by Peter Murphy
* * *
Tuesday Morning
I creep quietly along the judicial corridor to my chambers in the hope of a few moments alone with Elsie and Jeanie’s latte and the Times before returning to the saga of Foggin Island. I have been worrying all night about what Gulivant is doing with the case of Wayne Martin, and I am actually trying to convince myself that if I hide away quietly, no one will be able to disturb me with any dreadful news from court five – a silly fallacy if ever there was one. But remarkably, it seems to work; at any rate, I make it into court without any reports of fresh disasters.
Warnock takes a deep breath.
‘Your Honour, yesterday I outlined the history of Foggin Island, and the fact that Great Britain has never taken active steps to occupy or assert sovereignty over the Island except for very isolated acts of lighting beacons in times of emergency. We will show that such limited acts are insufficient in law to give rise to an occupation. All of that history is in the documentary evidence which your Honour has, and my learned friend has been good enough to indicate that it is not disputed to any material extent. I now turn to the occupation or conquest of Foggin Island by the defendant, and this is a matter which the Crown does dispute, and about which I must call evidence. I call the Secretary of State of Foggin Island, Mr Eustace O’Toole.’
I feel some sense of disappointment.
‘Mr Warnock, I would have thought, given his claim to the title of King, that the defendant himself would have been in charge of any occupation of the Island.’
‘He was, your Honour.’
‘In that case, I would have expected him to give evidence about it.’
Warnock nods, conceding the logic of my comment. He seems hesitant.
‘Your Honour, as the defendant does not recognise the jurisdiction of the court over him, he takes the view that it would be, shall we say, inappropriate for him to give evidence.’
‘It might be, shall we say, more persuasive if he did.’
‘Yes, your Honour,’ Warnock concedes.
But it’s not going to happen. Instead, Eustace O’Toole, Secretary of State to His Majesty the King of Foggin Island, continues his slow walk to the witness box, and takes the oath with a pronounced Irish brogue. Warnock recovers himself and proceeds.
‘Mr O’Toole, please give the court your full name.’
‘Eustace Gerald O’Toole.’
‘Where do you reside?’
‘Care of the Royal Residence, Kingdom of Foggin Island.’
‘What is your occupation?’
‘I have the honour to serve as Secretary of State for KFI.’
‘I am sorry, Mr O’Toole,’ I interrupt. ‘What did you call it? KFC?’
‘I called it KFI, your Honour, short for the Kingdom of Foggin Island. Many States these days adopt a short acronym for diplomatic purposes, for example USA for the United States of America, RSA for the Republic of South Africa –’
‘Yes. I see. Thank you.’
‘Not at all, your Honour.’
‘When you speak of Foggin Island being a kingdom,’ Warnock asks, ‘does that imply that you recognise a person as being the King of Foggin Island?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Will you please identify that person for the court?’
‘The defendant, otherwise known as Walter Freedland Orlick. He is the King of Foggin Island.’
‘And is it right that, when you refer to Foggin Island, you refer to the territory I identified to his Honour yesterday afternoon using the map?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The island in the English Channel?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The island the defendant, together with yourself and Miss Callaghan, occupied or invaded?’
‘Correct, sir.’
‘Tell us briefly how the occupation was accomplished.’
To judge by his manner, O’Toole regards the question as one too obvious to require an answer.
‘His Majesty had purchased a large power boat during a stay on the Isle of Wight,’ he replies. ‘We got in the boat with enough supplies and personal effects to keep us going, we took the boat to Foggin Island, disembarked and planted the flag.’ He looks around the court, as if to ask those assembled how else you would occupy or invade an island. ‘That was it, really.’
‘Thank you. Would you please outline for the court your duties as Secretary of State?’
‘To deal with various matters of state on His Majesty’s behalf, including relations with foreign states and international organisations.’
I think briefly about trying to forbid O’Toole from referring to the defendant as His Majesty, but I soon realise that it would be an exercise in futility and would serve only to increase the temperature in the courtroom. Warnock has carefully positioned a number of files within easy reach.
‘Your Honour, there are a number of exhibits I would like to show to the witness. Your Honour has copies. If the usher would be kind enough?’
Dawn carries the files over to the witness box and deposits them in front of the Secretary of State.
‘Mr O’Toole, please look at the first file, Exhibit D one. Can you tell his Honour what this is?’
O’Toole carefully dons reading glasses and peruses the file.
‘This is a file of correspondence passing between myself and the Secretary-General of the United Nations.’
‘Dealing with what subject?’
‘My request that KFI be admitted as a member of the United Nations, and that the United Nations should invite its member states to recognise His Majesty as both the de jure and de facto lawful government of Foggin Island.’
‘And does your letter give a detailed account of the occupation or conquest of the Island by the defendant and yourself?’
‘And by Miss Suzy Callaghan.’
‘Yes, quite so.’
‘Yes, it is fully described.’
I skim through the file, all four pages of it.
‘What was the Secretary-General’s response to this request?’ I ask. I see Mapleleaf smirking.
‘He acknowledges receipt of my letter and undertakes to look into the matter,’ O’Toole replies.
‘Has he ever provided any further response?’
‘Not yet, your Honour. Our experience is that these things often take some time.’
I nod to Warnock.
‘Exhibit D two, please, Mr O’Toole. What is this?’
‘Correspondence between myself and the Secretary-General of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, containing an offer from KFI to participate in certain military exercises, without for the time being seeking full membership.’
Even Warnock seems a bit bemused by this.
‘What role would Foggin Island be in a position to play in military exercises?’ he asks.
‘His Majesty would authorise the lighting of beacons,’ he replies. ‘They can be very useful in certain situations, as in the cases you mentioned to the court yesterday.’
‘Exhibit D three?’
‘Correspondence between myself and UNESCO asking that Foggin Island be designated a World Heritage Site.’
Warnock is looking at me.
‘I’m not going to ask,’ I say.
‘Not yet. It takes time, your Honour,’ O’Toole volunteers.
Warnock decides it is time to change the subject.
‘Mr O’Toole, how many people live on Foggin Island?’
‘Three, sir.’
‘And those would be …?’
‘His Majesty, myself, and Miss Callaghan.’
‘Yes. Now, do you and Miss Callaghan recognise any particular person or persons as constituting the de jure or de facto Government of Foggin Island?’
‘Yes, sir. As I said to the Secretary-General of the United Nations in my
letter, we recognise the defendant, His Majesty King Walter I, as both the de jure and de facto Government of the Kingdom.’
‘Yes.’
O’Toole turns to me.
‘There is something I would like to add, your Honour, if I may?’
‘By all means,’ I reply.
‘His Majesty is not a despot, your Honour. He is a constitutional monarch, in the sense that he knows better than to try and have his own way with Miss Callaghan and myself about everything. He has to listen to our point of view.’
‘A remarkable exercise in democracy,’ I say.
Soon afterwards, Warnock abandons O’Toole to cross-examination.
Mapleleaf rises to his full height slowly in the hope of looking menacing.
‘Mr O’Toole, let me see if I have understood this correctly. The defendant bases his position as a sovereign on the fact that, together with you and Miss Callaghan, he went to the Island by boat and disembarked? Is that right?’
‘We occupied the Island, sir, yes.’
‘Well, when you say you occupied it, was there anyone there when you arrived?’
‘There was not, sir.’
‘No sign of habitation?’
‘None at all.’
‘And you took this to mean that the Island was unclaimed, did you? Virgin territory, waiting to be explored?’
‘Exactly, sir.’
‘Did it strike you as odd that there should be a piece of virgin territory so close to the coast of Great Britain?’
‘Not really. We assumed that people had been to the Island before, but we concluded that the Island was so small that the Government didn’t think it worth taking possession of.’
‘How do you know the Government has not taken possession of it?’
‘We have never been shown any document suggesting that they did.’
O’Toole makes an interesting point. I have been waiting for the prosecution to produce a smoking gun, some kind of deed of title, some evidence that someone in a position of authority took some interest in the place at some time during the past seven hundred years. But so far, there has been nothing except the lighting of beacons. Mapleleaf seems to move on to the next question rather quickly.
‘Was there anything else to support your assumption?’
‘There was no flag.’
‘Flag?’
‘It is the usual practice for an occupying country to plant its flag on a territory. We found no evidence of a flag at all.’
‘I see,’ Mapeleaf says. He seizes his copy of Exhibit D one. ‘But you followed the usual practice? You planted a flag, did you?’
‘We did, sir.’
‘Yes.’ He opens the file and removes the final page, which he holds up. ‘This is the flag, is it, or at least a drawing of it?’
‘It is, sir.’
‘With the Royal Coat of Arms on it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The coat of arms seems to consist of a sword pointing downwards through a shield argent, flanked by two ferrets rampant, and a –’
‘They are leopards,’ O’Toole insists indignantly.
‘Are they?’ Mapleleaf holds the drawing up to the light and squints. ‘Well… this is not the official document from the College of Arms, I suppose.’
‘Can we move on, Mr Mapleleaf?’ I suggest.
‘Certainly, your Honour. Let me return to the question of the Island’s population of three. Where do you all live?’
‘In Foggin City, which has been designated the capital city of the Kingdom.’
‘Is it also the Kingdom’s only city?’
‘For the time being.’
‘And does it consist, for the time being, of five large tents?’
‘That is one way of putting it.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Such as what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Mr O’Toole. A bank? A launderette? A club which has a reciprocal arrangement with the Travellers?’
‘Mr Mapleleaf…’
‘Sorry, your Honour. What was your intent in occupying the Island? Why did you want to live there?’
‘We were exercising our right to self-determination under international law.’
‘Indeed? The right to self-determination of peoples?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you, the defendant, and Miss Callaghan constitute a “people”, do you?’
‘We are not aware of any minimum number required to constitute a “people” under international law.’
‘But why does that involve going to Foggin Island? Why couldn’t you have exercised your right to self-determination in, say, Liverpool?’
O’Toole is not sure how to answer that one.
‘Let me help you,’ Mapleleaf offers. ‘You exercised a bit of self-determination in Liverpool a few years ago – you, the defendant and Miss Callaghan – didn’t you? It ended up in the Crown Court, didn’t it? What was the charge? Conspiracy to defraud, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it,’ O’Toole protests loudly.
‘I happen to have a copy of the learned judge’s sentencing remarks,’ Mapleleaf adds. ‘“A sophisticated confidence trick planned and executed by professional fraudsters”. Ring any bells, Mr O’Toole?’
‘That was a misunderstanding.’
‘Was it indeed? Well, there has been another mis-understanding, just recently, hasn’t there? Isn’t it true that your occupation of Foggin Island just happened to coincide with the police taking an interest in your business and financial affairs?’
‘Pure coincidence, sir. And we are honest business people. We have nothing to hide.’
‘Oh, come off it, Mr O’Toole. The police were hot on your trail again, weren’t they? That’s why Foggin Island suddenly seemed such a good idea.’
‘Certainly not. It was a question of self-determination.’
Mapleleaf pauses for breath.
‘Does Miss Callaghan occupy any office of State?’
‘She is a Minister without Portfolio.’
‘Do her responsibilities as such include the area of fiscal policy?’
O’Toole takes some time to ponder this change of direction.
‘No, sir.’
‘Do yours?’
‘Not as such. His Majesty keeps close control of the country’s economy.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he does. Where are the funds of the Kingdom kept?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I thought you said you had nothing to hide.’
‘We don’t… in the Central Bank of Foggin Island.’
‘Thank you. Does the Bank have a governor?’
‘His Majesty holds that position on a temporary basis, pending the recruitment of a suitably qualified individual.’
‘These things take some time, don’t they, Mr O’Toole?’ I ask.
He nods emphatically. ‘They do, your Honour.’
‘And where is the Bank situated?’ Mapleleaf asks. ‘In one of the tents?’
O’Toole shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably.
‘No, pending the construction of a suitable secure building, the bank is housed offshore.’
‘I see. Not in Luxembourg, by any chance?’
‘Since you ask, yes.’
‘In the same building as the offices of Foggin Enterprises SA?’
‘I believe so.’
‘What is the value of the Kingdom’s assets, held by the bank?’
Mapleleaf is smelling blood. Of course, if he could start to prove his case of fraud and money laundering before the trial even starts he would be well pleased, and O’Toole seems a perfect vehicle. But there is a problem. O’Toole is not a defendant, at least not yet, and he is not legally represented. Much as I am cheering Mapleleaf on
in my mind, I have to intervene.
‘Mr Mapeleaf, if you are going to pursue this line of questioning, I shall have to warn the witness that he is not obliged to answer any question he thinks may incriminate him, and if he so requests, I shall have to give him time to take legal advice.’
Mapleleaf sees the point immediately.
‘I will not pursue it. I have nothing further, your Honour.’
And so to lunch. An oasis of calm in a desert of chaos.
I am the last to arrive. At least today I have a nice turkey breast and Emmenthal sandwich from Elsie and Jeanie’s, and the memory of the cheese omelette has faded. Gulivant is engaged in some conversation with Legless, which they are both finding amusing, something that happened to a mutual acquaintance at a hunt ball. I wait for a lull in the conversation.
‘Everything going well with Wayne Martin, Stephen?’
The smile wanes.
‘Oh, there’s been another point of law,’ he says.
Legless almost chokes on a mouthful of carrot and cumin soup.
‘I am probably going to regret asking,’ I say, ‘but what point would that be?’
‘The prosecution want to put in his two previous convictions as evidence of bad character.’
‘Yes, I am sure they do,’ I reply. ‘They are both fairly recent convictions for the same kind of offence.’
I am quite familiar with Wayne Martin’s record. I presided over one of his previous trials, and I seem to recall that Marjorie did the other.
