by Peter Murphy
‘What? Marjorie, what are you talking about? Protesting about what?’
I hear a deep sigh.
‘I’m sorry, Charlie. It’s not your fault; I know that. It’s just been scary, that’s all.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Are you all right? Has anyone been hurt?’
‘No – well, not so far. It’s quietened down a bit now. They did try to force their way into the building, but security managed to hold them off long enough to lock the doors. The police are outside with them now, but you know how narrow the street is outside our front door. They’re having trouble dispersing them. They’re talking about calling in riot police.’
‘For God’s sake,’ I say. ‘What’s this about? We don’t have any cases listed this week that would cause something like that. We’d have warned the police in advance if we did.’
‘The defendant in Legless’s case didn’t turn up for a pre-trial hearing on Friday afternoon,’ she explains eventually, ‘so Legless revoked his bail and issued a warrant for his arrest, as any of us would have. The police found him late yesterday afternoon. They did arrest him, but he resisted and there was a bit of a struggle. No one really knows what happened, but they had to use some force to restrain him and somehow Chummy was injured. He stopped breathing in the ambulance and he’s in Guy’s Hospital in a coma.’
‘Oh, God,’ I reply. ‘And the locals have risen up in revolt?’
‘He’s a member of some right-wing group that’s not without its adherents in South London, and most of them are now outside Bermondsey Crown Court carrying baseball bats and God only knows what else. They’ve been shouting and carrying on non-stop. I’m surprised you can’t hear them. I’m standing in the foyer now, with Stella. It’s chaos out there. Bob is liaising with the police, and we’re waiting for further instructions.’
‘So everyone’s trapped inside the building for now?’
‘We have smuggled one or two people out of the back door, including a pregnant woman who’s on Hubert’s jury. They aren’t targeting the rear of the building as yet. But the police are advising everyone to stay put until they can clear them away. I’ve called a halt to all the trials for now, and we will see what happens. Any advice?’
I think for some time.
‘If they’re targeting the court rather than the police station, maybe they’re blaming Legless for this for some reason. What’s Chummy charged with?’
‘Racially aggravated GBH. He’s a nasty piece of work, and so are his mates, by the look of them.’
‘In that case, Marjorie, call in the Judicial Protection Unit. You remember, there was a DI Derbyshire who came when those Free English Men, or whatever they called themselves, made that death threat against me. Bob will have the number. Legless should have some protection for a while – whether he thinks he needs it or not.’
‘Good thought,’ she replies. ‘You know Legless. If he had his way, he’d be out on the street at this very moment helping the police to sort them out – and Hubert would be right behind him: he wants to fire up the cannon and turn it on them.’
‘I knew there was a reason I always pick you to be deputy RJ,’ I say, and she actually laughs for a moment. ‘Look, Marjorie, you’ll be all right. You’re doing all the right things. Stay in touch, and keep me up to date. I have to go back into court, but I’ll tell the staff to get me off the bench immediately if you call again. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call once I’ve finished for the afternoon.’
‘How’s Huntingdon?’ she asks after a short silence. She sounds like Marjorie again now: the composure is back.
‘Calm and peaceful.’
‘How are you doing with your civil case?’
‘Loving it,’ I reply. ‘I really should do this more often.’
* * *
Monday afternoon
My name is Archie Barratt. I am 82 years of age and a retired farm manager. I am a widower, my wife having predeceased me in 1995, and I live alone at my family home, the Old Rectory, The Ramblings, Lower Wattage. I am the defendant in this action. I have two sons, Bernie and Mickey, who have been referred to. But they do not live with me. They both live with their own families in Dry Drayton, where they work as farm labourers. They visit me occasionally.
My family has lived in the Old Rectory for the best part of two hundred years, or so I’ve always been told. From what I understand, my ancestors took the Old Rectory over when the village built the new vicarage by the church, and that was in 1830 or thereabouts. I remember my grandparents and parents living here. I’ve never lived anywhere else, and never intend to. George Pitt’s family lived in the Post House next door for over a hundred years, too. George was the last surviving member of the Pitt family. George is dead now. But unfortunately, before he died, he sold out to the interlopers from London.
My understanding of the Middle Plot is as follows. I was always told that for several hundred years, the Middle Plot was treated as common land for all the villagers to use. Of course, in those days, there was almost nothing to Lower Wattage except The Ramblings and a few other houses here and there. It wasn’t much more than a hamlet then, nothing like what you’ve got today with the new housing estates. So it made sense that a small plot like the Middle Plot could have been used as common land. But in the chaos of the Civil War it was somehow included by mistake in the deed for the Post House, and because there is no actual evidence that it was supposed to be common land, it has been passed on from owner to owner of the Post House down the years. My grandfather and father always said that the Pitts recognised that they should not have had the title to the Middle Plot, and although they never officially consented to anyone else using it, in practice they turned a blind eye to it. Certainly they always did during my grandfather’s time and my father’s time, and I never had any comment or problem about it from George, even though he and I had a pint or two together in the Black Bull a couple of evenings each week, so he had plenty of opportunity to tell me if he objected.
Although people in Lower Wattage were aware that the Middle Plot was supposed to be common land, I don’t remember anyone using it except for my family. I think that was because, when you look at it, it does seem that it should belong to either the Post House or the Old Rectory, as it is very close to both houses. But my family has made frequent use of it throughout my lifetime. We’ve always grown vegetables and fruit on the land. When the war broke out, my dad couldn’t enlist for active service. He had one leg that didn’t work properly because of a tractor accident in his youth. But he was in the Home Guard and he organised the local ‘Dig for Victory’ campaign, and throughout the war we used the whole plot to provide food for local people, including ourselves. That wasn’t all we used it for, of course. My grandfather, my father and I used to play cricket and football there, often with my cousins from Over and Wisbech, and we had parties and picnics on the land during summer months.
When the interlopers came, I was expecting things to continue as they always had. But it wasn’t like that at all. Almost as soon as they moved into the Post House, she was on the warpath, complaining about how ‘run down’ the village was, and how everything needed to be renovated and painted. She hadn’t been in Lower Wattage five minutes, and she was giving orders to people whose families had lived in the village for centuries, and criticising them for not taking better care of the place. I agree, there are some buildings that have seen better days, but that’s true of any small town or village in the Fens, and you can’t just go barging in and demanding that people change everything overnight. I sometimes think she wanted to make us look like London. Then one morning, I saw her on the land digging, and over a weekend she tore up and destroyed all the patches I used for growing our vegetables and filled the Plot with flowers and such like. When I asked her about it, she told me she wanted to brighten the place up so that she could enter Lower Wattage in the Best Kept Village Competition – without so much as
a by-your-leave to me, or any of the local inhabitants.
I admit that I took that as a declaration of war. I asked Bernie and Mickey to help me, and together we cleared all the trees and flowers away, and planted our vegetables again. But I did something else, too. I could smell trouble, so for the first time in my life I went and saw a solicitor in Cambridge and asked him what he thought I should do. I was amazed by what he said. He said because of what he called ‘adverse possession’ over many years, my family had acquired legal title to the Middle Plot, and so I was entitled to do whatever I wanted with it, and to stop Mrs Pearce from using it, if I wanted to. But I would need a court order to establish my title. I didn’t know what to do. I was happy for the land to be common land, as it always had been, as I saw it. On the other hand, it was obvious that Mrs Pearce didn’t see it that way, and was determined to keep it for her own exclusive use. When I received a threatening letter from her solicitor, that confirmed it, and from that time on I’ve used the Plot as much and as often as I can, because my solicitor said I should keep on doing it, regardless of any threats from her. As he requested, I also obtained witness statements from people in the village who know the history, including the vicar, Mr Jacobs, Dennis from the Black Bull, and Tina Miller from the store.
I am now asking the Court to declare that I now have legal title to the Middle Plot, based on adverse possession by myself and my family for many years, many more than the required legal minimum of twelve.
I believe that the facts stated in this witness statement are true.
‘Mr Barratt,’ Robert begins,’ let me start with more recent matters, if I may. After Mr and Mrs Pearce moved into the Post House, did you ever ask them whether they were willing to turn a blind eye to your use of the land, like George Pitt?’
‘Did I ask them?
‘Yes: did you ask them?’
‘No, I didn’t ask them anything. Why would I?’
‘Well, how did you know that George Pitt had explained the arrangement to Mr and Mrs Pearce – the arrangement that he turned a blind eye when you used the Middle Plot?’
‘I didn’t know whether he had or not.’
‘Well, if he hadn’t, how were they expected to find out about it?’
Archie shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, do I?’
‘After all, as you’re fond of pointing out, they were newcomers, weren’t they?’
‘Yes, they were.’
‘And if they didn’t know, and they saw you on the Middle Plot planting vegetables, they would have every right to assume that you were trespassing on their land, wouldn’t they?’
‘I don’t know what they thought, do I?’
‘Well, it’s only common sense, isn’t it, Mr Barratt? If you saw someone on your land planting something, and you didn’t know of any arrangement, you’d assume they were trespassing, wouldn’t you?’
‘I might.’
‘Of course you would. And you couldn’t have any complaint if Mrs Pearce ripped out whatever you’d planted, and planted her own flowers, or whatever she wanted to plant. You could hardly object to that, could you, because you’d been trespassing?’
Ruth stands, quietly.
‘With all due respect, my Lord, that’s the very point your Lordship has to decide.’
I have to smile. I think someone has finally objected to something in this very polite, jointly managed civil trial. But I’m not sure exactly what the objection is. Perhaps Robert will clarify it for me – or perhaps not.
‘I’ll move on,’ he replies, with a smile towards Ruth. ‘Mr Barratt, is this right: despite your claim that the Middle Plot is common land for the whole village, you’ve never known anyone else to use it? It’s always been your family and no one else?’
‘Yes. Well, as far as I know. I don’t know who might have used it in the past, do I?’
‘But not during your lifetime? Even during the war, when everyone was “digging for victory”? No one else used it?’
‘I explained that. If you look at it…’
‘Yes, I understand. But if land is regarded as common land by an entire village, and has been for several centuries, it’s a remarkable thing, isn’t it, that no one else has ever tried to use it?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘It must have been the best-kept secret in the fen country, Mr Barratt.’
‘My learned friend is making a comment rather than asking a question, my Lord,’ Ruth observes, almost apologetically.
Finally: an objection I understand – and agree with.
‘So I am,’ Robert agrees, without my prompting. ‘Mr Barratt, the truth of the matter is this, isn’t it: that the Middle Plot has never been common land? That’s a figment of your imagination, isn’t it? At least since 1651, title to the Middle Plot has gone with title to the Post House, hasn’t it?’
‘It was the tradition that it was common land. That’s what I was always told.’
‘Do you know of anyone outside your family who is aware of that tradition?’
Silence.
‘All right, Mr Barratt, I won’t press you. Now, you told his Lordship that when you went to see your solicitor, he told you all about adverse possession: yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he explain to you that, for adverse possession, you have to be in possession of the land continuously for a period of at least twelve years?’
No response for some time. ‘I can’t remember everything he said.’
‘Fair enough. But wouldn’t you agree with me that you were never in possession of the Middle Plot continuously? You went there from time to time to play football or cricket. Presumably that was when you were a boy?’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘Whereas you’re now eighty-two?’
‘Yes. But I played with Bernie and Mickey when they were lads.’
‘And how old are Bernie and Micky now?’
‘They’re in their fifties.’
‘So, is it fair to say that there’s been no cricket played on the Middle Plot for some years now?’
‘That doesn’t mean we didn’t play there.’
‘No, of course. Let me move on to the growing of vegetables. I’m sure your father did a lot of that during the war?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Yes: everyone was “digging for victory” then, weren’t they? But again, you were a young boy during the war, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘And once the war ended, if you or your father planted anything there, it would only be for your own family wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t be digging for the whole village after the war, would you?’
‘There were a couple of elderly people in Lower Wattage – Mrs Brown and Mr Ankers. They were on their own, and they were a bit frail, and my father did give them some cabbage and lettuce and tomatoes, and what have you.’
‘I’m sure he did. But it was on a much smaller scale, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m suggesting that you weren’t planting anything regularly: certainly not every year; just now and then. Isn’t that fair to say?’
Archie is looking a little defensive, but he does his best to hit back.
‘We always knew we could. We planted whenever we wanted to.’
‘You never lived on the Middle Plot, did you?’
‘Lived on it? No, of course not. We had our own house.’
‘Indeed you did. The Middle Plot was a place you used occasionally, wasn’t it?’
‘It was much more than “occasionally”.’
‘Mr Barratt, do you have a garden at the Old Rectory?’
‘Yes.’
‘In fact, you have a quite large garden at the rear of your house, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do
you use your garden for?’
‘We have some fruit trees.’
‘And some flower beds?’
‘Yes.’
‘And some areas where you grow vegetables?’
‘One or two, yes.’
‘And a quite large greenhouse?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which would be a good reason not to play cricket or football in the garden, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have been very popular with your father if you were breaking panes of glass all the time, would you?’
Archie snorts. ‘He would have taken his belt to me, as I would have to Bernie and Mickey if they’d done it.’
‘Yes,’ Robert says, apparently doing his best to sound disapproving of parents taking belts to children: if so, it doesn’t seem to make any immediate impression on Archie Barratt. Robert pauses for some time, under cover of consulting his notes. ‘Mr Barratt, this case isn’t about adverse possession, is it?’
Archie lifts his head and stares at him. ‘Well, if it’s not, I’d like to know what it is about.’
‘It’s about you not liking Mr and Mrs Pearce, isn’t it?’
Archie shrugs. ‘I don’t like them. That’s true enough.’
‘They’re foreigners, aren’t they, interlopers?’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘They hadn’t been in Lower Wattage five minutes before they were berating you older inhabitants for your neglect of the village, and trying to brighten the place up, and entering it in the Best Kept Village Competition, and all the rest of it. They disrespected you and made a thorough nuisance of themselves – and it made you furious, didn’t it?’
‘I didn’t like it, it’s true.’
‘And you thought you’d teach them a lesson, didn’t you?’
‘No.’
‘You decided that you wouldn’t allow them to use their own land without interference, and then you invented this story of continuous use to persuade your solicitor that you had a case of adverse possession for more than twelve years.’