The House_Dark Urban Scottish Crime Story

by John Mayer

  In a flash, near the back of the café, Annie Kelly, who’d worked for many long years in the bookmakers’ shop on the Gallowgate, flung up her hand; drawing Jessica’s attention:

  ‘Yes. Is that Annie Kelly?’

  Lowering her hand and tilting her head to one side, Annie Kelly sighed:

  ‘Aw Jessica love, you’re twenty one now and a law student. When are ye’ goin’ tae start callin’ us women by our ane names?’

  When laughter broke out, Annie had to call out loudly: ‘Oh, that’s no’ my question.’

  Folding her hands flat together, Jessica relaxed for the first time since she’d begun. Cracking a smile, she asked: ‘No. I thought not. What is your question Annie?’

  ‘Well, if that burden thing is right and the price of a milled stone … are we talkin’ about the stones our houses are made from? My Seamus says they’re not cemented. They’re something called ‘tongued and grooved’ and each one weighs about quarter of a ton. They’re just slotted together in somethin’ he calls ‘cantilever’ and their combined weight just holds them in place. Is that right?’

  Nodding fully up and down, Jessica concurred: ‘That’s absolutely right. Mr McLane was careful to explain all that. Their combined weight is hundreds of tonnes per tenement block. Does that answer your question?’

  Now standing and ready with the question she’d originally formed, Annie Kelly shook her head: ‘Naw! Is it right that if each block was worth £5 3/2d in … when was it? 1781? And you said ‘or the Sterling amount then equivalent to the said sum per stane’ then are you tellin’ us that each stone in our blocks is worth … well, it must be hundreds of pounds. Each block of stone?’

  ‘Aye. Dead on Annie. Mist … I mean, Brogan says each block is now worth £865 or thereabouts. Yes.’

  Not many could do the sums, but now that she had a base line, Annie Kelly’s thinking was as fast as lightning:

  ‘Each stone, including basement stones, is what my Seamus calls 45 centimetres high … that’s about 18 inches and about four feet long. Now there’s a basement and three levels of houses, each …’

  Sensing that the majority of those turning around to watch Annie do her mental arithmetic weren’t following her, Jessica interrupted:

  ‘Yes. Brogan says that the stone … and just the stone … for each tenement stair with six houses in it, is worth over a million pounds. There are hundreds of addresses in the Calton … about two hundred, he says, so that’s over two hundred million pounds in today’s money.’

  Annie hadn’t sat down and wasn’t finished: ‘Aye, but that’s only a real number if they break every stone when they’re demolishing our houses. Am I right?’

  As Annie sat down to nods of heads and many saying ‘Aye, that must be right’, Jessica returned to her address:

  ‘Of course. But I’m told … even if the worst comes to the worst and a Demolition Order is approved by three judges in Parliament House in Edinburgh … that to bring in a machine which can effectively slip every single stone in the Calton out of the groove of the one underneath it and very gently lay each stone on a big lorry ready for haulage back to Aberdeen, would be something Brogan calls ‘cost ineffective’. What he means is that it might cost more to do this exercise than it’s worth. There’s no way they wouldn’t break quite a lot of the stones. Just no way. Even if they crack a stone then the developer has to pay the price. Definitely the work would take years, he thinks, and therefore cost a fortune in itself. And of course, we’d be standing by with the adding machines watching as every stone was laid down and Lord Mayfield would have somebody doing the same thing at his end. So you see, demolishing the Calton by the usual crash-bang-wallop method isn’t a realistic financial option. And the only legal way to do it isn’t an easy thing to do. Not easy at all. You can begin to see how, if this went wrong for the developers of the shopping malls, it would cost too much to build their precious shopping malls and they’d never start the work. In fact, any developer, whether it be the ones who are backing Glasgow City Council right now or some other crowd, would face the same legal problem.’

  Around the audience, eyes were beginning to widen as the dawn of understanding got brighter and brighter. At the sound of it costing hundreds of millions to demolish the Calton, Mrs Maureen Murphy was first to her feet. Pulling up her lifelong pal Jeannie Walsh, they led a line of dancers around the perimeter walls singing ‘Oh they cannie pull doon the Calton, naw they can’t. Oh they cannie pull doon the Calton …’ After twice around they began to notice that Jessica hadn’t joined in. As that fact followed the good cheer around the room, it fell to Jean Mularkey who’d remained seated only three rows from the front to stand and call out:

  ‘Aye Jessica, my love. That’s all well and good. But I think it’s time you told the other part of the story. The bit about the ministerial certificate. Don’t you, lass?’

  ~~~o~~~

  Chapter 51

  Dressed in the black wool suit he’d bought when he left the shipyard, his black shoes polished like mirrors and wearing a borrowed red tie, Auld Faither was first to approach. Refusing Arab’s offer of help to climb the few steps up into this luxury air-conditioned space with its blacked-out windows, once inside he thought it looked more like a posh hotel than a bus. Not that Auld Faither had ever been in a posh hotel, but he’d seen them on the TV. After taking his seat right at the front and hanging his cap on his knee, everyone else filed on until the eighty three fully sprung seats were full and the bus pulled out onto the Gallowgate to let the next one load up. What secretly filled Faither with pride was how many women were coming. He was related through his late wife’s side to the Gilligans and had listened proudly in the Calton Bar to the recounting of how well young Jessica had done in telling the women about these things called Burdens.

  When the convoy of six buses was neatly parked on Edinburgh’s Castle Terrace and the drivers had the thumbs-up from the police officer, everyone alighted. In the morning gloom, some craned their necks to look up at the formidable Edinburgh Castle towering above. Some looked the opposite way to the long plains of the south, imagining the English approaching in some battle of old. But all kept one eye on Big Joe Mularkey who had the permit pinned to his lapel. While the young policeman who’d counted them off the buses spoke into his radio and two police motorcycles took up their places with engines running and blue lights flashing, Auld Faither shuffled to the front. When Big Joe and the young officer gave each other the nod, the procession eased away; up Castle Terrace, over the ridge and into the Royal Mile. The Scottish TV cameras were there, as were the newspapers and local radio; all covering the march of those who’d come to hear Baron McLane of Calton QC address the highest court in Parliament House on their behalf.

  Old Jimmy Robertson had seen it all many times before and had everything ready. Two of his men were to guide as many as Court One could hold into the public gallery behind counsel and have the hook on the door to the upper gallery locked down which would allow them to take the old wooden stairs as quietly as possible. The overspill would just have to wait - quietly - in Parliament Hall. On Court One’s red velvet-covered wide bench he’d set out their lordships’ day books, filtered the ink the night before and filled the inkwells. Under the Great South Window he stepped up to his microphone, pressed the tannoy button and proclaimed: ‘Hear Ye’. Hear Ye’. Court One. Calton Residents' Association versus Glasgow City Council. Conjoined cases seeking damages for wrongful deaths. Counsel to assemble in Court One. Five minutes.’

  Having decided not to become the centre of attention, in wig and gown, McLane paced the back corridor behind the Signet Library, going over his proposition. Factors in favour. Factors against. Run again through the strengths of this strategy. Run again through the weaknesses. What opportunities might arise? Where lay the threats?

  With only one minute remaining before ten thirty in the forenoon, he marched the length of the corridor and out into Parliament Hall where Big Joe and Auld Faither stood looking up a
t the Coats of Arms in the stained glass windows:

  While shaking hands with Auld Faither, McLane took an encouraging slap on the shoulder from Big Joe. He’d of course seen McLane in wig and gown before, but Auld Faither hadn’t: ‘My God Brogan son, look at you! That is some finery you’re wearin’. Yer faither would’ve been proud to see ye’ in a’ that legal get-up. Are ye’ ready?’

  ‘Yes Faither, I believe I am. Though since being dressed and sent out, I haven’t seen anything of anybody. I thought maybe Glasgow City Council would’ve had an instructing delegation here. Have you seen anybody with their counsel?’

  Both shook their heads, though Auld Faither had only half an idea what McLane was talking about.

  ‘OK. That’s a matter for them. Let’s get in there.’

  With counsel seated in their respective places, every eye was on the three empty high-backed oak-carved chairs carefully positioned so that their lordships’ robes wouldn’t snag as they sat. Hands clasped and looking down into his bundle of papers, behind him McLane could sense well over a hundred hearts beating as one. Beating for grandmothers, for uncles, for brothers and sisters; all of whose names were listed on a parchment sheet now pinned to the wall outside Court One in Parliament House.

  As the call from old Jimmy Robertson of Co-ou-rt! resounded to the rafters, the packed Court One became a forest of standing humanity. The Lord Justice General would Chair the court. That was a given; but as to who might be by his side, no-one ever knew until the very last minute. As the three judges filed in, McLane’s heart sank to see that the wingmen were Lochie Society men through and through. They were a certainty to be members of some Loyal Orange Lodge somewhere, but exactly where was anyone’s guess. Behind him, Big Joe and Auld Faither tightened their stance, sensing that McLane was unhappy about something important before they’d even got started. But then something very odd happened.

  Remaining standing behind their chairs, the three judges remained silent. The Lord Justice General looked irked and just stared down into his day book while the other two widened their eyes at Pembroke and Sotheby-Yarrow in a vain attempt to communicate what they knew but no-one else did. Old Jimmy Robertson had disappeared through the judges’ door and everyone, judges, counsel and public alike, just stood there waiting.

  Red-faced and fuming, old Jimmy would certainly bring this shambles up with Scottish Courts Administration at the next Court Users Group meeting, but in the meantime, all he could do was bring on an extra chair from an ante room. An undignified looking grey plastic thing, Jimmy placed it in the corner next to the door and motioned to someone in the corridor who’d obviously been standing waiting for him to find a chair.

  To everyone’s complete surprise, a fourth judge entered. Dressed the same as the other judges in legal wig and white ermine gowns bearing scarlet crosses, this judge brought his own touch of flair to an otherwise sombre Court One: this one was black and beaming a broad smile.

  When everyone had finished nudging their neighbour and whispering and the judges were seated, the Lord Justice General coughed:

  ‘We are proud and indeed happy to have with us this morning the Chief Justice of Botswana. Chief Justice Ngwato is of course no stranger to Parliament House, having Devilled here over thirty years ago. After a distinguished career in several countries in Africa, Mr Ngwato - as he then was - took silk in 2002, became a Justice of the High Court of Botswana in 2010 and has recently become its Chief Justice.’

  Turning towards his honoured guest, the Lord Justice General couldn’t get out of his mind the opinion he’d formed the night before: that this man was the antidote to the body of judges in Parliament House. His jet black cheery face and toothy smile was the opposite of the pale, sour faced lot whom he had to watch day and night in case they stabbed him in the back:

  ‘Welcome indeed Chief Justice. We are honoured to have you among us to observe our case today.’

  Turning back towards the court, the Lord Justice General opened his day book and looked down at McLane:

  ‘Now, Mr McLane. Who appears?’

  Baffled and still focusing their attention on the judge in the corner, solidly behind McLane and packing the gallery, the folk from the Calton couldn’t have sensed the purest of relief surging through McLane’s blood; almost bursting his temples. High as a kite, McLane rose, bowing firstly to the three Parliament House Judges and then in particular to the Chief Justice of Botswana who was just sitting there with absolutely no idea what effect his presence was having on this case:

  ‘My lords, I appear this morning for the Calton Residents' Association who are the Petitioners. My learned friends Mr Pembroke and Mr Sotheby-Yarrow appear for Glasgow City Council and the Secretary of State for Housing and Urban Development respectively who are the Respondents.

  I am sure your lordships have read the written pleadings but should your lordships require me to read them aloud, then I’m happy to do so.’

  As McLane expected, with a half wave from the back of his hand, the Lord Justice General indicated that no such rehearsal was required:

  ‘My lords, this morning the Petitioners’ Motion is for the court to conjoin this morning’s claim for wrongful deaths with all and any of the issues which …?’

  Leaning on his right elbow was the Lord Justice General’s standard way of interrupting:

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you so quickly Mr McLane, but I see where you’re going. It’s been intimated to me by the Keeper of the Rolls of Court that this claim for damages for multiple wrongful deaths, is not the only substantive issue between these parties. Is that correct?’

  McLane’s immediate drop of his head gave his answer before the words ‘Indeed so, my lord.’ were out of his mouth:

  ‘That is why I seek conjunction of all such matters. My lords, I’ve thought long and hard about the complexities of all these matters and they are many. Conjunction would not only simplify, but speed up resolution. That is something which I trust all sides want to happen. That is the basis for this Motion.

  My lords, there are several issues. The first and most pressing issue from the Petitioners’ point of view, is whether as owners of a piece of land and the crumbling building upon it known as the Old Meat Market in Glasgow, the first Respondents - that is Glasgow City Council - had a legal duty to keep their property safe from causing harm to the public. A subordinate question in this area is whether the Secretary of State had a legal duty to supervise Glasgow City Council and make sure that they did their legal duty to keep this building safe. If either or both Respondents did owe such a duty to the Petitioners, then there arises the question of whether their legal liability is one hundred percent or some lower figure. That would be determined by evidence about any neglectful contribution to the deaths made by the Petitioners who organised their own public meeting in that place.

  The second issue pertains to the building of a motorway extension through the east side of the Calton and is a matter which has, to some extent, already exercised the Sheriff of Glasgow. I estimate that project will necessitate the demolition of about half of the Calton.

  The third substantive issue relates to the Burdens which were built in to the original disposition of the land; which was once called the Fields of May. I see that my learned friends are seeking Reduction of those burdens. My lords, I was taught by the great Professor W. A. Wilson that Burdens, once registered by the Keeper of the Register of Sasines in Scotland were sacrosanct. I’m therefore at something of a loss as to why the Respondents say, firstly that these can be varied and that such variation is a competent matter before this court.

  My lords, the list continues. Another very important issue of public law is the question of whether Glasgow City Council properly undertook a public consultation process or whether they only paid lip service to their legal obligation to do so. Again, a subordinate question arises: that is whether Glasgow City Council in organising a ramshackle ‘first public meeting’ in the Old Meat Market, showed the way, as it were, for the Pet
itioners to hold their own meeting in the same place. If the former is the case, then Glasgow City Council has failed at the very first step of any public project and, before any question of demolition is answered, they must go back to square one and start again.

  Lastly, there is a question which, if answered by the Respondents in a way which is acceptable to the Petitioners, would cut short - very short, I may say - many of the issues which I’ve outlined above. Now I recognise that this question is not one which is strictly for this court to answer. It is whether Glasgow City Council, having stated in no uncertain terms to the Sheriff Court Judge in Glasgow that the Calton is now just too expensive in terms of upkeep versus rental income, will agree to sell the houses in the western part of the Calton to the tenants; many of whom are sitting behind me.’

  When he screwed up his face and twisted his white handlebar moustache, McLane thought he’d said or done something catastrophic. But he was wrong. Putting up his hand to stop McLane, the Lord Justice General did something McLane had never seen him do before; he spoke to counsel for the Respondents during counsel for the Petitioners’ opening remarks:

  ‘Mr Sotheby-Yarrow.’

  Getting casually to his feet, Sotheby, who’d hoped just to slipstream behind Pembroke, looked mildly interested in what the Lord Justice General might have to say to him at this opening stage:

  ‘Erm, your lordship wishes to address me?’

  The Lord Justice General let such a casual remark pass because he had bigger guns to fire: ‘I’ve read the pleadings and it should not surprise you to learn that I also read the newspapers. Now, before I ask Mr McLane to go any further, can you explain to me why Glasgow City Council and the Secretary of State for Housing and Urban Development are in business with some foreign developers who wish to demolish half of a large area of Glasgow and build shopping centres? Are they legally empowered to do that?’