‘Your client, as I remember, was found guilty of the manslaughter of his wife.’ The handsome Bishop was clearly the one to look out for.
‘For that,’ I said, ‘he has almost paid his debt to society. Next week, subject to the dismissal of these unnecessary charges, that debt will be fully and finally settled and, as I’m sure the Governor will tell you, during his time in Worsfield he has been a model prisoner.’
Quintus did his stuff and whispered to the Chairwoman. She found her glasses, yanked them on to her nose and said that, in all the circumstances, my client’s handcuffs might be removed.
After that the proceedings settled down like an ordinary trial in a Magistrates’ Court, except for the fact that we were all in gaol already. Mr Fraplington nervously opened the simple facts. Then Steve Barrington, the screw who received the flying chisel, clumped his way to the witness stand and gave the evidence which might keep Matthew Gribble behind bars for a good deal longer. He hadn’t seen the chisel thrown. The first he knew about it was when he was struck on the cheek. Gribble had been the only prisoner working with a chisel and he had seen him using it immediately before he turned away to answer a request from prisoner D41 Molloy. Later he took statements from the prisoners, and in particular from B19 Weaver. What Weaver told him led to the present charges against A13 Gribble. What Weaver told him, I rose to point out, had better come from Weaver himself.
‘Mr Barrington’ – I began my cross-examination – ‘you were a teacher once?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘And you gave it up to become a prison officer?’
‘I did.’
‘Is that because you found teaching too difficult?’
‘I wonder if this is a relevant question?’ Young Fraplington had obviously been told to make his presence felt and interrupt the defence whenever possible.
‘Mr Fraplington, perchance you wonder at this question? But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.’
‘Mr Rumpole, I’m not exactly sure what you mean.’ The Chairwoman’s glasses were pulled off and swung gently.
‘Then you didn’t see A Midsummer Night’s Dream? You missed a treat, Madam. Produced brilliantly by my client and starring Prisoner Weaver as bully Bottom. You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Mr Barrington?’
‘I thought they did rather well, yes.’
‘And I don’t suppose, as a teacher who gave up the struggle, you could have taught a group of hard-boiled villains to play Shakespeare?’
‘Mr Rumpole, I must agree with Mr Fraplington. How is this in the least relevant to the charge of assault?’ The Bishop came in on the act.
‘Because I think we may find, Bishop, that this isn’t a case about assault, it’s a case about teaching. Mr Barrington, you would agree that my client took Weaver and taught him to read, taught him about poetry and finally taught him to act?’
‘To my knowledge, yes, he did.’
‘And since this pupillage and this friendship began, Weaver, too, has been a model prisoner?’
‘We haven’t had any trouble from him lately. No.’
‘Whereas before the pupillage, he was a general nuisance?’
‘He was a handful. Yes. That’s fair enough. He’s a big man and …’
‘Alarming when out of control?’
‘I’d have to agree with you.’
‘Good. I’m glad we see eye to eye, Mr Barrington. So before Matthew Gribble took him on, so to speak, there’d been several cases of assault, three of breaking up furniture, disobeying reasonable orders, throwing food. An endless list?’
‘He was constantly in trouble. Yes.’
‘And since he and Gribble became friends, nothing?’
‘I believe that’s right.’
‘So you believe Matthew Gribble’s influence on Weaver has been entirely for the good.’
‘I said, so far as I know.’
‘So far as you know. Well, we’ll see if anyone knows better. Now, you questioned the other prisoners, Timson and Molloy, about this incident in the carpenter’s shop?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And what did they tell you?’
‘They said they hadn’t seen anything.’
‘And did you believe them?’
‘Do I have to answer that question?’
‘I have asked the question, and I’ll trouble you to answer it.’
‘No, I didn’t altogether believe it.’
‘Because prisoners don’t grass.’
‘What was that, Rumpole?’ The Chairwoman asked for an explanation.
‘Prisoners don’t tell tales. They don’t give evidence against each other. On the whole. Isn’t that true, Mr Barrington?’
‘I thought they might have seen something, but they were sheltering the culprit. Yes.’
‘So Timson might have seen Molloy do it. Or Molloy might have seen Timson do it. Or either of them might have seen Weaver do it. But they weren’t telling. Is that possible?’
‘I suppose it’s possible. Yes.’
‘Or Weaver might have seen Timson or Molloy do it and blamed it on Gribble to protect them?’
‘He wouldn’t have done that.’ There was an agitated whisper from my client and I stooped to give him an ear.
‘What?’
‘He wouldn’t have blamed it on me. I know Bob wouldn’t do that.’
‘Matthew,’ I whispered sternly, ‘your time to give evidence will come later. Until it does, I’d be much obliged if you’d take a temporary vow of silence.’ I went back to work. ‘Yes, Officer. What was your answer to my question?’
‘B19 Weaver had a particular admiration for A13 Gribble, sir. I don’t think he’d have blamed him. Not just to protect the other two.’
‘He wouldn’t have blamed him just to protect the other two, eh?’ The Bishop, who seemed to have cast himself as the avenging angel, dictated a note to himself with resonant authority.
Bottom the Weaver towered over the small witness table and the screws that stood behind him. He looked at the Visitors, his head slightly on one side, his nose broken and never properly set, and smiled nervously, as he had stood before the court of Duke Theseus, awkward, on his best behaviour, likely to be a bore, but somehow endearing. He didn’t look at A13 Gribble, but my client looked constantly at him, not particularly in anger but with curiosity and as if prepared to be amused. That was the way, I thought, he might have watched Bob Weaver rehearsing the play.
Mr Fraplington had no trouble in getting the witness to tell his story. He was in the carpenter’s shop in the morning in question. They were making the scenery. He was enjoying himself as he enjoyed everything about the play. Although he was dead nervous about doing it, it was the best time he’d ever had in his life. A13 Gribble was a fantastic producer, absolutely brilliant, and had changed his life for him. ‘Made me see a new world’, was the way he put it. Well, that morning when all the others were busy working and Mr Barrington was turned away, he’d seen A13 Gribble pick up the chisel and throw it. It struck the prison officer on the cheek, causing bleeding which he fully believed was later seen to by the hospital matron. He kept quiet for a week, because he was reluctant to get the best friend he ever had into trouble. But then he’d told the investigating officer exactly what he saw. He felt he had to do it. Doing the play was the best day in his life. Standing there, telling the tale against his friend, was the worst. Sometimes he thought he’d rather be dead than do it. That was the honest truth. To say that Battering Bob was a good witness is an understatement. He was as good a witness as he was a Bottom; he didn’t seem to be acting at all.
‘The first question, of course, is why?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Why do you think your friend Matthew threw a chisel at the officer? Can you help me about that?’ It would have been no use trying to batter the batterer – he had clearly won the hearts of the Visitors – so I came at him gently and full of smiles. ‘He’s always been a model prisoner. Not a hint of violence.’
‘Perhaps’ – Bob Weaver closed one eye, giving me his careful consideration – ‘he kind of had it bottled up, his resentment against Mr Barrington.’
‘We haven’t heard he resented Mr Barrington?’
‘Well, we all did to an extent. All of us actors.’
‘Why was that?’
‘He put Jimmy Molloy on a charge, so he lost two weeks’ rehearsal with Puck.’
The Visitors smiled. I had gone and provided my client with a motive. Up to now this cross-examination seemed a likely candidate for the worst in my career so I tried another tack.
‘All right. Another why.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If you feel you’d rather be dead than do it, why did you decide to grass against your friend?’
‘I don’t know why you have adopted the phrase “grass” from prison argot, Mr Rumpole.’ The Bishop was clearly a circus judge manqué. ‘This inmate has come here to give evidence.’
‘Evidence which may or may not turn out to be the truth. Very well then. The Bishop has told us to forget the argot.’
‘Forget the what?’ Bob looked amicably confused and the Bishop smiled tolerantly. ‘Slang,’ he translated. ‘I should have called it slang.’
‘Why did you decide to give evidence against your friend?’
‘Let me tell you this quite honestly.’ The Batterer turned from me and faced the Visitors. ‘Years ago, I might not have done it. In fact, I wouldn’t. Grass on a fellow inmate. Never. Might have given him a bit of a hiding like. If I’d felt the need of it. But never told the tale. Rather have had me tongue cut out. But then … Well, then I got to know Matthew. I’d still like to call him that. With all respect. And he taught me … Well, he taught me everything. He taught me to read. Yes. He taught me to like poetry, which I’d thought worse than a punch in the kidneys. Then he taught me to act and to enjoy myself like I never did even in the old days of the minicab battles, which now seem a complete waste of time, quite honestly. But Matthew taught me more than that. “You have to be truthful, Bob”, those were his words to me. Well, that’s what I remembered. So, when it came to it, I remembered his words. That’s all I’ve got to say.’
‘You took his advice and told the truth.’ The Bishop was clearly delighted, but I was looking at Bob. It had never happened before. It certainly didn’t happen when he performed in the Dream, but now I knew that he was an actor playing a part.
And then something clicked in my mind. A picture of Dodo Mackintosh at school, not wanting to let her heroine go, and I knew what the truth really was.
‘You’ve told us Matthew Gribble is the friend who meant most to you.’
‘Meant everything to me.’
‘The only real friend you’ve ever had. Would you go as far as to say that?’
‘I would agree with that, sir. Every word of it.’
‘And one who has let you into a new world.’
‘He’s already told us that, Mr Rumpole.’ I prayed for the Bishop to address himself to God and leave me alone.
‘It’s too true. Too very true.’
‘I don’t suppose life in Worsfield Category A Prison could ever be compared to a holiday in the Seychelles, but he has made your life here bearable?’
‘More than that, Mr Rumpole. I wouldn’t have missed it.’
‘And in a week, if he is acquitted on this charge, Matthew Gribble will be free.’
It was as if I had got in a sudden, unexpectedly powerful blow in the ring. Bob closed his eyes and almost seemed to stop breathing. When he shook his head and answered, he had come back, it seemed to me, to the truth.
‘I don’t want to think about it.’
‘Because you may never see him again?’
‘Visits. There might be visits.’
‘Are you afraid there might not be?’ Matthew appeared to be about to say something, or utter some protest. I shot some sotto voce advice into his earhole to the effect that if he uttered another sound, I would walk off the case. Then I looked back at the Batterer. He seemed not to have recovered from the punch and was still breathless.
‘It crossed my mind.’
‘And did it cross your mind that he might move away, to another part of England, get a new job, work with a new drama group and put on new plays with no parts in them for you? Did you think he might forget the friend he’d made in prison?’
There was a long silence. Bob was getting his breath back, preparing to get up for the last round, but with defeat staring him in the face.
He said, ‘Things like that do happen, don’t they?’
‘Oh yes, Bob Weaver. They happen very often. If a man wants to make a new life, he doesn’t care to be reminded of the people he met inside. Did that thought occur to you?’
‘I did worry about that, I suppose. I did worry.’
‘And did you worry that all that rich, fascinating new world might vanish into thin air? And you’d be left with only a few old lags and failed boxers for company?’
There was silence then. Bob didn’t answer. He was saved by the bell. Rung, of course, by the Bishop.
‘Where’s all this leading up to, Mr Rumpole?’
‘Let me suggest where it led you, Bob.’ I ignored the cleric and concentrated on the witness. ‘It led you to think of the one way you could stop Matthew Gribble leaving you.’
‘How was I going to do that?’
‘Quite a simple idea but it seems to have worked. Up to now. The way to do it was to get him into trouble.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Serious trouble. So he’d lose his remission. I expect you thought of that some time ago and you waited for an opportunity. It came, didn’t it, in the carpenter’s shop?’
‘Did it?’
‘Matthew turned away to fix the grass covering on the mound. No one else was looking when you picked up his chisel. No one saw you throw it. Like all successful crimes it was helped by a good deal of luck.’
‘Crime? Me? What are you talking about? I done no crime.’ Bob looked at the Visitors. For once even the Bishop was silent.
‘I suppose I’m talking about perverting the course of justice. Of assaulting a prison officer. I’ve got to hand it to you, Bob. You did it for the best of motives. You did it to keep a friend.’
Bob’s head was lowered, but now he made an effort to raise it and looked at the Visitors. ‘I didn’t do it. I swear to God I didn’t. Matthew did it and he’s got to stay here. You can’t let him go.’ By then I think even they thought he was acting. But that wasn’t the end of the story.
‘Why did you do it?’ The trial, if you could call it a trial, was over. Matthew and I were together for the last time in the interview room. We were there to say goodbye.
‘I told you. What’ve I got outside? Schools that won’t employ me. Actors and actresses who wouldn’t want to work with me. What would they think? If I didn’t like their performances, I might stab them. They’d be talking about me, whispering, laughing perhaps. And I’d come in the room and they’d be silent or look afraid. Here, they all want to be in my plays. They want to work with me, and I want to work with them. I thought of Much Ado next. Won’t Bob make a marvellous Dogberry? Then, I don’t know, do you think he could possibly do a Falstaff?’
‘Become an old English gent? Who knows. You’ve got plenty of time. They knocked a year and a half off your remission.’
‘Yes. A long time together. You were asking me why I threw the chisel?’
He knew I wasn’t asking him that. At the end of Battering Bob’s evidence I had to decide whether or not to call my client. Matthew had kept quiet when I’d told him to, and I knew he’d make a good impression. He walked to the witness table, took the oath and looked at me with patient expectation.
‘Matthew Gribble. We’ve heard you were a model prisoner.’
‘I’ve never been in trouble here, if that’s what you mean.’
‘And of all you’ve done for Bob Weaver.’
‘I think it’s been
a rewarding experience for both of us.’
‘And you are due to be released next week.’
‘I believe I am.’
I drew in a deep breath and asked the question to which I felt sure I knew the answer. ‘Matthew, did you ever throw that chisel at Prison Officer Barrington?’
The answer, when it came, was another punch in the stomach, this time for me. ‘Yes, I did. I threw it.’ Matthew looked at the Visitors and said it as though he was talking about a not very interesting part of the prison routine. ‘I did it because I couldn’t forgive him for putting Puck on a charge.’ After that, the case was over and Matthew’s exit from Worsfield inevitably postponed.
‘You know I wasn’t asking you why you threw the chisel because you didn’t throw it. I’m asking you why you said you did.’
‘I told you. I’ve decided to stay on.’
‘You knew Battering Bob did it and he blamed you to keep you here because he thought he needed you.’
‘Don’t you think that’s rather an extraordinary tribute to a friendship?’
There seemed no answer to that. I didn’t know whether to curse Matthew Gribble or to praise him. I didn’t know if he was the best or the worst client I ever had. I knew I had lost a case unnecessarily, and that is something I don’t like to happen.
‘You can’t win them all, Mr Rumpole, can you?’ Steve Barrington looked gratified at the result. He took me to the gate and, as he waited for the long unlocking process to finish, he said, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever go back to teaching. They seem half barmy, some of them.’
At last the gates and the small door in the big one were open. I was out and I went out. Matthew was in and he stayed in. Damiens sent a brief in a long case to Claude and I told him he had a brilliant pupil.
‘I suppose she’ll be wanting a place in Chambers soon?’ Claude didn’t seem to welcome the idea.
‘So far as I’m concerned she can have one now.’
The Collected Stories of Rumpole Page 69