(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  'It's a beautiful night,' said Harold in greeting.

  'In more ways than one,' agreed Charles, settling by the fire. He told Harold the good news.

  'And now I have only Mrs Cleary to see and Martin Brewer who works for her,' went on the rector. 'And I really should have a private word with the Howard brothers. I'm not too sure if they really agree with Percy Hodge. It would be a bad thing if they have been coerced.'

  'I don't think there will be much opposition from them, or from Mrs Cleary and young Martin Brewer. I must say, Charles, you have handled the thing very diplomatically.'

  'I don't think that I can lay claim to diplomacy, Harold. Let's say that Thrush Green preferred to remain united when it came to it. The very thought of courts and lawyers was enough to bring out the good solid British quality of independence.'

  'Talking of courts,' said Harold, 'isn't it tomorrow that Dotty's case is heard? Are you going?'

  Yes, I thought I would stand by her.'

  'Unfortunately, I have to go to London to settle some business affairs, otherwise I'd join you. Poor woman! I hope that Justin gets her off.'

  'I have every confidence in him,' said the rector firmly. Harold refrained from voicing his own doubts.

  'Did I tell you,' said Charles, 'that we have copied your example and bought a red shade for our sitting-room lamp? It makes such a warm glow.'

  'I'm flattered.'

  'And Dimity has made a long draught excluder for the bottom of the door. Most efficient.'

  'A sausage? Why, we used to have one of those, I remember,' said Harold. 'What a good idea! The rectory tends to be a little draughty, I know,' he said, making the understatement of a life-time.

  'Well, it all looks much more snug,' said Charles, 'inspired by this room. I thought credit should be given where credit's due.'

  He rose to his feet.

  'Must be off. Court starts at ten in the morning, so I want to get ahead with my correspondence. I thought of calling on Dotty tonight, but it may be kinder not to. She may be washing her hair or something,' he added vaguely.

  Harold doubted it, but kept silent, and showed his kindhearted friend out into the black and silver world.

  At Lulling Woods, Dotty Harmer leant on her gate and surveyed the peaceful landscape. The air was very still. The full moon, turned from gold to silver in its majestic ascent, lit the snowy scene with a gentle radiance. To Dotty's left, the bulk of Lulling Woods showed navy-blue against the starry sky, with one warm red spot where the wood cutters had made a bonfire that afternoon.

  Dotty had watched the blue smoke spiralling aloft in the quiet air. Now only the embers glowed, the aftermath of the two men's energetic work with the axe and electric saw. In that black and white world, it added a touch of colour, of warmth and, Dotty thought, of hope.

  A mood of resignation enfolded her. What would be, would be! She had worried herself into a state of suspended animation, unable to think clearly, or to care very much what the outcome of tomorrow's hearing would be.

  She was content now to drink in the tranquillity of the view before her. There was something strangely comforting in being alone with elemental things, the moon, the snow, the distant fire. A mere summons to court seemed ephemeral in their presence. Guilty or not guilty, the moon would rise again tomorrow, the snow would remain, the fire would be rekindled.

  Dotty took a deep breath, and realised how bitterly cold she felt. She turned her back upon the scene of her comfort, much fortified, and made her way to bed.

  It was clear and bright again next morning when Charles Henstock called for Dotty, as he had arranged to do some days earlier.

  'I am going in any case,' he replied, when she demurred, 'and parking is always difficult near the court house. Besides, you will have enough to worry you without the bother of driving.'

  And so Dotty entered the rector's car looking surprisingly well-dressed for once. It was true that her stockings were in folds, and that her hair escaped in wisps from underneath a formidable black hat which must once have been her mother's, Charles surmised. But she wore a fur coat, which Charles had never seen before, and her black suede gloves were impeccable.

  'Allow me to say how nice you look, Dotty,' said the rector.

  'Thank you, Charles. I hope I know what's fitting to the dignity of a court of law. You didn't imagine I'd be in my gardening outfit?'

  To tell the truth, Charles would not have been surprised to find his eccentric friend in just such a garb, but changed the subject.

  'Dimity insists that you come back to our house for a meal, whatever the time.'

  'That is kind of her. I should love to.'

  They drove slowly up Lulling High Street, passing the three Miss Lovelocks in snow boots, scarves and Sunday hats, all making for the same destination.

  'Vultures,' said Dotty mildly.

  'I beg your pardon?' Charles sounded startled.

  'Nothing. I was thinking aloud.'

  They entered the market place. The court house flanked one side of the square, an ornate Victorian building comprising various municipal departments as well as the court on the ground floor.

  Justin Venables was waiting for his client in the doorway. Charles dropped his passenger, watched the two meet, and then drove round to find a parking place.

  The court room, when he entered it, was less than half full. It was Charles's first visit to Lulling Magistrates' Court, and he looked about him with interest.

  It was a lofty pseudo-gothic building, with all the woodwork varnished to a sticky brown. Like a treacle-well, thought Charles, who was a devotee of Alice in Wonderland.

  The public benches were rather uncomfortable, and he wondered if the benches set high on the dais in front for the justices, were any more comfortable. If not, he was sincerely sorry for those magistrates who were obliged to spend the day there.

  The dock stood on his left, a sturdy structure of carved, well varnished wood and brass, and at the front of the court, on the right, were the jurymen's benches, facing the witness box.

  The benches where counsel and solicitors were seated were directly ahead of him, and he could see Justin Venables silver head bent in conversation with another local solicitor. There were two more people there, one, Charles guessed, the prosecutor for the police. If he were the six-footer with the massive shoulders of a rugby forward, and a jutting jaw, then Charles trembled for Dotty. His appearance alone was enough enough to strike terror into any heart.

  At that moment, the gowned usher stood up at the side of the court and spoke in a tremendous roar.

  'The court will be upstanding!'

  They all rose obediently, and watched the three magistrates file in, followed by Mr Pearson who went to his desk below the dais and stood facing their worships.

  Lady Winter led the way, wearing a grey flannel suit, a blue silk blouse, four rows of pearls and a fur hat.

  Mrs Fothergill followed in a dashing brown and white dog-tooth check, a gold brooch and no hat, while Mr Jardine decorous in navy-blue pin stripe stood in front of the large chair in the middle beneath the royal arms.

  Polite bows were exchanged. The magistrates, clerk and everyone else took their seats, and proceedings began with the granting of occasional licences to various local publicans, and other everyday business.

  It was during this part of the proceedings that the door opened to admit six venerable gentlemen from the neighbouring almshouse. Charles had heard that they enjoyed a morning session at court, and were consequently something of experts on British justice. Certainly, their forecasts of the verdicts found by the bench after long and weighty discussion by that august body were usually the same. If anything, they were inclined to be a little stiffer in their sentences when the victims were elderly, and on the whole disliked probation for anyone over the age of twenty. Some in Lulling maintained that they would prefer to face the men from the almshouse, who saw things perhaps more clearly than magistrates who had had their brains addled by a lot of case-read
ing and attending conferences.

  The old men settled wheezily into the bench behind Charles, arranging sticks, undoing scarves and having recourse to their handkerchiefs after the cold air outside.

  'Started on time for once,' said one to his neighbour.

  'I see Pendle's prosecuting. Ought to be done by dinner time. He don't waste words.'

  'But Mr Jardine's a rare one for retiring. Wants a drag, I daresay. Proper chain-smoker.'

  The usher gave a stern glance towards the whisperers, who subsided slightly.

  'Old Tom thinks hisself God Almighty, in that there gown,' muttered one softly, just behind Charles. 'He forgets we can remember him sitting on the kerb with his bottom through his breeches.'

  Two youths appeared in the dock flanked by a policeman. They faced charges of stealing from Puddocks', the stationers at the corner of the market square, and of assaulting a policeman in the execution of his duty.

  They pleaded guilty, through their solicitor who was sitting beside Justin Venables, and grinned sheepishly at each other when told to sit down.

  Mr Jardine, who had served in the army in his youth, always did his best to overcome the natural repugnance he felt for long unwashed hair, dirty blue jeans, and sweat shirts bearing such legends as: 'I am the Greatest', 'I Love Everyone' or simply 'Tottenham Hotspurs'. But he drew the line at giggling in court, and chewing gum, in which the present offenders were indulging.

  'Take that stuff out of your mouth,' he directed sharply, 'and behave yourselves.'

  Meekly, they removed the offending gum, gazing at their fingers in bewilderment.

  'Give it 'ere,' said the policeman, producing an envelope. The matter was placed within, and the usher put it ceremoniously in the waste paper basket.

  'Your worships,' began the six-foot prosecutor, 'the facts of this case are as follows. At three-twenty on the afternoon of Thursday, December 8th, in answer to a telephone call from the manager, Police Constable Carter proceeded to Puddocks', the stationers, where these two young men had been detained.'

  Charles found his attention wandering. He looked discreetly about him. Two young men from the local newspaper were scribbling busily at a side table. Would this case make headlines? No doubt an assault on a policeman would. And quite right too, thought Charles. Policemen had enough dirty work to do without being attacked into the bargain. He began to muse about one of his godsons who was now a police sergeant in Leeds.

  A change of voice brought his attention back to the court. The youths' solicitor was now making an impassioned plea for leniency, emphasising that this was only their second time in court, they had no homes and had been out of work and sleeping rough at the time of the theft and assault. He did the job so well, that Charles would not have been surprised to see tears in the eyes of the justices, but they appeared impervious.

  When the solicitor had taken his seat, the chairman conferred briefly with his colleagues.

  'The bench will retire to consider this case,' he announced, and stood back for the ladies to precede him into the magistrates' retiring room.

  'Court will be upstanding!' shouted the usher, and it was.

  'Havin' their coffee now,' said one of the old men. 'They always retire just after eleven. You going to try a cup out of that new machine?'

  'I'm durned if I'm putting a bob into that contraption to get a lousy cardboard cup of wishy-washy chicken soup I don't want, when I'd put me money in for coffee,' said his neighbour stoutly. 'It's a ruddy swindle.'

  'He's right,' agreed another.

  There was a general relaxation in the courtroom, people moving across to speak to friends, and the solicitors standing up to consult each other. Charles waved to the Misses Lovelock and was embarrassed to receive a blown kiss from Miss Bertha, which he acknowledged with a formal bow.

  The clerk, who had gone out later to join the magistrates, now returned, and the court room became rather more seemly. Three minutes later their worships returned.

  'You will be remanded in custody for three weeks for reports,' said the chairman. 'We need to know more about you before we pass sentence.'

  The youths followed the policeman from the dock.

  'Back to the bloody glasshouse,' muttered one, as he passed Charles.

  'Told you they was off for coffee,' said the old man behind him. 'They could've done that without retiring, and saved a lot of time.'

  'Call Dorothy Amelia Russell Harmer,' said Mr Pearson. The usher departed into the lobby.

  'Dorothy Amelia Russell Harmer,' echoed round the building.

  Justin Venables stood up awaiting his client. She entered briskly, pointing to the dock.

  'Do I go in there?' she enquired of the usher.

  'No, no,' said Mr Venables hastily. 'Come and take your place by me.'

  Dotty's case had begun.

  'You are Dorothy Amelia Russell Harmer of Woodside, Lulling?' asked Mr Pearson.

  'I am,' said Dotty politely.

  'I appear for Miss Harmer,' said Justin to the bench.

  'The charge against you is that on October 20th of last year, you drove a motor vehicle on a road, namely Lulling High Street, without due care and attention, contrary to Section 3 of the Road Traffic Act 1972. How do you plead?'

  'Well, naturally –' began Dotty, looking nettled.

  'Please,' said Justin hastily. 'My client pleads 'Not Guilty' to the charge.'

  'Sit down, please,' said Mr Jardine.

  The prosecuting solicitor rose to his full six feet, and gave the facts of the case concisely.

  'And I shall be calling three witnesses,' he added. 'The first is P.C. Darwin.'

  That officer carried a well-thumbed notebook in case his memory needed refreshing. Hardly surprising, thought Charles, when you heard how long it took to bring a case before the court! He himself would be hard put to it to tell anyone what he had done the day before, let alone four months earlier!

  He gave his evidence clearly and agreed with Justin Venables, in cross examination, that Miss Harmer had given every possible assistance after the accident. He then made way for Mr Giles, the second witness.

  Mr Giles kept a music shop in Lulling High Street almost opposite Mr Levy's butcher's shop. He was a frail elderly man, white-haired and wearing glasses. He took the oath in a quavering voice.

  Yes, he had witnessed the accident, he told the bench. He had heard the crash and said to his assistant –

  'You musn't tell us what you said,' Mr Jardine told him.

  'Well, he said –'

  'Nor what he said,' replied Mr Jardine firmly. 'It is hearsay, you see, Mr Giles.'

  'No, I don't see,' said the old man, with a flash of temper. 'How am I to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, if you won't let me?'

  'As a result of what you heard,' said Mr Pearson, coming to the rescue, 'what did you do?'

  Things then proceeded more smoothly.

  Justin Venables made a shrewd point by asking about Mr Giles' spectacles. Was he short-sighted or long-sighted?

  He was short-sighted.

  Was he wearing his spectacles when he saw the accident?

  'Probably,' said Mr Giles, now a trifle rattled.

  'If you were not wearing them you would be unable to see clearly what was happening at a distance of some thirty yards?'

  'I could see quite a bit,' said Mr Giles.

  'But you can't say positively that you were wearing your spectacles.'

  'Not on oath, no.'

  Mr Venables sat down looking smug.

  The third witness was a woman shopper who had been on the pavement at the time of the collision. She answered the prosecutor's questions clearly, but added little to the evidence. Justin did not cross-examine her.

  'I will call my client,' he said, when the prosecutor sat down.

  Dotty entered the witness box and picked up the New Testament.

  'Please remove your glove,' said the usher.

  'As you wish,' said Dotty, tugging at the spl
endid suede pair.

  She took the oath firmly.

  'Now, Miss Harmer, will you direct your answers to the bench,' said Justin, 'although I am asking the questions?'

  Dotty turned obediently, recognised Mrs Fothergill as an acquaintance, and wished her 'Good morning' affably.

  Mrs Fothergill gave a sickly smile, but forbore to reply. Lady Winter and the chairman ignored Dotty's civility, and remained impassive.

  'You are Dorothy Amelia Russell Harmer, residing at Woodside, Lulling?' said Justin, in dulcet tones.

  'You know I am!' responded Dotty, astonished.

  'A formality,' murmured Justin. Good heavens, was she going to be in one of her prickly moods?

  He led her, with exquisite caution, through her narrative. It soon became clear, that despite her odd appearance and a certain impatience with some of the questions, Dotty was transparently honest about the whole affair. She was not in the least put out by some fairly searching questions by the prosecution, and even congratulated the police in having such a pleasant young fellow as Mr Darwin in the force, before Justin could quell her.

  Mr Levy, enjoying every moment of his public appearance, was equally hard to restrain.

  'You saw the boy riding before the accident?' asked Justin.

  'If you can call it riding,' said Mr Levy. 'He was on a bike far too big for him – sawing away he was, wobbling all whichways, and yelling to his mates. He swerved straight into Miss Harmer. She was well into the middle of the road. I'll take my oath on it –'

  'You have,' put in Mr Pearson drily.

  'And I've known Miss Harmer since she was a little girl, and she's as straight as a die! She'd say if she'd been at fault. It was that ruddy boy – begging your worships' pardon – as crashed across her path.'

  'Miss Harmer's integrity is not in question,' said Justin austerely. 'Just let us take your account of the boy's movements, point by point.'

  With some difficulty he led his ebullient witness through his story. The prosecutor had no questions to ask. Nor had the bench.

  Justin's last witness was one of the teaching staff who had been in the playground when the accident occurred. He was a nervous young man, but Justin soon put him at ease, and he agreed that the boys were rather noisy and excited when they left school, and did not take as much care as they should about traffic conditions. He agreed with Mr Levy that Cyril Cooke's bicycle was in a poor state and much too big for him. He himself had told Mrs Cooke so, and suggested that the boy walked to school. She had not been co-operative.