I looked at my watch. ‘I’ve got a Tribunal to charm in Brum, I said. ‘This facility is closing until this evening. Let us know how you go.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Reg Cheetham, I thought, was there to confirm Bailey’s version of the assaults at the gate, but Maddox had him give other evidence as well. Cheetham had been a member of the Union, and was able to describe the meeting at which Mulvaney had reported on the firm’s treatment of Mohammed. I expected him to say that Con had not just suggested a strike ballot but had urged it. I was wrong. According to Cheetham, Con had made his report of Mohammed’s situation and called for debate. It was Jimmy Martin who had put the motion to strike and argued for it vigorously. As expected, his account of the fracas at the gate was a perfect match for Bailey’s version, even to the extent that Maddox had to warn him off dragging Mohammed back into it and explain that it “had been agreed” that Mohammed was not present. Cheetham seemed suitably shocked by the assaults he claimed to have witnessed, and Maddox believing he had considerably bolstered his boss’s case.
Cheetham was never going to admit to me that he was lying. He might crack a bit under cross-examination, but basically he would cling to his story and the more I pressed him the more he would repeat the bare details. I needed to approach him from a different direction.
‘Mr Cheetham,’ I began, ‘you told us that you were in Mr Bailey’s office just before the incident at the gate, and that it was you that saw Mr Mulvaney and Mr Martin talking to the Gate Security Officer, is that so?’
‘That’s right. Mr Cantrell had just phoned the gate and told Barlow to keep them out and a minute or two later I happened to glance out of the window and saw them.’
‘And did you know why they were there?’
‘No. I had no idea.’
‘You had no idea,’ I repeated. ‘You were at the Union meeting when the strike ballot was voted for?’
‘Yes.’
‘And were you at the meeting later, when Mr Mulvaney gave details of how the strike would be conducted?’
He glanced around nervously. He wanted to deny it, but he knew there were people at the back of the room who would have seen him. ‘Well, yes, I was.’
‘Do you recall what Mr Mulvaney said?’
‘He gave us the day of the strike and said that it must be done in an orderly fashion.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘Well, he said that, in the past there had been wildcat strikes and the company had accused the strikers of sabotage. He said that this was a legitimate strike and that he was not going to give BDS any excuse for any such accusation.’
I nodded. ‘So what did he instruct people to do?’
‘He said we were not to just stay away from work, that we were to clock on as usual and see what work was in our section. If there were incomplete operations in the section that might be damaged by being left unfinished, we were to work on until they were done and safe. Then we could leave.’
‘He said more, didn’t he?’
Cheetham was not a happy man, but he answered at last. ‘Yes, he said that he and the Shop Stewards would supervise the close down of each section.’
I nodded again. ‘Now, we know that you did not obey the call to strike, despite your presence at the relevant meetings, so I imagine that you told Mr Bailey what had been said at those meetings.’
‘Well, yes, I did.’
There was a low muttering along the back rows and the chairman glared at them.
‘So,’ I said, ‘it was simply not true that neither you nor Mr Bailey knew why they were there when you saw my clients at the gate?’
Cheetham flung an apologetic glance at Bailey and said, ‘Well, I did tell Mr Bailey that they must be there to see the next section close down.’
‘Now, you haven’t told us how your day started that morning, Mr Cheetham, have you?’
He looked surprised. ‘How my day started? I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I mean, what time did you get to work? What time did you clock on?’
His dignity affronted, he said, ‘I don’t clock on. I sign in at the General Office.’
It had served to rattle him a bit more. ‘So, what time did you sign in?’
‘Just before half past eight.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I went straight to my section.’
‘Now, Mr Cheetham, you’ve told us all about the way Mr Mulvaney had set out how the strike should begin, about his anxiety that there should be no wasted product or materials. What was the state of play in your section at the beginning of that morning?’
‘There were, there was, there was work not completed by the night shift.’
The chairman intervened. ‘Mr Tyroll, if you are going to ask this witness about the process in his section, I shall have to stop you. We are dealing with matters that are covered by the Official Secrets Act.’
For all I knew Cheetham’s section might be responsible for the supply of toast to the Canteen, but once the Official Secrets Act has been waved over something it doesn’t exist anymore. So I nodded and smiled.
‘Thank you, Mr Chairman. It is not the nation’s secrets I am concerned with, only Mr Cheetham’s own secrets.’
The chairman didn’t understand me, but Cheetham did and I saw the flicker of shock in his eyes.
‘So, you knew your section would work on to completion and that would be about midmorning, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And just before that time you were in Mr Bailey’s office?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘He had sent for me. He sent Mr Cantrell for me.’
‘I see. Might I ask what was the matter that was so important that Mr Bailey was giving it his attention in the early hours of the strike?’
‘I don’t think I can answer that. It was a confidential matter.’
‘Do you mean confidential as in Official Secrets Act, or confidential as in you don’t want to tell me.’
‘It was a confidential personnel matter. I don’t think I can tell you.’
‘It concerned a member of your section?’ I asked.
He saw a way out. ‘Yes,’ he said quickly. ‘It was a disciplinary matter,’ and he glanced again at Bailey.
‘A disciplinary matter so important that Mr Bailey chose to deal with it while most of the workforce were waltzing off,’ I said. ‘Was that because it involved you — yourself?’
If he denied it I was stymied, because I couldn’t prove the rumour that Con had from the men in Cheetham’s section, but I hoped I had made him nervous enough.
‘Alright!’ he exclaimed. ‘I suppose you think it’s funny. It was to do with me. When Mr Cantrell came looking for me I was in the Rest Room. I was playing cards.’
A ripple of chuckles ran along the audience behind us and the chairman glowered again. Cheetham slouched down in his chair and Bailey stared hard at him.
‘But you still have your job?’ I said.
‘I have made a full apology to Mr Bailey, and he has forgiven me,’ Cheetham asserted with the fervour of one saved from the burning.
At the gate,’ I continued, ‘you have told us what you recall, but that is not true, is it? The fact is that Mr Bailey abused and struck Mr Mulvaney without provocation and that Mr Mulvaney retaliated in self-defence, isn’t it?’
‘No. It isn’t! It happened just the way I described.’
‘Mr Cheetham,’ I said, ‘I don’t see much point in taking this much further. You have told us that you were a member of the Union, but you ignored the call to strike and relayed the Union’s affairs to Mr Bailey. When Mr Cantrell caught you loafing on the firm’s time, you were forgiven by Mr Bailey and you now support his version of events at the gate. Thank you,’ and I sat down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
If Cheetham had been one of the company’s finks in the Union, there was a bigger one close behind. The Respondents’ next witness was none othe
r than Harry Goatly, Midland Area Secretary of the Union.
He was a thin, long-faced man of about forty, with a pockmarked face, mousy curls and horn-rimmed spectacles. Sheila hissed, ‘Why would I recognise him?’
‘Dunno,’ I answered, my mind elsewhere.
Offhand I couldn’t think of any occasion when I’d even heard of a union officer giving evidence for an employer in an Employment Tribunal. That Goatly was prepared to stick his neck out so far made it clear that he and BDS were bosom pals. I wondered what his reward would be.
His purpose here was plain — it was to fire the heavy shots that would sink Con Mulvaney’s case by establishing that his strike was unofficial and illegal.
Maddox led his witness through a brief personal history. He was not a man who had come up in the ranks of the Union, but a professional full-time officer who had come to his present post from — surprise, surprise — a government administrative association. He had been Midland Secretary for five years.
He told us that he was fully familiar with the Union’s Rules and Procedure book, somehow contriving to give the impression that it was his daily study and that he never left home without it. Maddox asked him about strike procedure.
‘We would never begin by considering withdrawal of labour,’ he said, prissily. ‘That is a last option. At every stage we would seek to negotiate a compromise.’
Maddox smiled at him, approvingly. ‘Perhaps,’ he invited, ‘you would take us through the stages of what did happen at BDS and what should have happened according to the agreed procedures and the rules of your Union?’
Goatly was more than willing and settled himself in his chair. ‘I understand,’ he began, ‘that you have heard about the incident when Mohammed Afsar refused to obey an order of Mr Bailey’s. Well, following that, I believe that there was a meeting between Mr Bailey and Con Mulvaney, the Chairman of Shop Stewards, but they were unable to resolve the problem.’
‘Why do you imagine that was?’
‘Well, I wasn’t there, but Mr Mulvaney can be a difficult man to deal with and unwilling to give way...’
I rose. ‘Sir, I accept that this Tribunal can admit hearsay evidence, but this is not hearsay, this is a witness who doesn’t know what happened because he wasn’t there and he hasn’t even been told and my friend is inviting him to imagine what occurred.’
To my surprise the chairman agreed. ‘Mr Maddox,’ he said, ‘I really do not think that the witness’s imagination will take us anywhere useful. Can we try and proceed on the facts?’
Maddox grovelled and turned back to his witness. ‘Whatever the cause, the problem was not resolved between Mr Bailey and Mulvaney?’
‘No. Mulvaney and others then visited Mr Capstick, our National Secretary.’
‘And what was his advice?’
‘He told Mulvaney that he had a bee in his bonnet about undermanning, that these were difficult times and BDS must be given latitude to manage their business. He also asked me to look into the matter.’
‘Which you did?’
‘Oh, yes. At the first opportunity I met with Mr Bailey and we reached a compromise.’
‘Which was?’
‘That Mr Afsar would be reinstated without even having to apologise.’
‘And you, as the Union’s appointed representative, believed that to be fully satisfactory?’
Goatly nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘And what did Mr Mulvaney say when you told him?’
‘He said that it was acceptable so long as Mr Afsar’s pension and redundancy rights were protected. I told him that we had not even discussed that and he must trust Mr Bailey.’
‘And how did he react?’
‘He was very angry and said that he’d take it to a meeting of the Branch.’
Maddox then led Goatly through the run-up to the strike, getting him to emphasise the fact that only Capstick had the authority to issue the ballot or the notice of strike.
Finally he asked, ‘As a full-time Union officer, it is unusual to see you giving evidence for an employer. Might I ask why that is?’
‘Certainly. I am here because I believe that I must protect the jobs of my members and that the strike which Mulvaney called threatened those jobs.’
Maddox smiled and sat down.
There’s an old legal maxim — ‘When the answer’s a lemon, make lemonade.’ I’ve always taken it to mean that, when you can’t get the evidence you want, do the best you can with the evidence you’ve got. So I stood up to try.
People use words differently. You probably use them to convey information; people like me use them to persuade; bureaucrats like Goatly use them to conceal information. Imbued with the old bureaucratic belief that you must never be responsible for a decision, they use words to obscure what they’re actually saying, so that they can always deny it. So — no point in fencing much with Mr Goatly. Just go in quick, do what you can and get out quick.
‘I’m glad,’ I began, ‘that you’re here to protect your members’ jobs. That’s why I’m here, to protect the jobs of three of your members. I’m glad for another reason. It has been in my mind to call you for the Applicants, as there are one or two matters that you can explain. However, let’s leave them till later. You have told us about Mr Mulvaney’s reaction to your deal with Mr Bailey, when he said he would take it to a Branch Meeting. Were you present at that meeting?’
‘No,’ he said, shortly.
‘That meeting voted, by an overwhelming majority, to ballot for a strike, and such a ballot was conducted. Did you have any hand in that?’
‘Certainly not. I’ve told you that...’
I stopped him. ‘Were you present at the meeting where Mr Mulvaney gave advice to the Branch as to how the strike should be conducted?’
‘No.’
‘Were you present at BDS when the strike commenced?’
‘No. I had telephone conversations with Mr Bailey and, eventually, I came to see him when the strike spread to Coventry.’
‘So, you do not know, of your own knowledge, what representations were made to the members at Belston which led them to vote for a strike?’
‘No, but I know that the ballot was illegal and the Union couldn’t and didn’t support the strike. When Mr Bailey informed us of the notice Mr Capstick wrote and withdrew it.’
I should have cut that answer short after the first syllable, but I nodded. ‘You have told us about your knowledge of the Union’s rules, procedures and practices,’ I said, picking up the Rules. ‘Do you recall this piece about the “Duties of Branch Officers”?’ and I read him the piece to which Con had referred me:
‘“Once elected, Branch Officers are subject in the first place to the wishes of the Membership of their Branch as expressed by a majority vote of a General Meeting of the Branch”.’
‘That doesn’t over-ride the authority of the National Secretary,’ he snapped.
‘No,’ I agreed, ‘but the National Secretary’s authority is similarly derived from a majority of a national General Meeting. Was there such a meeting about the Belston strike?’
‘No,’ he agreed, reluctantly.
‘When you made your agreement with Mr Bailey, about Mohammed Afsar, did you take into account that Mr Bailey had broken the disciplinary rules in the Joint Agreement?’
‘We weren’t concerned with rules then. We were trying to find a reasonable solution to the dispute.’
Ah!’ I exclaimed, ‘I see. When Management loses its temper and sacks someone, the rules don’t matter, but when a Shop Steward pays too strict attention to the rules, that’s illegal. Is that it?’ Cheap shot, but it pleased the public seats.
‘No, but...’
I cut him off and changed direction. ‘When you met with Mr Bailey about the spread of the strike to Coventry, what was the purpose of that meeting?’
‘I wanted to assist BDS in ending the strike — at Coventry and at Belston.’
‘You wanted to assist BDS, I see. And how did you do that?’
‘Well, Mr Bailey intended to publish a statement to all the workers at Coventry, telling them the truth about the Belston strike. I was able to assist him with that and to see that the Union’s image was not damaged by anything he said.’
I turned to Maddox and asked if he had, by any chance, a copy of that statement. He produced one and I asked him to pass it to Goatly. Taking another document from my own file, I turned back to the witness.
‘Is that Mr Bailey’s message to the Coventry workforce?’
‘Yes, it is.’
And does it begin like this — “The present strike at Coventry has been mis-represented as a legitimate dispute about an alleged policy of undermanning by BDS and, in particular, about the so-called victimisation of a Computer Operator. Neither of these allegations are true and the strike is clearly illegal”?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Good, and is it headed with the address of BDS at Belston?’
‘Yes.’
‘And is it marked “Confidential” at the top?’
‘No,’ he said, puzzled. ‘It’s marked “To all workers at our Coventry Branch”‘
‘Do you know why mine is different, Mr Goatly?’
He shook his head, still looking puzzled. ‘No,’ he said.
‘It may be because the document from which I read — which is word-for-word identical in its text to the document you hold — is not Mr Bailey’s circular to the Coventry workers, but a confidential report by you to Mr Capstick, sent three weeks before the Coventry strike as your view of the Belston strike. Have a look!’ and I passed him the papers. ‘Is that not your report?’
He sat with a document in each hand. He barely glanced at the second; he knew it was his. Glaring at me sullenly he finally managed a ‘Yes.’
Lemonade, maybe, but it still had a lump in it which I couldn’t see the Tribunal swallowing.
I asked for both documents to be exhibited for the Applicants and sat down. As I turned back to my place I noted that one of the reporters was at the back. Walters wasn’t there, but some paper would be able to report that a senior official of the Union had sworn that the strike was illegal.
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