Judge Walden

by Peter Murphy

  ‘Are we in any danger here?’ Dennis calls across the room from the bar.

  ‘No, sir,’ Lieutenant Dawson replies. ‘But,’ he adds as an afterthought, ‘everyone stay back from the windows – just in case.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Dennis mutters to himself.

  ‘Charlie, are you still there?’ Marjorie is asking.

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ I reply. ‘There’s something going on here. Hang on a moment.’

  ‘All personnel clear, and no civilian activity visible, sir,’ the soldier is saying, holding the radio to his ear. ‘The sergeant is awaiting your order for remote detonation, sir.’

  ‘Proceed,’ the Lieutenant replies authoritatively.

  ‘Proceed. Roger that, sir. Proceed!’ the soldier fairly bellows into the radio.

  ‘Charlie, what on earth is going on down there? Are you –?’

  There is the most almighty bang, and the sound of glass breaking.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ I hear Gwendolyn shriek.

  ‘Charlie, Charlie, for God’s sake. What’s going on? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Marjorie,’ I reply. ‘They had to detonate a Number 74 anti-tank hand grenade, that’s all. Nothing to worry about, all in a day’s work; we’re all at a safe distance. I think it’s all clear, now.’

  ‘Charlie…’

  ‘Just one of those noises that give delight and hurt not,’ I say. ‘Look, I need to go and talk to the parties, make sure they’re all right. I’ll call you back later.’

  * * *

  Tuesday evening

  Feeling fairly sure that events in Lower Wattage will by now have attracted the attention of the media, and that the Reverend Mrs Walden may well have learned of them, I make a pre-emptive call home. Fortunately, she’s been in a Parochial Church Council meeting for two or three hours and hasn’t seen the news yet, so I’m able to reassure her that, whatever alarming images she may see, I’m safe and sound and happily contemplating a third pint of Abbot without a care in the world – except for the nagging thought that fairly soon, despite the recent trauma it has suffered, I’m going to have to decide the fate of the much disputed Middle Plot, and for all today’s excitement I’m still no wiser about which way I’m going with it.

  The bomb squad and the police have left now and Lower Wattage has returned to some semblance of normality. Thoughtfully, the bomb squad have left behind the arc lights – the ground around the Post House and the Old Rectory is cracked and uneven, and there’s broken glass everywhere, so it would be a real hazard in the dark. Molly and Anand are deep in conversation at the bar, and I’m just wondering about finding our driver and making my way back to the George for the night, when I see Robert and Ruth approaching. I wave them into chairs at my table.

  ‘How are they all doing?’ I ask.

  ‘I think Archie’s in a state of shock,’ Ruth replies. ‘He keeps asking what would have happened if he hadn’t remembered about the sticky bombs. I think it’s beginning to dawn on him what a lucky man he is. That device could have blown at any time, Lieutenant Dawson said.’

  ‘He’s led a charmed life,’ I reply.

  They look at each other. ‘Are you in a hurry to get back to Huntingdon, Judge?’ Ruth asks.

  ‘I suppose not,’ I reply. ‘Were you thinking of another drink? I daresay it would do us all good. Allow me…’

  ‘Well, no, actually, Judge,’ Ruth continues. ‘I mean, we could, but also we were thinking that we might be able to take advantage of the parties being in something of an altered state as a result of today’s events.’

  ‘An altered state? Oh, you mean, the shock of it all?’

  ‘Exactly, Judge. Well, that and a couple of strong drinks apiece, certainly in Archie’s case.’

  I look at Robert. ‘Are the Pearces also in an altered state?’

  ‘They’re certainly rather traumatised by it all, Judge, and I daresay the gin and tonics have something to do with it too at this point. She’s quite weepy – and she’s not someone who does weepy. I’ve certainly never seen her like this before.’

  I nod and swirl the remains of my pint around in the bottom of the glass.

  ‘Are you seriously suggesting,’ I ask, ‘that we should take advantage of the trauma and inebriation the parties are experiencing?’ I can’t think of anything less likely to happen in a criminal case at Bermondsey. I’d be more likely to remand the pair of them in custody if they showed up at court in that condition. But then again, I did declare court closed for the day.

  They exchange looks. ‘Indeed we are, Judge,’ Robert replies.

  ‘What – to promote a settlement of some kind?’

  ‘Exactly, Judge.’ He smiles. ‘I know it’s not something you’re used to in the Crown Court, but in civil cases we can often do a bit of mediation while the trial is still going on, and there’s no difficulty about the judge joining in, as long as the parties have no objection.’

  ‘If you don’t mind telling them that you haven’t made your mind up which way you’re going yet,’ Ruth adds, ‘so there’s still everything to play for.’

  ‘There is,’ I reply honestly. ‘Even leaving the facts on one side, I’m going to need your help with the law before I can decide anything, so I still have a long way to go.’

  ‘Sounds good, Judge. Do you want to give it a go?’

  ‘I’ve never actually done a mediation,’ I admit. ‘I have no experience of them at all. But I had no idea that it was the practice to do them after two or three pints, or gins and tonics.’

  ‘It’s not usual, Judge,’ Ruth concedes. ‘But they do happen in all kinds of circumstances. For a successful mediation you need everyone in the right frame of mind, and sometimes you find yourself in a situation they don’t teach you about when you do your mediation training.’

  ‘Such as doing it in a pub when everyone’s had a couple of drinks,’ Robert adds.

  ‘It’s just a matter of taking advantage of circumstances when they arise,’ Ruth says. ‘Are you up for it?’

  ‘Do you really think it might work?’

  ‘It might, Judge,’ Robert replies. ‘The key is to get the parties to tell each other what they’re really upset about – which often has nothing to do with the things they’re suing each other over – and set the stage for apologies. You’d be amazed how many cases settle once the parties are prepared to apologise to each other. And with their guard down – who knows? In vino veritas, as they say.’

  I’m wondering what Marjorie would have to say about this, and hoping that I’m not making a complete fool of myself. I could, of course, easily call her and find out what she thinks. But I’m here and she isn’t, and I have a gut feeling that these two barristers, who know their clients far better than I do, know what they’re doing and aren’t going to lead me down the garden path. And in any case, what’s the worst that can happen – that they won’t let me do a civil case again? I’m in uncharted waters, and perhaps part of it is the Abbot talking, but it seems worth taking a chance.

  ‘All right, then. Why not?’ I reply. ‘Let’s give it a try.’

  ‘There’s a long table by the wall at the far end of the bar,’ Robert observes. ‘Why don’t I move everyone over there? Do you want to take the lead, Ruth?’

  ‘I’d be glad to.’

  Cooperation once again, I note. I make my way over to the long table, where Ruth places me at the head of the table, with Robert and herself on either side of me, the Pearces next to Robert and Archie next to her, with Anand, Molly, and the solicitors at the far end of the table.

  ‘With the Judge’s agreement, and yours,’ Ruth begins quietly, ‘we thought we might explore whether there is any ground for you to come together and talk about the case, away from the more formal atmosphere of the courtroom. Robert and I understand, obviously, that what’s happened today has been very distressin
g for you. It’s come as a shock to us all. But as a result, there may be a window for you to talk to each other and see if you can come to a better understanding of what it is you’re really angry with each other about. The discussion will be completely off the record, so it won’t be binding on anyone, it can’t be referred to in court, and it won’t affect the judge’s view of the case.’ She turns to me. ‘In fact, Judge Walden, I believe you feel that you’re not in a position to reach any conclusion about the case yet?’

  ‘That’s quite right,’ I confirm.

  ‘Archie,’ Ruth continues, ‘would you like to kick it off for us?’

  I’m fascinated. I assume there’s been some prior discussion between them about the process of mediation, from which Ruth has emerged fairly confident that Archie would indeed like to kick it off – because otherwise this may turn into the shortest mediation on record, which wouldn’t do anything positive for the future management of the case, and might well be a disaster for her side of it. My previous observation of Archie Barratt doesn’t predispose me to think that a holistic practice like mediation would greatly appeal to him, but looking at him again, I note that the events of the day do seem to have had an effect, and an altered state isn’t a bad way of putting it. He looks somewhere between shocked and chastened, or perhaps both. I’m still not entirely sure how spontaneous his recovered memory of the sticky bombs was – the cynic in me insists that having twelve lethal explosive devices buried so close to your home is not the kind of thing you’re likely to forget, even if they were buried there more than sixty years ago. But the fact remains that he didn’t make any effort to have the grenades disposed of during that time despite the obvious risk, and there’s no doubt that, as the Reverend Mrs Walden would say, he’s altered the chemistry of the case.

  ‘Well,’ he replies after some time. ‘I suppose what’s happened today has made me think – think how lucky I’ve been, and my boys have been, over all these years. And when I think about that… about what could have happened… well, it sort of puts everything else into perspective. So, I suppose what I want to say to you, Mrs Pearce – Gwendolyn, if I may…’

  I wouldn’t put money on that permission being granted… but to my amazement…

  ‘Of course, Archie…’

  ‘I suppose what I want to say, Gwendolyn, is that I’m sorry about ripping up all your trees and flowers and such like. It was a childish thing to do. But, you see, I got annoyed when you started mucking us about when you’d only been here about five minutes, trying to make Lower Wattage into some kind of show village – which it isn’t and never has been – and I suppose I resented you as a newcomer, having had the Pitt family as my neighbours for so long. But anyway… I shouldn’t have done it, and I want to apologise to you.’

  Ruth is smiling at me. As Dorothy once put it: ‘Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.’ This isn’t a different state from the Crown Court, it’s a different planet, and it’s one on which I can’t immediately get my bearings. I return the smile. There’s nothing I can do but sit back and watch the experts work.

  Gwendolyn gives a deep sigh. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising, Archie,’ she replies. ‘We could have been killed today, too, and somehow all this arguing seems so trivial after that. It was insensitive of me to rush into the village and think I was somehow entitled to change your way of life, which you and your family have had for centuries. I’m so embarrassed. I want to apologise to you in turn, and so does Andrew – don’t you, Andrew?’

  Andrew nods, although he doesn’t seem to be in quite such an altered state as his wife.

  ‘Accepted, of course,’ Archie replies graciously.

  ‘It was all so silly, anyway,’ Gwendolyn adds. ‘I can’t even get my own garden under control. Mr Pitt left it in such a state I don’t even know where to start with it. It was stupid of me to think I could transform the whole village when I can’t even transform my own garden.’

  ‘Bill Evershed could help you with that,’ Archie volunteers. ‘He lives down on Market Street – the far end, by the new housing estate – and he does a bit of landscaping. He’s got some good heavy equipment that will rip all that long grass and the weeds right out of the garden and churn up the ground, and once you’ve got rid of all that kind of stuff you can take your time and plan what you want to do with it. I’ll call him tomorrow and ask him to drop by.’

  ‘Thank you. That would be very kind.’

  ‘And – first things first – his brother Joe is a builder. We should ask him to come and look at the damage first thing in the morning. Well, we can’t leave it as it is, can we? He should at least be able to put some temporary boards up for us until we can get some new windows made, and he can clear away the worst of the mess so that we can at least get in and out of our front doors. Shall I see if he’s available?’

  ‘Yes please. That would be wonderful.’

  ‘And there is one funny thing about all this, isn’t there?’ Archie says.

  ‘What’s that then?’ Gwendolyn asks.

  ‘Well, the Home Guard managed to do what Hitler and his lot couldn’t do in five years of trying, didn’t they? They finally blew up The Ramblings.’

  Even Andrew sees the humour in that, and we all have a good laugh.

  ‘Well, that all sounds very positive,’ Ruth says. ‘Thank you both. I feel you’ve both come a long way. Don’t you, Robert?’

  ‘Very much so,’ Robert replies.

  ‘Does anyone feel differently about the case, now that we’ve cleared the air to some extent?’

  ‘I’m not sure what we’re even arguing about,’ Gwendolyn says, after a longish silence. ‘It’s not as if the Pitts ever made any use of the Middle Plot, is it? Archie, if you’re willing, I think we should treat it as a joint project, and see what we can do with it. If the lawyers can work it out, so that you can come on to the land and work it, as long as we can talk about what we want to do with it – what would you think about that?’

  ‘I’d be very happy with that, Gwendolyn,’ Archie replies. ‘I never really wanted to own the Plot all on my own. I didn’t have any use for that, but I didn’t know what else to do to get access to it. If we could work out some arrangement like that, I’m ready to drop the case and agree to it.’

  He offers her his hand. She takes it. Ruth turns to me.

  ‘Judge, if you could give us until after lunch tomorrow, that should be enough time for Robert and I to work on some wording and produce a draft agreement. We should at least be able to present you with a basic agreement, subject to liberty to apply if we need your help with the final version.’

  ‘They will both need the morning to secure their property after the damage,’ Robert adds. ‘We can work on the agreement while they do that.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agree immediately. ‘I’ll be ready to start at two o’clock, but let me know if you need any more time.’

  Andrew Pearce is taking orders for drinks. Robert, Ruth and I discreetly remove to a table closer to the bar, so that they don’t have to worry about saying the right thing in front of us. Of course, there is some small chance that being left alone together will cause the agreement to unravel as quickly as it was made, but there’s no sign of that at the moment. I get drinks in for the three of us.

  ‘So, does this kind of thing often happen in civil cases?’ I ask.

  ‘You’d be surprised how effective it can be if you can just find the right space for the parties to get together away from court,’ Ruth replies. ‘Admittedly, this was a bit unusual by any standards, but – well, whatever works.’

  ‘We hope today’s experience won’t put you off doing more civil cases, Judge,’ Robert adds, ‘and perhaps you’ll come out this way to see us again.’

  ‘Who knows? Perhaps I will,’ I reply.

  We toast each other silently.

  On arriving back at the George, aft
er some hesitation, I call Marjorie. It’s late now, and I’m not really expecting her to be awake; but she’s on her own – Nigel is in Frankfurt for work – her memories of yesterday continue to linger, and so she’s sitting up on the sofa with the lights dimmed, wide awake, with a mug of cocoa and a glass of something stronger, watching old films on TV. I regale her with the full story of the events of my day, and to my pleasure and relief she laughs uproariously.

  ‘I know it’s late at night,’ I say, ‘but may I ask you a technical question?’

  ‘At your own risk,’ she replies.

  ‘Well, if a member of the Home Guard buries sticky bombs in his neighbour’s plot during the war and then leaves them buried there for more than sixty years without saying anything, could that constitute evidence of adverse possession?’

  ‘Absolutely. Why do you ask?’

  I smile to myself. ‘Oh, nothing really. It’s just that I have a shrewd suspicion that the Barratt family are not quite the country bumpkins people like the Pearces take them for…’ I pause for a moment or two. ‘Tell me honestly, Marjorie, do you think I did the right thing?’

  ‘What, you mean getting everyone around the table together when they were all as pissed as newts?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, you don’t think it could all go horribly wrong, do you?’

  She is silent for some seconds.

  ‘Well, Charlie, sitting the parties down in a pub and plying them with drink probably isn’t in the best classical tradition of mediation. But apparently, it worked. I suppose the only potential for it to go wrong is if the parties wake up this morning with a hangover and start to get buyer’s remorse. As you know, until the ink’s dry on the settlement agreement, they’re free to change their minds, and I’m not sure I’d want all this coming out in the Court of Appeal.’

  ‘But counsel implied that things like this are all in a day’s work for you civil types.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies, ‘and you had good counsel in front of you, who wouldn’t have let it happen unless they were pretty sure of a good outcome. Besides, the sticky bomb trauma probably played just as much part in it as the drink. Sometimes, that kind of thing focuses people’s minds in a way a mere trip to court can’t. I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. Well done! You’ve successfully concluded your first civil case.’