‘Share my view!’ This comment irritated me because of its equivocal nature. Either the judge advocate advised something or he did not, so why mention sharing at all? I saw that the Judge Advocate General at the time had been Sir Augustus Gullipant QC. However, the actual advice had been prepared and signed out by Judge Advocate Binden Peascod. Devilling this work was quite common if the Judge Advocate General himself wasn’t available for one reason or another.
This was intriguing in itself but then something else caught my eye. Just above Peascod’s signature and partially obscuring it was the mark of a stamp which read ‘Proceedings confirmed to be legally in order by GOC’, above a squiggled set of initials. Peascod’s advice had been ignored!
Armed with this information, I resolved to return to London and confront Peascod straightaway. At the same time, I might find out more about how the enquiry was progressing.
* * *
“Gracious me, Courtley – when you told me that you had spotted an irregularity in a case, I didn’t realise you were referring to one over 40 years ago.”
Peascod, head wobbling, peered down at the set of proceedings on his desk.
“Does that matter? If the interests of justice merit it, your letters patent give you the right to reopen a case at any time, don’t they?”
“Only under the most exceptional circumstances, such as new evidence coming to light.”
I tapped the dusty papers in front of him.
“Not just for that reason alone, surely? Lieutenant Gafford’s conviction in 1948 should never have been confirmed at all. Just read your own minute!”
Peascod’s head wobbled even more furiously as he perused the papers.
“Ah, I must have been a very junior judge advocate then.”
“Yet you signed the minute on behalf of the Judge Advocate General, didn’t you?”
“True, I was acting on his behalf. But this wasn’t binding advice, Courtley. The general officer commanding chose not to take it and the proceedings were confirmed anyway, as you can see.”
“But this was wrong. Not only did you think that at the time, but changes in the law since must reinforce your original view. Nowadays, much greater emphasis is put on the fact that a fair trial can only take place on evidence which has been fully canvassed before a court – the European Convention on Human Rights says as much.”
“This all happened before the Convention came into being, Courtley. I can’t possibly reopen the matter after all these years.”
Now I was furious.
“This is tantamount to bloody cowardice! You’re supposed to be responsible for overseeing the military justice system and right obvious wrongs even when they took place long ago!”
Peascod rose from his chair; his wobbling cheeks had turned puce.
“Please remember who you are addressing, Courtley. I am your immediate superior and what you say amounts to rank insubordination.”
“Rubbish! I’m not in the army having to take orders! And I’m beginning to wonder if I can carry on in this office much longer!”
With that, I stalked out.
Resignation was now on my mind, and as I walked back to the Wanderers in Pall Mall, I began to draft an appropriate letter in my mind. I might even write to the newspapers! But before taking any action, I would sleep on it and enjoy a decent dinner in the meantime.
At nine the following morning, I was having breakfast when a club official approached my table.
“A call for you, sir, on the telephone. The gentleman said it was rather urgent.”
“Oh Courtley, it’s Binden here. I need your help. Due to an…er...misunderstanding, I am presently at Aldgate Magistrates’ Court.”
“At court, Binden – whatever for? Are you due to give evidence there?”
“No, not exactly. Frankly, I need you to come straightaway if you would.”
Abandoning breakfast and catching a cab immediately, I was at court within half an hour to find a very forlorn and rather dishevelled Peascod banged up in ‘the cage’ – the custody area designated for all prisoners surrendering to their bail on arrival at court. Without saying anything, Binden handed me a charge sheet. I perused it swiftly. It alleged that whilst in his car he was soliciting a woman in the street for the purpose of prostitution.
“Kerb crawling in the Kings Cross area. What on earth were you doing, Binden?”
“Well it was a private matter… but since my wife died five years ago I’ve often craved a little female company, so I drive about in that area and sometimes a girl gets in and we talk...at first.”
“Well, there’s nothing illegal in just talking. What happens then?”
Binden turned away, his face red with embarrassment.
“I...er...ask the girl to help me...er...find relief.”
“Oh, Binden.,” I sighed. “How did you get caught?”
“I was entrapped, no less. The girl who got in my car turned out to be a plain clothes police officer! She arrested me and took me to a police station where I was kept in a cell overnight. Then I was brought here.”
“They’ll require you to enter a plea this morning, Binden...”
“Oh, I’ve no alternative but to plead guilty. I know you can’t represent me as such, but would you be prepared to give character evidence? You see, my plight grows worse. I’m due up before Laurence Longden, the Stipendiary Magistrate, and I know him. We were pupils together in the 1940s and can’t stand each other!”
Lorry Longden, known for a total lack of compassion and biting sarcasm; his menacing expression, accentuated by a glass eye, would no doubt take great delight in seeing his old enemy squirm.
But then, something caught my eye. The court sergeant entered the cage, and announced to the milling prisoners that their cases would be called on shortly. It was my old friend ‘Sarge’ – instantly recognizable from the thick, black spectacles he always wore and the thin roll-up cigarette attached to his lip.
“‘aven’t seen you for a while, sir.”
He gave me a friendly nod as I strolled over, wondering whether I could get the case moved to another court.
“Must have a chat over a cup of char – I still runs my little canteen round the back, you know.”
I lost no time in explaining the embarrassing situation, adding that, on top of everything else, Peascod was worried about the publicity if it came out that he was the Judge Advocate General. Sarge chewed on his roll-up for a minute.
“Can’t do nothin’ about transferring the case away from Lorry’s court, it’s already in his register. Or the publicity…except...” He stroked his chin in thought. “Just you leave this to me.”
* * *
“Number five in your list, sir,” bellowed Sarge. “Mr Binden.”
Lorry glowered at Peascod in the dock, his glass eye glinting in the light.
“Guilty or not guilty, Mr Binden?” the clerk of the court asked in a bored voice, after rattling through the details of the soliciting charge.
“Guilty.”
“I don’t need to hear the facts, Sergeant. The allegation speaks for itself. Anything known about him?” The magistrate growled.
“No criminal record, sir,” replied my old friend.
“Very well. Stand up, Binden. You’ll be fined £20 – don’t do it again.”
Peascod was only too anxious to leave. The newspaper reporter, stationed in his usual corner, stirred only briefly on hearing the charge read before slumping back in his seat. Now, I was able to take up Sarge’s offer of that cup of tea.
“A good ruse that,” I said, “calling the case using his first name only, but how did you square the clerk of the court and the magistrate?”
“No problem with the former. He’s an old mate and went along with it straightaway. As for Lorry, well, me and him go back a bit, see. He’s a nasty old bugger but I’ve got him eatin’ out of my hands these days.”
Sarge dropped his voice to a whisper and tapped his nose.
“He lives in a large h
ouse in Hampstead. Burgled a few months back. Villain appeared here for the remand hearings before going up the road for trial at the Crown Court. Take a guess what the loot was?”
“Family silver, jewellery, that sort of thing...?”
“Oh yes, but a load of filthy books too – kinda stuff the porn squad arrest people for. Now nothing ever came out – chummy put his hands up an’ did a guilty upstairs – but I remind Lorry when he gets uppity-like that the Lord Chancellor might take a dim view of his private life!”
The next day, I confronted Binden back at the office. Composed after his ordeal, he had the grace to thank me profusely. I decided to press my advantage.
“I think you owe me a favour or two, Binden. The first is that you put the Gafford case right.”
“Yes, yes, all right, Courtly. If you tell Gafford to write to me formally, I shall find a way to advise Her Majesty to quash the original finding.”
“And that’s not all – I want to start sitting again.”
“Now that I can’t resolve, Courtley.” Peascod’s head began to wobble. “The Army Board is still investigating the matter. It’s simply not within my remit. I explained that to you before.”
Despite further protestations, he refused to budge so now it was time to take the matter further myself. Thus I arranged to meet up with Rex Huggins, now a Lord Justice of Appeal and my old pupil master. For old time’s sake, we met at Tom Tug’s Wine Bar, the barristers’ watering hole, which was situated near the law courts in the Strand. Contentedly sipping glasses of fizz, we began to recall the past.
“The very last time I was in here was when I was appointed a judge, Charles – a few years ago now.”
“Don’t I remember! It was the day of the QCs’ appointments too and poor old Dan Rydehope walked in knowing that they were never going to appoint him now. What insouciance that man had!”
Rex nodded.
“Coming in when the new silks were celebrating – that took some courage, I must admit. Mind you, who am I to talk? I never applied at all, but became a boring old judge instead!”
“Come on Rex.”
I knew him to be highly regarded in the Court of Appeal and rumour had it that he might even land up as a law lord. Rex was in a teasing mood.
“Well, I chose a different path but you might have taken silk yourself in time, instead of becoming a military man!”
I could not help but rise to the bait.
“But that’s the whole point, Rex. I’m not in the military but they are acting as if I am which is why I’ve asked to see you.”
I told him my sorry tale.
“This is absolutely outrageous, Charlie. It’s a matter you should raise with the Lord Chief Justice without delay!”
“How do I do that? I’ve never met him.”
“Go and see him immediately and ask for his help as a fellow judge. Indeed, I’ll tell him all about it in advance, and tip off his clerk as well, so ring him to make an appointment straightaway – I’ll give you the extension now.”
* * *
“Ah yes, Mr Courtley, Lord Justice Huggins said that you would be ringing. Yes, the chief will see you the day after tomorrow in the morning.” The clerk told me later.
“What time should I come in?”
“Nine forty-five? That’s the best time. The court doesn’t sit until ten thirty but the chief is always in by then.”
Originally I intended to walk to the law courts from Pall Mall but as it was raining I attempted to catch a cab, but without success. So I set off for Piccadilly Circus to get the tube instead. The problem was that midway between Embankment and Temple stations, the train broke down in the tunnel and there we remained for nearly an hour.
I didn’t know this particular Lord Chief Justice – Lord Macfellon – but just hoped and prayed he was not similar to one of his predecessors, Lord Flaggett, who had been renowned for his intolerance, amongst other vices.
On arrival in the anteroom of the judges’ chambers, I began to babble an apology to the clerk who stopped me in my tracks.
“Don’t worry, sir, you’re not the only one that’s been caught up in the tube. The chief’s here though – on his own at the moment – and will see you straightaway.”
Lord Macfellon was the absolute opposite to his predecessor. Tall and quietly spoken, he ushered me to a chair. I was about to begin my tale when to my consternation the other judges trooped in. Hurriedly, I rose to leave.
“No need, no need, my dear chap.” The chief said, waving me back to my chair. “You are a judge, after all – might be interesting for you to see how we deal with our business. We’ll just finish discussing the case in hand and then you can tell me more about your problem if you like.”
Now I found myself sitting in the middle of the three Court of Appeal judges, soaking up the atmosphere. The morning light filtered through the small, square panes of the window softly lighting up the beautifully carved woodwork of the room. What a privilege to be sitting inside the magnificent Gothic building which houses the Supreme Court of Judicature!
Lord Macfellon introduced me to the others who glanced at me curiously. It was obvious that they had no idea why I was there. The chief now cleared his throat and indicated that they should simply continue with their discussions despite my presence.
“Well, the authorities are all in the appellant’s favour. We should simply quash the conviction in my view,” one of them said.
His colleague countered, “I couldn’t disagree more – this is a case where commonsense should apply rather than a strict analysis of the law.”
Macfellon sighed.
“Which leaves me with the casting vote, gentlemen. Justice must be seen to be done, however. The conviction can’t stand.”
The matter settled, their lordships trooped back into court leaving me alone for a moment. Minutes later, the chief returned unaccompanied.
“The others are in their rooms, reading the papers in the next case which I’ve dealt with before so we have time for a chat. As you know, Rex has already told me about your problem.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t think I’m imposing on you...”
“Not for a moment. Indeed, I have already formed a strong view from what I’ve been told. The General’s complaint and investigations by the Army Board are quite unwarrented. It’s an utter disgrace that you’ve been stopped from sitting and I regard that as deliberate interference with the independence of the judiciary so quite intolerable.”
“You mean that...”
“I mean that you’ll be back on the bench next week. I’ve spoken to the Lord Chancellor who told the Prime Minister the same thing. Moreover, the former has instructed the Judge Advocate General to reinstate you immediately...”
This had been no thanks to Binden but, at least, he had been instrumental in having Roland Gafford’s conviction quashed by order of the Sovereign, and, in due course, Roland sent me a note of thanks.
‘I’m so glad that my name had been cleared at long last, but as you can imagine the taste of bitterness is bound to remain. However, if you hadn’t spotted the medal nothing would ever have happened in the first place and I have you to thank for seeing justice was done in the end. In the circumstances, I now feel the right place for my medal is the Imperial War Museum in London and I will be sending it to them accompanied by a letter explaining its history.
Forgive me for saying this but I would prefer not to see you again. It’s not personal but I don’t want to be reminded of my former career and am somewhat of a recluse anyway these days. But I’m delighted that Beatrix and Andrea have become friendly which means that she, at least, will see more of the German community whilst you’re here...’
Something which would continue to remain much more difficult for me because of the nature of my work, I thought wryly.
Twelve
According to what I heard on the grapevine, the intervention of the Lord Chief Justice certainly ruffled the feathers of the army top brass who did not like bei
ng told what to do by civilians, even if they were the country’s leading lawyers. Also, a story came out in the press hinting that a senior general might resign due to governmental interference with military matters – which was hardly an apt description of what had happened.
Then, one day I came across an intriguing entry in the news section of The Times:
‘General Sir Clive Hudibrass, who is about to retire from the Army after quitting his last job, will shortly be taking up an appointment as an advisor to a multinational defence procurement corporation. The salary package, including bonuses, is likely to exceed £1000,000 per annum.’
The General certainly wasn’t going to lose out financially, I thought, but most importantly he would no longer be in command of BAOR. I hoped that some semblance of normality might now return to the garrison.
“No reason why we can’t start going to mess functions again,” I observed to Andrea.
“I’m not particularly bothered, frankly. Beatrix has introduced me to some of her dog walking friends and it’s more interesting getting to know the Germans as well as learning their language. Of course, I’ll go back to the Thrift Shop – Norma has already invited me to return – she’s delighted to see the end of the ghastly Lady Hudibrass as the patroness of the place.”
“Time to settle down again then, until we can return to England – whenever that will be,” I said gloomily.
Part of my contract as a new judge advocate was to go where needed most, and that had turned out to be Germany for an unspecified time which was more of a strain than I’d ever imagined.
But there were to be new developments in our office soon, and once again I found myself back in London.
* * *
“You haven’t met Mrs Plunt have you, Courtley?”
Binden indicated Veejag’s wife seated on a sofa opposite his desk. She was small and although quite elderly still quite pretty. However, her finely-moulded features were blurred with distress.
I extended my hand and said, “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Mrs Plunt has approached me about a most sensitive matter. We thought you might be able to help,” Binden said. “Violet, would you like to tell him what you’ve told me?”
Wig Betrayed Page 8