by Peter Murphy
‘Would he be likely to do whatever Caradog asked of him?’
‘In general, perhaps. But I can’t see him doing something like this.’
‘Is he capable of violence?’
She shook her head.
‘He is quite impulsive. We have had to pull him back from the front line at demos a few times for his own safety. If you told me that he threw a placard at a police officer at a demo, or if you told me that he had a few pints after an international at Cardiff Arms Park and punched some English rugby supporter, I would believe you. I can see him doing that. But making a bomb to kill or injure people? No.’
‘What about Trevor?’ Ben asked.
She began to cry. Jess again reached over and took her hand. They waited for her to compose herself.
‘Trevor came into my life unexpectedly when he bought the Tywysog. It was one of those things that happen. I think we both knew straight away. There was something between us – an understanding. He was very gradual with me. He came to the house for dinner. He took me out. He was interested in my music, which no one in the family ever was, much. He would sit and listen to me play the cello – for hours, sometimes. He found concerts to take me to, and there are not all that many near Caernarfon – not classical concerts. And when we agreed to marry, it was the most natural thing in the world. I never questioned it at all. He is a wonderful husband, and he loves Harri just as much as I do. He adores him.’
She cried again. Ben sat back, pen in hand, and allowed her time.
‘Arianwen, do you have any idea why the police haven’t been able to find him? Do you know where he might be? Whatever you tell us here is privileged. We can’t tell anyone. But it is something that’s bound to come up during the trial, and we have to give the jury a believable answer.’
She shook her head.
‘Dai Bach told me that Trevor was supposed to take him to Bangor and bring him back to the Maes. It was because Trevor didn’t show up that he called me. Trevor told me that he was going to the Maes earlier in the evening to join in the last demo before the Investiture. Caradog wouldn’t be there because he was working at the Castle, but he was expecting to see Dai Bach. No one thought the demo would last very long – a lot of people had decided to protest by leaving town – and then I was expecting him home. I didn’t go with him that evening because I didn’t want to take Harri and I had no one to look after him, so I stayed home.’
‘Were you worried when Dai Bach called?’
‘Not really. I thought it was a bit odd if he had forgotten, because Trevor doesn’t forget things like that. But I assumed he had met someone and gone for a couple of pints. Dai Bach sounded a bit anxious and it was getting late, so I thought the easiest thing was to drive him myself.’
‘And you didn’t think it was strange that you were taken to a garage rather than Dai Bach’s house?’
‘It seems strange looking back now, I suppose, but at the time, no. He said he had rented the garage for storage, and I didn’t think anything of it.’
Ben finished the note he was making.
‘I know this isn’t easy, but how do you feel now about Trevor being gone when you have to face trial?’
She cried again.
‘I know there is some simple, logical explanation. If I could just sit down and talk to him, I am sure it would make sense.’
‘I take it that it’s not the kind of thing you would expect him to do – to run out on you, I mean?’
‘No. No. We have always been so close. I suppose he must be afraid about getting into trouble himself. He would be prosecuted if the police arrested him, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, I think that must be it. He’s afraid of being prosecuted, even though I’m sure he couldn’t have had anything to do with it.’
Ben allowed some time to pass.
‘Arianwen, is there anything about Trevor at all that makes you think he might have been involved?’
‘Such as what?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. You must feel you know him very well by now. Is there anything that strikes you as odd now, even if it is only with the benefit of hindsight?’
She considered.
‘The only thing that ever struck me as strange about Trevor is that he has never talked about his family very much. He told me that both his parents died long before we met, and he is an only child, so perhaps there wasn’t very much to talk about. He didn’t invite any family or friends to our wedding, but then, it was a very quiet affair – we both wanted it that way. I always had the feeling that when he came to Caernarfon, he was deliberately putting his past in London behind him. But I assumed that he was just tired of working too hard at Foyles, and he mentioned a relationship with a woman that hadn’t ended well, so I didn’t press him. I was just glad that he had come into my life, and I am sure he felt the same way.’
‘He was re-discovering his Welsh identity too, perhaps?’
‘Yes. I’m sure that was part of it.’
‘And I must ask the same question I asked about Caradog and Dai Bach. Did you ever have any reason to think him capable of violence?’
‘No. He can be firm, and there is a kind of brooding silence about him sometimes, which comes on for no apparent reason. But he is very controlled. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. And I can’t believe he would put me and Harri at risk by being part of something like this. I just don’t believe that, and I will never believe it. Never.’
24
Monday 28 July 1969
They met in Gareth’s room at the request of Eifion Morris. After one final visit to Arianwen Hughes and Dafydd Prosser the next day he intended to return to Cardiff until the trial, but he was reluctant to leave before hearing what the barristers thought about the case after their conferences. Gareth Morgan-Davies and Donald Weston had spent much of the day at Brixton prison with Barratt Davis, talking to Dafydd Prosser. They had made a tentative inquiry of Caradog Prys-Jones using the good offices of the prison officers, but he had declined to see them or even send a message back. It was time to assess where they stood.
‘Our interview last Thursday went well, on the whole,’ Ben said. ‘As you warned us, Eifion, Arianwen is very emotional when it comes to the subject of Harri, but she understands what the issue is going to be at the trial, and she is adamant that she knew nothing about any plan to plant a bomb.’
‘Do you believe her?’ Eifion asked.
‘I think so. Whether a jury will believe her is another question.’
‘Well, I believe her,’ Jess said.
‘Why?’ Barratt asked.
‘Just meeting her, watching her. If she had got wind that anything remotely like this was going on, she would never have kept quiet about it. I have no doubt about that. She would have been screaming bloody murder.’
‘You think she would have turned them in?’ Barratt smiled.
‘She wouldn’t have had to turn them in. She would have made them listen to her. She would have made it impossible for them to carry on.’
‘Why would she have done that?’
‘She would have done it for Harri, if for no other reason. She would never have placed him in danger of losing both his parents at the same time. And she certainly wouldn’t have had him in the car if she knew she was carrying a bomb. Not in a million years.’
‘I agree with you, Jess,’ Eifion said. ‘That’s my reading of her too. Don’t be fooled by that quiet demeanour. She is quite capable of making herself heard when she needs to. She would have been the voice of reason, and I can’t see any of those men standing against her – certainly not Caradog or Dai Bach.’
‘If she can give the jury that impression, then she has a chance,’ Ben said. ‘But she is going to have to survive some brutal cross-examination. We must support her as much as we can about Harri, as you said before. We must also rem
ember that we haven’t seen much of the prosecution’s evidence yet. They may have something we are not expecting.’
‘Agreed,’ Barratt said. He turned to Gareth. ‘And now for the bad news.’
‘Oh?’ Ben said. ‘How so? Is Dai Bach being difficult?’
‘No, on the contrary,’ Gareth replied. ‘Dai Bach is being very easy indeed. He is quite happy to admit that he was part of the conspiracy, that he built the bomb in his rented garage, and that he was delivering it to Caradog at the time of his arrest, knowing that it would be placed in the Castle, where it might well cause death or serious injury to people later in the day.’
Ben’s jaw dropped.
‘He admitted that to you?’
‘In so many words.’
‘Which means…’
‘Which means that we can’t represent him, except to the extent of challenging the prosecution’s evidence on the ground of admissibility, and making any other legal arguments he is entitled to have made for him. I can’t present a positive case, and I can’t call him to give evidence.’
‘You can try to keep his confession from the jury, presumably?’ Ben suggested.
‘Yes. Actually, that’s the only part of the case where we might make some progress. He did somehow sustain some injuries at the police station, enough to make them call the police surgeon, who insisted that he be taken to hospital to be examined. So we do actually have a shot at keeping his confession out. But beyond that, there is not much we can do.’
They were silent for some time.
‘Why doesn’t he just plead guilty and get it over with?’ Ben asked.
‘He’s worried that if he pleads, it will reflect badly on Caradog and Arianwen,’ Gareth replied. ‘I’ve told him it is unlikely to have any effect on them at all, but he is not listening to me at present. Still, trials concentrate the mind wonderfully. He may think more about it and change his mind as the trial approaches. But there’s no sign of it yet.’
‘What does he say about Arianwen?’
‘He supports her story completely. He insists that she knew nothing about it, and she only sprang into action to drive him to Bangor when he couldn’t find Trevor. And no, he doesn’t know where Trevor is. I am sorry I can’t call him to support her case in front of the jury. He would be quite happy to do it.’
‘It’s not Dai Bach I need,’ Ben replied.
25
Monday 30 March 1970
At almost 7 o’clock in the evening, Ben was still working in his room in Chambers, the files containing the prosecution’s witness statements and the exhibits covering almost the entire working surface of his desk. The trial had been fixed for 4 May, which was now just over a month away. Ben felt as though he was going around in circles. The more he read the evidence, the more clearly he saw that everything hinged on how well Arianwen Hughes performed as a witness. The issue in her case was simple: did she know? Try as he might, he could find nothing more complicated than that in the morass of papers on his desk. The case still felt disconcertingly personal. He had begun to feel that he was as well prepared for trial as he would ever be, a strange and unfamiliar feeling so long before a trial. It was a feeling that in theory should have brought him comfort, but instead it had left him feeling more anxious than ever.
His chambers room-mate Harriet Fisk, who had a complicated civil case ahead of her the next morning in the High Court, yawned audibly from across the room and banged her pen down on her blotter.
‘That’s quite enough of this nonsense for one day,’ she said.
‘Calling it a night so early?’ Ben grinned. He and Harriet had always got on well. As pupils they had shared a long, hard struggle to be taken on as members of Chambers, she as a woman, he as a young Jewish man from the East End. The victory had taken its toll emotionally and for a while, until their practices took off, had drained their self-confidence; they had supported each other loyally throughout and ever since. They had shared the room in Chambers ever since becoming tenants, and Harriet was building a good practice in the civil and family courts.
‘I know. I have no staying power. But there’s only so much I can read about incompetent building repairs, however expensive, in any given period of 24 hours without losing my mind. I will come in early tomorrow morning and make one final effort to tie it all together, and after that, the chips will fall where they may. How does your trial look? Do you have a shot?’
Ben sighed.
‘Yes, we have a shot. But it all depends on how good she will be in the witness box.’
‘No sign of the husband still?’
‘No sign at all. Certainly not in time for this trial.’
She picked up her briefcase and walked over to stand in front of his desk.
‘I don’t understand how people talk themselves into doing something so dreadful,’ she said. ‘Planting a bomb and timing it to go off when there is almost certain to be a loss of life and terrible injuries. I understand that they have a political point to make, but how could this kind of violence help them? Do they really think we will all roll over and give them everything they want?’
Before Ben could answer, there was a knock on the door, and Gareth entered.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
‘No,’ Harriet smiled. ‘I was just telling Ben that I don’t understand why people plant bombs in support of political causes.’
‘I’m not sure they necessarily understand it themselves,’ Gareth replied. ‘If you want to hear my grand theory of it all…’
She reached out a hand and touched his shoulder.
‘Much as I would love to, Gareth, it will have to be a pleasure postponed. I have a heavy couple of days coming up, and if I don’t get out of here now, I will be in no condition to put a brave face on it tomorrow. Good night.’
‘I, on the other hand, would be very pleased to hear about it,’ Ben said, when Harriet had closed the door behind her. ‘Have you finished for the night?’
‘Yes. I’ve sent Donald off to do a bit of legal research for me, since that’s likely to be my only role in the trial.’
‘Does Prosser really understand that you can’t present a case for him?’
‘Oh, yes. To be honest, he doesn’t seem too concerned. He seems resigned to his fate, in a strange way, as if he is already reconciled to the inevitable. At least that takes the pressure off Donald and myself to some extent. But I wish there was more we could do for him.’
Ben waved Gareth into a seat.
‘So, do you really have a theory of why people like Caradog and Dai Bach are taking to setting bombs off, Gareth? Is it because they really think it will bring about change?’
‘No. I don’t think they were labouring under any delusion that the Queen and her Government would hoist the white flag at the first sign of trouble. Anyone who thinks a bomb or two will have that result is woefully ignorant of British history. These are intelligent men, and they know just as much about British history as you or I – perhaps even more.’
‘But there are cases where governments have given in to violence, aren’t there? The bombing of the King David Hotel, for example.’
Gareth laughed.
‘Well, I wasn’t going to bring that one up with you. But yes, of course, you are right. The Irish Free State is another example. But those were cases where change was demanded by the population at large, and the bombers were reflecting popular opinion. In Wales, you don’t have that set of conditions at all. The nationalist cause is confined to a small minority, and there is virtually no support for nationalist violence.’
‘The Welsh Nationalist Party has been doing well in elections lately.’
‘Plaid Cymru has one MP, Gwynfor Evans – a good man, actually, I know him quite well. But if it becomes a real force, I think even Plaid Cymru will have to moderate its demands, perhaps accept
some measure of home rule short of actual independence, because there simply isn’t the support for breaking away from England altogether. I mean support for the idea itself – before you even stop to think about the practical implications, and ask whether Wales could even survive as an independent country.’
‘But still, they may think that bombs are one way of influencing public opinion?’ Ben suggested.
‘In that case, they are misreading the Welsh public,’ Gareth replied. ‘All the evidence is that things like that drive people away from the nationalist cause rather than attracting them to it. It may be different elsewhere, but I’m fairly sure that’s true in Wales.’
‘Then, why do they do it?’ Ben asked.
‘They do it because they have developed an obsession with their history. If you grow up hearing about England subjugating Wales, and you never hear anything else, and you brood about it for long enough, eventually you develop an obsession that defies logic and reason. You start to look at your whole life through the prism of hatred towards England. There are those who can’t control it; their emotions spiral out of control, and before they know where they are, they wake up one day and see nothing wrong with planting a bomb where it will kill and injure a lot of innocent people. That’s how out of touch with reality you can become when you have tunnel vision about your history.’
Ben thought for some time.
‘I would really like to understand that kind of obsession. I understand what you are saying, up to a point. But I have no real feeling for what I’m dealing with. Arianwen said that their family lost land in the Tryweryn valley, which I’m sure was an awful experience, but even so… I’m just not getting the idea, Gareth. Is it because I’m not Welsh? Is it beyond me?’
Gareth did not reply immediately.
‘What are you doing for the rest of the week?’ he asked eventually. ‘You’re not in court, are you?’
‘No. I asked Merlin to keep me out of court so that I could concentrate on the trial. But I’m not sure I really need the time. I…’