Walden of Bermondsey

by Peter Murphy

  ‘I have no idea,’ I reply. ‘Did he wobble on the dates?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Marjorie says. ‘But the prosecution served a further witness statement the investigator made only this morning. It seems that, originally, the auditors thought the company went under just because of financial mismanagement. Now, they think it may have been a case of fraud.’

  ‘That’s all very interesting,’ I reply. ‘But how does that help Gertie? If she concealed the horse’s death until after an insurance policy was issued, she would still be guilty wouldn’t she?’

  ‘I agree,’ Marjorie said. ‘But when he went through the documents again just before trial, the investigator found an indication that the fraud may have been the work of one particular executive, and that this executive may have falsified many of the records to cover his tracks – including dates. I have Piers Drayford prosecuting. You know Piers. He’s a stickler for doing the right thing. He’s not sure he can rely on the documents if this turns out to be true. The investigator asked for some more time to look into it, so I have adjourned until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Well, well,’ I said. ‘That would be a turn-up for the book, as they say in the racing world.’

  ‘Yes,’ Marjorie smiles. ‘Who knows? Gertie may be first past the post yet.’

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon

  The afternoon is a dull affair, and some of the journalists start to wander off in search of a more entertaining way to pass the time. For a moment, I even think I see the Top Judge menace receding a little, though I quickly realise that it will return with a vengeance if I depart from my planned script.

  Most of the afternoon is consumed by the reading of the defendants’ police interviews. It is difficult to stay awake during this process at the best of times, and ninety minutes of poring over the transcripts of two interviews, with Roderick reading the role of the defendant and the officer in the case, DI Bridge, reading the questions, does nothing to stave off the post-prandial instinct to snooze. I give the jury – and everyone else – a break in between interviews, which helps a bit, but all in all it is a dreary afternoon.

  The interviews, in any case, shed little light on the case. Both defendants answered all the questions put to them, and stoutly maintained that they were acting in self-defence, striking only to ward off a blow struck against them. Mercifully, it eventually comes to an end. All that remains in the prosecution’s case now is to present a few agreed facts, which are read to the jury. These include the fact that both defendants are men of previous good character. This done, Roderick closes his case. It is just after four o’clock by now, and we will not begin the defence case today. But the moment has now arrived. I must rule on the racial aggravation question. The hour of the Top Judge is at hand, and there is no way to avoid it.

  There is nothing I can do but follow the script I have written out – and written it out I have, word for word. I wouldn’t normally do that for a ruling of this kind. If I can’t give an off-the-cuff ruling on your average application to withdraw a case from the jury by now, it’s time I retired. But this isn’t your average application, and I am aware of pens and pencils at the ready in the press seats to record my every word. So not only am I going to read it verbatim, but as soon as I have finished, I am going to provide the journalists with copies, so that no one has any excuse at all for misquoting me.

  I won’t bore you with it all. What it comes to is this. I am personally doubtful that a British class, whether upper, middle or working, should be regarded as a racial group. But I have been persuaded by the prosecution that section 28 of the Crime and Disorder Act 1998 can be read in this way, and it is for Parliament to make the law, not me. I will, therefore, leave the issue of racial aggravation to the good sense of the jury in the confidence that they will do the right thing. I end by suggesting that Parliament might give further consideration to what its intention was in enacting the section, and whether they intended to include classes as racial groups. This is always a good way to end a ruling. It shows you have thought about it, that you know that Parliament has the last word, and are doing no more than offering your guidance in the spirit of cooperation between the branches of government. All in all, I am quite happy about it.

  * * *

  Tuesday evening

  Not a bloody word on the news. All right, fair enough, there is some serious stuff going on in the Middle East, and there have been two murders in Northampton, but still, you would think that the definition of racial aggravation would rate a mention. But not a word. At least we got some coverage in the papers. The Reverend Mrs Walden has been through the day’s newspapers and marked the relevant passages with paper clips. No one mentions me by name except the Times and the Mail. The Mail pours scorn on the idea that a class can be a racial group, and opines that it just shows how far we have gone down the road of political correctness, so much so that we have become a laughing stock in the eyes of the world – which I had no idea we had. Nothing to do except monitor the papers again tomorrow. Surely there will be something about my ruling, even if it is only a thorough bollocking by the Mail for being the High Priest of political correctness.

  Still, at least no one has called me a Top Judge. Yet.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning

  Cathy calls her client to give evidence. He looks rather downtrodden, as if he is not entirely happy with the way the case has gone thus far. Well, I don’t suppose he is. The prosecution’s case has ended exactly as Roderick had predicted in his opening speech. The evidence is consistent with both defendants striking out at more or less the same time, in which case the jury would be entitled to convict both, and as things stand, the odds are very much in favour of Roderick potting both of them. One or both defendants are going to have to come up with something different if one of them is going to be first past the post in this contest.

  ‘Mr Voss, you were the Labour candidate in the Clavering West with Baddiefield constituency, is that right?’ Cathy begins.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it your first time to fight the seat?’

  ‘It was my first time to fight any seat.’

  ‘Tell the jury why you want to go into politics.’

  This isn’t strictly relevant, but no one is going to object. He is a man of previous good character, and the jury is going to have to decide whether or not to believe him. Roderick will give him a lot of leeway. Julian is certainly not going to intervene, as he will be planning to take Richard Mayfield down exactly the same road when his turn comes.

  ‘I want to make a difference,’ Voss replies, ‘and for me, that means the Labour Party. I’ve been a member of the Party for several years, and while I was at university I spent my summers working for local parties in different constituencies, mainly Conservative-held seats. Finally, it was time for me to find a seat for myself.’

  ‘I don’t want to take the time of the jury re-living the whole campaign,’ Cathy says, to universal relief, ‘but generally, were you happy with the way it was run?’

  ‘Yes,’ Voss replies. ‘I had no complaints. We always knew it was going to be a hard fight. Clavering West may be a marginal seat, but the Conservatives have almost always managed to hold on. My team worked very hard, as did I. We thought we might have done just enough to take it, but Richard also fought a good campaign, and we knew it would be close.’

  ‘You call him “Richard”’, Cathy observed. ‘Tell the jury what your relationship with Mr Mayfield was like during the campaign.’

  ‘It was very good,’ Voss says, and I see Mayfield nodding in the dock. ‘I’m sure most people think we are at each other’s throats the whole time. If you watch Prime Minister’s Question Time, you are bound to get the impression that we never do anything except abuse each other and shout each other down. But you can’t spend your whole life slagging your opponents off. Nothing would ever get done. We disagree, we debate, we
present ourselves and our arguments to the public, but it’s nothing personal – at least not for me. Whenever I came across Richard when we were out campaigning, we were polite to each other, and we even had a laugh together once or twice – mostly at the expense of the Warwickshire Independence Party.’ Mayfield nods again.

  ‘All right,’ Cathy says. ‘Now, let me come to the evening of the count. The jury has seen the Clavering church hall, where it was taking place. What time did you arrive at the count?’

  ‘About eleven-thirty,’ Voss replies. ‘It had been a long day. I went home to grab a bite to eat, and change my suit, then I went to the hall to meet Sam, my agent.’

  ‘Did Sam give you any information at that time?’

  ‘It wasn’t so much information as his impression. Sam is a very experienced agent. He sensed from the exit polls that we had come close, but probably not taken the seat, though of course, nobody really knew at that stage.’

  ‘How did you feel about that?’

  ‘I felt disappointed, naturally. As I say, I had hoped we might have squeezed it. But I couldn’t let it show, obviously. You have to keep up appearances in front of your campaign workers, and as I say, no one actually knew anything yet.’

  ‘Did there come a time when the Returning Officer, Mr Malone, informed you of the provisional result?’

  ‘Yes. It must have been about half an hour before he eventually declared it. He took all the agents aside and told them that the Tories looked to be winning by a few hundred votes, and asked the agents whether anybody wanted a recount. That meant us, of course. None of the other parties was close enough to challenge.’

  ‘Did you discuss that with Sam?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what did he advise?’

  ‘He thought we had to accept the result. We both knew the constituency is a marginal, and there is never much of a majority, so by Clavering West standards, it was a clear enough win. There were no special circumstances to make us think otherwise. Sam left it up to me, of course, but I took his advice. We told Mr Malone that we didn’t want a recount.’

  ‘We heard that, after the declaration, you called Sam an “idiot” for not demanding a recount. What do you say about that now?’

  ‘It was totally wrong of me,’ he replies. ‘Sam had no reason to think that anything was wrong at that time. I have apologised to him since.’

  ‘But after you and Sam had made that decision, did you receive any further information?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘One of our campaign workers, Mike Edwards, had been at the polling station in the Vauxhall district, which usually leans towards Labour. He told me that something suspicious had gone on there.’

  ‘Suspicious in what way?’

  ‘There were reports of two boxes full of ballot papers being locked away in a room and not counted, and Mike said there was a heavy presence of Tory campaign workers at the polling station.’

  ‘When exactly did Mike give you this information?’

  ‘Literally, as I was walking up on to the stage. Mr Malone was in place, as were the other candidates, and he was about to begin the declaration. Mike was out of breath. I think he had had to run part of the way back to the count, and lost track of how late it was. He was trying to tell me what had happened, but I was pulled on to the stage by someone before he had even finished telling me.’

  ‘So, Mr Malone was making the declaration? What happened then?’

  ‘Mr Malone was declaring the result. Mike was standing right in front of the stage, and mouthing some words in my direction, but I only got some of what he was trying to say. Eventually, I realised that he was trying to get me to demand a recount. I looked around for Sam, but he was behind me somewhere, off stage. I was on my own.’

  ‘By the time you came to that realisation, had the result been declared?’

  ‘Yes. Richard was shaking hands with the other candidates and starting to make his victory speech.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I had no idea what to do. Mike had alerted me that there might have been a serious irregularity, and there was Richard, waffling on about how everyone was going to be entering a new golden age because the Tories had held Clavering West, and all that kind of crap,’ – he looked towards the dock – ‘sorry, Richard, no offence intended.’

  ‘None taken,’ I hear Mayfield reply.

  ‘And I just didn’t know what to do. Eventually, I interrupted Richard and demanded a recount.’

  Cathy nodded. ‘Yes. Now, the jury have seen what happened from that moment on. But I want to take you through it so that you can explain what happened from your point of view.’

  She begins to play the, by now, instantly recognisable scene once more. She pauses it when the two have begun to grapple, but before they have rolled off the stage.

  ‘We hear you demanding a recount, Mr Voss. Can I just ask you this; did you know at that time that it was too late for a recount once the result had been declared?’

  ‘I did know, but in the confusion I had forgotten about that.’

  ‘I see. Now, it’s obvious from what we have seen that you and Mr Mayfield begin fighting. In your own words, tell the jury how it all started.’

  Voss shrugs. ‘It all happened so quickly. As I said, I was trying to demand a recount, Mr Malone was saying that I couldn’t have one, and Richard was telling everyone what a good thing it was that he had been elected. I’m afraid I lost my temper and said some things I shouldn’t have said.’

  ‘Essentially,’ Cathy reminds him, ‘you said that the voters couldn’t possibly have preferred Mr Mayfield to you, and you called him a “toffee-nosed upper class git”. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Voss agrees after a pause. ‘I would like to apologise to him today.’

  ‘Accepted, of course,’ I hear Mayfield say from the dock.

  ‘When you used the expression “upper class git”, did you intend that as any kind of racial slur?’

  Voss shakes his head vigorously. ‘No, of course not. I don’t understand how anyone could possibly think that.’

  ‘I quite agree,’ I hear, from the dock.

  ‘Mr Mayfield,’ I say, ‘please don’t interrupt. You will have your turn in due course.’

  ‘Yes, your Honour,’ Mayfield replies. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Cathy asks.

  Voss takes a deep breath. ‘I thought I saw Richard begin to throw a punch at me. I reacted by throwing one at him.’

  ‘Did his punch land on you?’

  ‘Yes, he caught me on the right cheek, close to my nose.’

  ‘Did your punch land on him?’

  ‘Yes, somewhere on his face. I’m not sure where.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘We continued trying to hit each other,’ Voss replies, ‘and the next thing I know we had our arms around each other, we were on the floor and we were heading towards the edge of the stage. Just before we rolled off, I remember thinking, “This can’t be happening. I hope to God my mother isn’t watching”. She was, of course,’ he adds sadly.

  ‘And we know that you were injured and had to go to A and E, as did Mr Mayfield.’

  ‘Yes. Again, I would like to say that I am sorry about that.’

  ‘You learned subsequently, I think, that there had in fact been some irregularity at one of the polling stations, as Mike Edwards had told you, but that it did not affect the result of the election. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you make any criticism of Mr Malone?’

  ‘No. Not at all. Mr Malone dealt with the election very fairly.’

  Cathy pauses to consult her notes.

  ‘And finally, Mr Voss, so that there is no doubt about what you are saying. When you struck Mr Mayfie
ld for the first time, why did you do so?’

  ‘I believed that he was about to punch me, and I was defending myself.’

  ‘When you struck him again during the ensuing fight, why did you strike him?’

  ‘To defend myself.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mr Voss,’ Julian begins. ‘You lost your temper and struck out in anger, didn’t you?’

  ‘No. I thought Richard was going to hit me, and I was right.’

  ‘But you were angry, weren’t you?’

  Voss pauses. ‘Yes, I was angry, but not with Richard.’

  ‘Oh, really? You had been told that Conservative Party workers had been seen loitering in the vicinity of the polling station where these two boxes were mysteriously locked away. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I didn’t associate that with Richard.’

  ‘You didn’t think the Tories were up to no good, trying to make sure they held on to their slender majority by nefarious means?’

  ‘I didn’t think for a moment that Richard was involved in anything like that. Supporters do get out of hand sometimes, and you have to calm them down, but at no time did I think that Richard had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Looking at the TV footage again today, Mr Voss – and you are welcome to see it again if you wish – would you not agree that you made your move before Mr Mayfield? You were the one to strike first?’

  There is a silence, and I sense Cathy getting a bit tense.

  ‘Yes, I think that’s probably correct.’

  Cathy closes her eyes briefly, but recovers quickly, making a pretence of writing herself a note.

  ‘You agree with that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Voss replies again, ‘I may have beaten him to it by a matter of a second, but I only struck him because I was sure he was going to strike me – as indeed he did.’