by Peter Murphy
‘Yes.’
‘Before I ask you to name them, I need to ask you two other things. First, are you aware of the form in which we’re using their names during this trial?’
‘The initials they’re using to hide behind? Yes, I’m aware of them.’
‘There are reasons for that,’ Ginny said.
‘Yes, I’m sure there are.’
‘My second question is: how are you able to identify them? You’ve told us that your memory of the abuse is continuous from those days to the present time.’
‘Yes. Actually, I was able to identify Lord AB at the time. I should explain, my parents raised me to take an interest in current affairs. I think they put a copy of The Times in my hands before I could even read, and they paid for a subscription for me until I’d graduated from Cambridge. So I’ve always been very aware of people in the public eye. Lord AB was mentioned quite often.’
‘From which I take it that he was one of the men who abused you?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Who were the others?’
‘One was Sir CD. He was a Member of Parliament, and I think a minister at some point, but not one of those who’s always in the news. I probably read his name in The Times long before I saw a photograph of him. But I saw his photograph, if not during the period of the abuse, certainly within a year or two after it stopped.’
‘And the third man?’
‘The third man was the Right Reverend EF. I didn’t identify him until he became a bishop, which was just after I’d qualified as a solicitor, but I recognised him the first time I saw his photograph.’
‘So, this would be in…?’
‘I was admitted as a solicitor in 1956, so somewhere in that period.’
‘Was there any particular reason why you would remember Bishop EF?’
‘He was one of two men who made me rub his penis.’
‘The other being…?’
‘A man I can’t identify. He was present with EF sometimes. They seemed to be friends. All I remember about him is that he was German. I heard him speaking German, which I was used to hearing at home, because my father was a German scholar. But I’ve never seen a photograph of him, and I have no idea who he is, or was.’
‘Thank you, Woman B,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s all I have. My learned friend Mr Norris will have questions for you. Please wait there.’
25
‘Woman B,’ Norris began, ‘I don’t mean to ask you any questions simply in order to embarrass you.’
‘You won’t embarrass me,’ she replied. ‘I’m not the one in this courtroom who should be embarrassed.’
Norris nodded. ‘The abuse you claim you were subjected to must have taken place between 1940 and 1943, is that right?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘You told Audrey about it at the time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you tell her that you knew the identity of at least one of the men who’d been abusing you?’
‘I’m not sure. I might have – in Lord AB’s case, quite possibly. Not the others.’
‘And you told your parents about it during the Christmas holidays. Would that have been 1942 to 1943?’
‘I think it must have been: yes.’
‘Who was the next person you told, after your parents in 1942 to 1943?’
‘Detective Inspector Walsh.’
‘DI Walsh? The officer in charge of this case?’
Yes.’
‘And when did you tell DI Walsh?’
‘About a week ago.’
‘Just before this trial was due to start?’
‘Yes.’
‘In other words, after telling your parents in 1942 or 1943, you waited for thirty years to tell anyone else: is that right?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘You had never told your husband?’
‘I told my husband just after I’d spoken to Detective Inspector Walsh. I would have preferred not to, but as there was going to be a trial I didn’t think it was right to risk his finding out from some other source.’
‘Why didn’t you tell your husband before now?’
‘I think that’s a personal matter.’
‘Father Gerrard thinks it’s a personal matter that you’re giving evidence against him.’
‘Oh, really, my Lady…’ Ginny objected, throwing her notebook down on top of the bench in front of her.
‘I’m not going to keep telling you, Mr Norris,’ Judge Rees said. ‘I will not have you making that kind of snide remark in my court. If it happens again, I will consider taking further action.’
‘I’m not making snide remarks,’ Norris insisted. ‘I’m dealing with a witness who’s quite content to answer the questions she wants to answer, but is keen to avoid questions she doesn’t want to answer. The question of why she was silent on this subject for thirty years, but has suddenly come forward now, is relevant to the issues the jury have to consider.’
‘Then ask her about that,’ Judge Rees replied. ‘Whether or not she told her husband has nothing to do with it. That’s a matter for her.’
‘As your Ladyship pleases. Woman B, what was it that persuaded you to break cover after all these years, on the eve of trial?’
‘I didn’t want to. In fact, I told Detective Inspector Walsh, the first time she interviewed me, that I wouldn’t give evidence. But then I spoke to someone who persuaded me that it was my duty to speak out, to support Audrey and her daughter.’
‘And who was the person who had that magical effect on you?’
‘Julia Cathermole,’ Mary replied.
‘Julia Cathermole?’ Norris said, turning to look in the direction of the jury. ‘That wouldn’t by any chance be Audrey’s solicitor? It wouldn’t be that Julia Cathermole, would it?’
‘You know perfectly well who she is,’ Mary hit back.
‘Indeed I do. Where did this meeting take place?’
‘In my hotel room in London.’
‘Who initiated the meeting?’
‘Julia did. She called me at the Savoy.’
‘And what did Miss Cathermole say to you in your hotel room at the Savoy that persuaded you to change your mind, and break your silence after thirty years?’
Mary hesitated. ‘I don’t want to get her in trouble…’
‘You won’t,’ Judge Rees replied encouragingly, with a pointed glance at Norris.
Mary nodded. ‘She told me that Emily was Audrey’s daughter.’
‘And why would that make a difference?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d always assumed – naively, I suppose now, looking back – but I’d always assumed that the abuse stopped with my generation of girls. I’d told my parents and it stopped with me, and I suppose I assumed that other girls would do the same and it would stop with them. When Julia told me about Emily, I couldn’t believe it. It had been going on all this time, and no one had stopped it. I was heart-broken, and ashamed that I hadn’t spoken out. And I knew then that I couldn’t leave Audrey and Emily to face this on their own. I had a duty to speak out, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.’
‘So, it’s a matter of principle, is it?’
‘Yes, Mr Norris, it is. And if I’d known what was happening, I would have done it long ago. But I decided, after Julia had left, that I had to do something now, even at this late stage.’ She turned to the dock, and pointed a finger. ‘You don’t get to hurt little girls any more, Father Gerrard, you or your friends. This stops with me, here and now. It’s over.’
‘My Lady,’ Norris said, ‘would you kindly advise the witness that she is to address the jury, not the defendant?’
The judge shot him a withering look.
‘Please address the jury, Woman B,’ she said kindly, with a smile.
‘I
’m sorry, my Lady.’
‘Anything further, Mr Norris?’ Judge Rees asked.
‘Yes, my Lady. Woman B, you’re a solicitor, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’
‘So I don’t have to explain to you what corroboration means, do I?’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘You understand perfectly well that your evidence corroborates the evidence of Emily Marshall and Audrey Marshall?’
‘And their evidence corroborates mine.’
‘Indeed so. And they were in need of corroboration, weren’t they?’
‘I’m aware that the judge must direct the jury to look for corroboration of the evidence of children and that of complainants in sexual cases.’
‘And that it’s dangerous to convict in the absence of corroboration in those cases?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Miss Cathermole tell you that no other witness, either from Emily’s generation or yours, has come forward to provide corroboration?’
‘She did tell me that: yes.’
‘So you were well aware of how important your evidence would be in the context of this case.’
‘I was aware that it could make a difference, of course, and that is my intention.’
Norris nodded, smiling. ‘Tell me, Miss Cathermole – as a solicitor: what, in your professional opinion, would be a reasonable award of damages against Lancelot Andrewes School for the systematic sexual abuse of two generations of boarders?’
‘I’m a commercial lawyer. I don’t know…’
Ginny was on her feet. ‘My Lady, that is a grossly improper question.’
‘It’s a perfectly proper question,’ Norris insisted.
‘The witness has explained that she’s a commercial lawyer,’ the judge pointed out. ‘It’s not within her expertise.’
‘My Lady –’
‘Move on, Mr Norris –’
‘My Lady –’
The judge picked up a heavy legal tome and banged it down on the desk, startling everyone in court.
‘Move on, Mr Norris. Now.’
‘I was going to say, my Lady,’ Mary said, ‘that I don’t know the range of awards of damages in such a case, but I would hope it would be very substantial.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Norris continued, ‘because you would be one of the beneficiaries, wouldn’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Woman B, has it really not occurred to you, as a solicitor, that, if Father Gerrard is convicted in this case, Audrey’s next move will be to sue the school for damages?’
‘As a matter of fact, it’s not something I’d given any thought to,’ Mary replied. ‘But now that you mention it, it seems like a very good idea. I hope she does.’
‘In which case, you would be the first to jump on the bandwagon, wouldn’t you?’
Mary stared at Norris for some time.
‘Are you suggesting that I’m giving evidence to facilitate some civil action from which I might benefit?’
‘Well, you’re claiming to be one of the school’s victims, aren’t you?’
‘I am a victim.’
‘Then why wouldn’t you join in the action?’
‘I find that suggestion to be beyond contempt.’
‘That’s a “no”, is it?’
‘I don’t think I need to add to what I’ve said.’
‘My Lady, would you please instruct the witness to answer my question?’
‘She’s answered your question, Mr Norris,’ Judge Rees said.
26
‘My full name is Kenneth Marshall.’
‘And you are the husband of Audrey Marshall, who gave evidence yesterday and this morning?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘Are you a solicitor by profession?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell the jury briefly about your practice,’ Ben continued. ‘Are you based in Ely?’
‘Yes. We’re a two-man firm. We do family law, and small- to medium-range civil work, in and around Cambridgeshire. My partner, Greg Berman, also does a bit of crime in the local magistrates’ courts.’
‘In addition to your practice, have you been involved with the church in Ely?’
‘Yes. I was brought up in the Church of England, and I’ve always been quite involved with the cathedral and the diocese of Ely. I’ve done some fundraising for the cathedral. That’s how I met Audrey, as a matter of fact. She’s an administrator for the diocese, and we met at an event at the cathedral. After that, we ran into each other quite often, professionally and socially. We started seeing each other and one thing led to another.’
‘Yes,’ Ben said. ‘I may come back to that later. But for now, I want to move ahead. I think you and Audrey married in 1963, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Emily was born in 1965?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did Emily come to be a boarder at Lancelot Andrewes School?’
‘We’d talked about the kind of education we wanted for her. Of course, as an old girl of the school, Audrey had a preference for Lancelot Andrewes. But we didn’t see any way we could afford the fees, certainly not without putting a huge strain on our finances. So we were looking at various schools at the time. But then, Audrey’s boss at work told her about the special rates available for employees of the diocese, and when we looked into it, we found it had suddenly become affordable. The school had an excellent reputation, so I was quite happy about it.’
‘You live just a few miles from the school, don’t you? Couldn’t Emily have been a day girl?’
‘Yes, and if they hadn’t given us the special rate, that would have been the only way we could have managed it. But as it turned out, we were able to give her the choice. We left it up to her, and she chose to board. It surprised me a bit, to be honest, because she was always a bit shy, the kind of girl who kept herself to herself a lot at home. But the boarding really brought her out of her shell. It did her the world of good in terms of her self-confidence, and we were very happy about it.’
‘How old was Emily when she started at Lancelot Andrewes?’
‘She was seven. She started in the autumn of 1972.’
Ben paused.
‘Mr Marshall, did there come a time towards the end of January of this year when Emily was at home, and said something that alarmed you and your wife?’
‘Yes, it was a Sunday evening. She came home for weekends sometimes. Actually, it was Audrey she told. Emily hadn’t been her usual self for some time. Something was off. We couldn’t put a finger on it, but we’d been worried about her for a while; so Audrey and I agreed that she would speak to her as she was getting ready for bed. When Audrey came back downstairs, she was crying uncontrollably and shaking like a leaf. It took me ages just to calm her down enough to find out what was going on.’
‘What did Audrey tell you?’ Ben glanced over at Anthony Norris. ‘I take it there’s no objection?’
Norris shook his head. ‘The jury have heard it all before.’
‘I’m obliged. You can answer, Mr Marshall.’
‘Emily had told Audrey that men were touching her at school. How much detail she gave, I really can’t say because I wasn’t there. But it was obvious from Audrey’s reaction that by touching, she meant something sexual.’
‘Mr Marshall, it’s already been pointed out to the jury that you didn’t go to the police for almost a week after Emily had told Audrey about being touched. Please explain to the jury why that was.’
He smiled and nodded. ‘I know it seems strange. I would like to say that it was always our intention to go to the police. But Audrey has a senior position in the diocese, and it occurred to me immediately that we would be in a very delicate position if we reported it locally.’
‘What do you mean by a “ver
y delicate position”?’
‘She worked for the diocese and I was a financial supporter. And… Ely is one of those places where everyone knows everyone else. I’ve had experience dealing with the diocese professionally, and their people have a reputation locally for taking a hard line when it comes to defending themselves against potential claims. I’m not saying they would do anything illegal, but they know how to put pressure on you.’
‘But the diocese isn’t responsible for Lancelot Andrewes School, is it?’
‘No. But it’s the same cast of characters. The diocesan solicitor, a man called John Singer, also represents Lancelot Andrewes, and I’d had dealings with Singer before.’
‘Can you give us any examples of that kind of pressure from your own knowledge?’
‘Once or twice I represented families whose child had been victimised when a priest in the diocese, shall we say, went off the rails. Before I could even interview them they would receive a visit from Singer – as I said, nothing illegal, but his message was always: don’t rock the boat; think of the Church; we’ll take care of it in-house; leave it to us; Father so-and-so won’t be a problem again, we promise. It’s surprising how effective that kind of thing can be in a small tight-knit community based around a cathedral. We thought we would be particularly vulnerable, given the close relationship we both had with the diocese.’
‘In the light of those concerns, Mr Marshall, what did you decide to do?’
‘I decided that we should get legal advice about how to proceed, specifically about how to go over the heads of the local police. I’m not a criminal lawyer, and it’s not the kind of thing I felt comfortable trying to do on my own.’
‘Did you contact a solicitor?’
‘Yes. I called Julia Cathermole. Greg and I had referred a case to her some time before, because she had the reputation of being well connected. Her firm did an excellent job with the case, and I thought, even if she didn’t know how to advise us herself, she would know someone who could.’
‘And soon after you called, did Miss Cathermole arrange a conference with Miss Castle and myself, during which we met you and your wife, and discussed the questions you had?’
