle.

  FOWLE. Soon as he left my house, Bateson was stopped by an officer. He’d lifted an alarm clock off me, and the remains of a bottle of port. They booked him straight away.

  MORGENHALL. You mean, there wasn’t time?

  FOWLE. Hardly. Two hours later the next door observed Mrs Fowle at the washing. Then I came home.

  MORGENHALL. Fowle. Do you want to help me?

  FOWLE. Of course. Haven’t I shown it?

  MORGENHALL. But you will go on putting all these difficulties in my way.

  FOWLE. I knew you’d be upset.

  MORGENHALL. Not really. After all, I’m a grown up, even an old man. At my age one expects little gratitude. There’s a cat I feed each day at my lodgings, a waitress in the lunch room here who always gets that sixpence under my plate. In ten, twenty years’ time, will they remember me? Oh, I’m not bitter. But a little help, just a very little encouragement …

  FOWLE. But you’ll win this case. A brilliant mind like yours.

  MORGENHALL. Yes. Thank God. It’s very brilliant.

  FOWLE. And all that training.

  MORGENHALL. Years of it. Hard, hard training.

  FOWLE. You’ll solve it, sir.

  Pause.

  MORGENHALL. Fowle. Do you know what I’ve heard Tuppy Morgan say? After all, he’s sat here, year in, year out, as long as anyone can remember, in Court, waiting for the Dock Brief himself. Wilfred, he’s frequently told me, if they ever give you a brief, old fellow, attack the medical evidence. Remember, the jury’s full of rheumatism and arthritis and shocking gastric troubles. They love to see a medical man put through it. Always go for a doctor.

  FOWLE (eagerly). You’d like to try?

  MORGENHALL. Shall we?

  FOWLE. I’d enjoy it.

  MORGENHALL. Doctor. Did you say the lady died of heart failure?

  FOWLE (as Doctor). No.

  MORGENHALL. Come, Doctor. Don’t fence with me. Her heart wasn’t normal when you examined her, was it?

  FOWLE. She was dead.

  MORGENHALL. So it had stopped.

  FOWLE. Yes.

  MORGENHALL. Then her heart had failed?

  FOWLE. Well …

  MORGENHALL. So she died of heart failure?

  FOWLE. But …

  MORGENHALL. And heart failure might have been brought on by a fit, I say a fit of laughter, at a curiously rich joke on the wireless?

  FOWLE. Whew!

  FOWLE claps softly. Pause.

  MORGENHALL. Thank you, Fowle. It was kind but, I thought, hollow. I don’t believe my attack on the doctor was convincing.

  FOWLE. Perhaps a bit unlikely. But clever …

  MORGENHALL. Too clever. No. We’re not going to win this on science, Fowle. Science must be thrown away. As I asked those questions, I saw I wasn’t even convincing you of your own innocence. But you respond to emotion, Fowle, as I do, the magic of oratory, the wonderful power of words.

  FOWLE. Now you’re talking.

  MORGENHALL. I’m going to talk.

  FOWLE. I wish I could hear some of it. Words as grand as print.

  MORGENHALL. A golden tongue. A voice like a lyre to charm you out of hell.

  FOWLE. Now you’ve commenced to wander away from all I’ve understood.

  MORGENHALL. I was drawing on the riches of my classical education which comforts me on buses, waiting at surgeries, or in prison cells. But I shall speak to the jury simply, without classical allusions. I shall say …

  FOWLE. Yes.

  MORGENHALL. I shall say …

  FOWLE. What?

  MORGENHALL. I had it on the tip of my tongue.

  FOWLE. Oh.

  MORGENHALL. I shan’t disappoint you. I shall speak for a day, perhaps two days. At the end I shall say …

  FOWLE. Yes? Just the closing words.

  MORGENHALL. The closing words.

  FOWLE. To clinch the argument.

  MORGENHALL. Yes. The final, irrefutable argument.

  FOWLE. If I could only hear.

  MORGENHALL. You shall, Fowle. You shall hear it. In Court. It’ll come out in Court, and when I sink back in my seat, trembling, and wipe the real tears off my glasses …

  FOWLE. The judge’s summing up.

  MORGENHALL. What will Tommy say?

  FOWLE (as Judge). Members of the jury …

  MORGENHALL. Struggling with emotions as well.

  FOWLE. I can’t add anything to the words of the barrister. Go out and consider your verdict.

  MORGENHALL. Have they left the box?

  FOWLE. Only a formality.

  MORGENHALL. I see. I wonder how long they’ll be out.

  Pause.

  They’re out a long time.

  FOWLE. Of course, it must seem long to you. The suspense.

  MORGENHALL. I hope they won’t disagree.

  FOWLE. I don’t see how they can.

  Pause.

  MORGENHALL. Fowle.

  FOWLE. Yes, sir.

  MORGENHALL. Shall we just take a peep into the jury room.

  FOWLE. I wish we could.

  MORGENHALL. Let’s. Let me see, you’re the foreman?

  FOWLE. I take it we’re all agreed, chaps. So let’s sit here and have a short smoke.

  They sit on the bench together.

  MORGENHALL. An excellent idea. The barrister saved him.

  FOWLE. That wonderful speech. I had a bit of doubt before I heard the speech.

  MORGENHALL. No doubt now, have you?

  FOWLE. Certainly not.

  They light imaginary pipes.

  Care for a fill of mine?

  MORGENHALL. Thank you so much. Match?

  FOWLE. Here you are.

  MORGENHALL. I say, you don’t think the poor fellow’s in any doubt, do you?

  FOWLE. No. He must know he’ll get off. After the speech I mean.

  MORGENHALL. I mean, I wouldn’t like him to be on pins …

  FOWLE. Think we ought to go back and reassure him?

  They move off the bench.

  MORGENHALL. As you wish. Careful that pipe doesn’t start a fire in your pocket. (As Clerk of Court.)

  Gentlemen of the jury. Have you considered your verdict?

  FOWLE. We have.

  MORGENHALL. And do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?

  FOWLE. Not guilty, my Lord.

  MORGENHALL. Hooray!

  FOWLE (as Judge). Now, if there’s any sort of Mafeking around, I’ll have the Court closed.

  MORGENHALL. So I’m surrounded, mobbed. Tuppy Morgan wrings my hand and says it was lucky he left the seat. The judge sends me a letter of congratulation. The journalists dart off to their little telephones. And what now: ‘Of course they’d make you a judge but you’re probably too busy …’ There’s a queue of solicitors on the stairs … My old clerk writes on my next brief, a thousand guineas to divorce a duchess. There are qu
estions of new clothes, laying down the port. Oh, Mr Fowle, the change in life you’ve brought me.

  FOWLE. It will be your greatest day.

  MORGENHALL. Yes, Mr Fowle. My greatest day.

  The bolts shoot back, the door opens slowly.

  What’s that? I said we weren’t to be interrupted. It’s draughty in here with that door open. Close it, there’s a good chap, do.

  FOWLE. I think, you know, they must want us for the trial. FOWLE goes through the door. MORGENHALL follows with a dramatic sweep of his gown.

  The Curtain Falls

  Scene Two

  When the Curtain rises again the sky through the windows shows that it is late afternoon. The door is unlocked and MORGENHALL enters. He is without his wig and gown, more agitated than ever, he speaks to the WARDER, offstage.

  MORGENHALL. He’s not here at the moment – he’s not … ? Oh, I’m so glad. Just out temporarily? With the Governor? Then, I’ll wait for him. Poor soul. How’s he taking it? You’re not allowed to answer questions? The regulations, I suppose. Well, you must obey the regulations. I’ll just sit down here and wait for Mr Fowle.

  The door closes.

  (He whistles. Whistling stops.) May it please you, my Lord, members of the jury. I should have said, may it please you, my Lord, members of the jury. I should have said …

  He begins to walk up and down.

  Members of the jury. Is there one of you who doesn’t crave for peace … crave for peace. The silence of an undisturbed life, the dignity of an existence without dependants … without jokes. Have you never been tempted?

  I should have said …

  Members of the jury. You and I are men of the world. If your Lordship would kindly not interrupt my speech to the jury. I’m obliged. Members of the jury, before I was so rudely interrupted.

  I might have said …

  Look at the prisoner, members of the jury. Has he hurt you, done you the slightest harm? Is he not the mildest of men?

  He merely took it upon himself to regulate his domestic affairs. An Englishman’s home is his castle. Do any of you feel a primitive urge, members of the jury, to be revenged on this gentle bird fancier …

  Members of the jury, I see I’m affecting your emotions but let us consider the weight of the evidence … I might have said that!

  I might have said … (with distress) I might have said something… .

  The door opens. FOWLE enters. He is smiling to himself, but as soon as he sees MORGENHALL he looks serious and solicitous.

  FOWLE. I was hoping you’d find time to drop in, sir. I’m afraid you’re upset.

  MORGENHALL. No, no, my dear chap. Not at all upset.

  FOWLE. The result of the trial’s upset you.

  MORGENHALL. I feel a little dashed. A little out of sorts.

  FOWLE. It was disappointing for you.

  MORGENHALL. A touch of disappointment. But there’ll be other cases. There may be other cases.

  FOWLE. But you’d built such high hopes on this particular one.

  MORGENHALL. Well, there it is, Fowle.

  FOWLE. It doesn’t do to expect too much of a particular thing.

  MORGENHALL. You’re right, of course.

  FOWLE. Year after year I used to look forward keenly to the Feathered Friends Fanciers’ Annual Do. Invariably it took the form of a dinner.

  MORGENHALL. Your yearly treat?

  FOWLE. Exactly. All I had in the enjoyment line. Each year I built high hopes on it. June 13th, I’d say, now there’s an evening to look forward to.

  MORGENHALL. Something to live for?

  FOWLE. In a way. But when it came, you know, it was never up to it. Your collar was always too tight, or the food was inadequate, or someone had a nasty scene with the fancier in the chair. So, on June 14th, I always said to myself: Thank God for a night at home.

  MORGENHALL. It came and went and your life didn’t change?

  FOWLE. No, quite frankly.

  MORGENHALL. And this case has left me just as I was before.

  FOWLE. Don’t say that.

  MORGENHALL. Tuppy Morgan’s back in his old seat under the window. The judge never congratulated me. No one’s rung up to offer me a brief. I thought my old clerk looked coldly at me, and there was a titter in the luncheon room when I ordered my usual roll and tomato soup.

  FOWLE. But I …

  MORGENHALL. And you’re not left in a very favourable position.

  FOWLE. Don’t say that, sir. It’s not so bad for me. After all, I had no education.

  MORGENHALL. So many years before I could master the Roman Law relating to the ownership of chariots… .

  FOWLE. Wasted, you think?

  MORGENHALL. I feel so.

  FOWLE. But without that rich background, would an individual have been able to sway the Court as you did?

  MORGENHALL. Sway?

  FOWLE. The Court.

  MORGENHALL. Did I do that?

  FOWLE. It struck me you did.

  MORGENHALL. Indeed… .

  FOWLE. It’s turned out masterly.

  MORGENHALL. Mr Fowle, you’re trying to be kind. When I was a child I played French cricket with an uncle who deliberately allowed the ball to strike his legs. At the age of seven that irked me. At sixty-three I can face the difficulties of accurate batting …

  FOWLE. But no, sir. I really mean it. I owe it all to you. Where I am.

  MORGENHALL. I’m afraid near the end.

  FOWLE. Just commencing.

  MORGENHALL. I lost, Mr Fowle. You may not be aware of it. It may not have been hammered home to you yet. But your case is lost.

  FOWLE. But there are ways and ways of losing.

  MORGENHALL. That’s true, of course.

  FOWLE. I noticed your artfulness right at the start, when the policeman gave evidence. You pulled out that red handkerchief, slowly and deliberately, like a conjuring trick.

  MORGENHALL. And blew?

  FOWLE. A sad, terrible trumpet.

  MORGENHALL. Unnerved him, I thought.

  FOWLE. He never recovered. There was no call to ask questions after that.

  MORGENHALL. And then they called that doctor.

  FOWLE. You were right not to bother with him.

  MORGENHALL. Tactics, you see. We’d decided not to trouble with science.

  FOWLE. So we had. And with Bateson …

  MORGENHALL. No, Fowle. I must beware of your flattery, I think I might have asked Bateson …

  FOWLE. It wouldn’t have made a farthing’s difference. A glance told them he was a demon.

  MORGENHALL. He stood there, so big and red, with his no tie and dirty collar. I rose up to question him and suddenly it seemed as if there were no reason for us to converse. I remembered what you said about his jokes, his familiarity with your wife. What had he and I in common? I turned from him in disgust. I think that jury guessed the reason for my silence with friend Bateson.

  FOWLE. I think they did!

  MORGENHALL. But when it came to the speech …

  FOWLE. The best stroke of all.

  MORGENHALL. I can’t agree. You no longer carry me with you.

  FOWLE. Said from the heart.

  MORGENHALL. I’m sure of it. But not, dare I say, altogether justified? We can’t pretend, can we, Mr Fowle, that the speech was a success?

  FOWLE. It won the day.

  MORGENHALL. I beg you not to be under any illusions. They found you guilty.

  FOWLE. I was forgetting. But that masterly speech …

  MORGENHALL. I can’t be hoodwinked.

  FOWLE. But you don’t know …

  MORGENHALL. I stood up, Mr Fowle, and it was the moment I’d waited for. Ambition had driven me to it, the moment when I was alone with what I wanted. Everyone turned to me, twelve blank faces in the jury box, eager to have the grumpy looks wiped off them. The judge was silent. The prosecutor courteously pretended to be asleep. I only had to open my mouth and pour words out. What stopped me?

  FOWLE. What?

&nb
sp; MORGENHALL. Fear. That’s what’s suggested. That’s what the clerks tittered to the waitress in Friday’s luncheon room. Old Wilf Morgenhall was in a funk.

  FOWLE. More shame on them …

  MORGENHALL. But it wasn’t so. Nor did my mind go blank. When I rose I knew exactly what I was going to say.

  FOWLE. Then, why?

  MORGENHALL. Not say it – you were going to say?

  FOWLE. It had struck me –

  MORGENHALL. It must have, Fowle. It must have struck many people. You’ll forgive a reminiscence …

  FOWLE. Glad of one.

  MORGENHALL. The lady I happened to mention yesterday. I don’t, of course, often speak of her …

  FOWLE. She, who, in the 1914 … ?

  MORGENHALL. Exactly. But I lost her long before that. For years, you know, Mr Fowle, this particular lady and I met at tea parties, tennis, and so on. Then, one evening, I walked home with her. We stood on Vauxhall Bridge, a warm summer night, and silence fell. It was the moment when I should have spoken, the obvious moment. Then, something overcame me, it wasn’t shyness or fear then, but a tremendous exhaustion. I was tired out by the long wait, and when the opportunity came – all I could think of was sleep.

  FOWLE. It’s a relief …

  MORGENHALL. To go home alone. To undress, clean your teeth, knock out your pipe, not to bother with failure or success.

  FOWLE. So yesterday …

  MORGENHALL. I had lived through that moment so many times. It happened every day in my mind, daydreaming on buses, or in the doctor’s surgery. When it came, I was tired of it. The exhaustion came over me. I wanted it to be all over. I wanted to be alone in my room, in the darkness, with a soft pillow round my ears … So I failed.

  FOWLE. Don’t say it.

  MORGENHALL. Being too tired to make my daydream public. It’s a nice day. Summer’s coming.

  FOWLE. No, don’t sir. Not too near the window.

  MORGENHALL. Why not, Mr Fowle?

  FOWLE. I was concerned. A man in your position might be desperate. …

  MORGENHALL. You say you can see the forest?

  FOWLE. Just a glimpse of it.

  MORGENHALL. I think I shall retire from the bar.