Wig Betrayed (5 page)

The next day, Sir Fred lurched to his feet plonking one chubby hand down on the lectern in front of him. A carafe of water wobbled ominously at the edge of the table as his other gesticulating hand brushed against it.

“Members of the jury, My Lord. I appear in this matter to prosecute with my learned and gallant junior, Major Rashleigh, from the Army Prosecuting Authority.”

I winced at the flowery language. The tag ‘gallant' was normally only used to refer to those Members of Parliament who had served in the armed forces.

“The prisoner here,” Borler prodded the air in the general direction of Private Merse, “represented by Mr. Clibbery, stands charged with the crime of theft. This we will prove beyond all reasonable doubt. Mr Merse wantonly stole General Hudibrass's golf club – an act of almost unimaginable grossness due to the exalted rank of its lawful owner.”

The Matron General was shifting in her seat in irritation and I felt it was time to intervene.

“Sir Fred – one or two things relating to the correct forms of address at a court martial: the military members should be described as ‘members of the board', me as ‘sir', and the accused as ‘Private Merse'.”

Borler's eyes, bulging and bloodshot, goggled at me.

“Quite so, quite so – the court will be aware that I am accustomed to appear at the Old Bailey or other courts of that ilk and not well acquainted with the procedures of this kind of tribunal.”

His pomposity was beginning to grate on me, but I kept my voice level.

“Moreover, Sir Fred – we are dealing with a case of theft
simpliciter
. The fact that the club belonged to a general or to any lesser person makes no difference whatsoever in this trial. Perhaps you can proceed and just tell us about the facts.”

“The facts, yes, yes....now,
where's
the police report?”

He fumbled amongst his papers frantically and, in doing so, finally knocked over his carafe of water which emptied its contents onto the floor and was fortunately absorbed by the carpet. As he continued to huff and puff, a faint aroma of stale alcohol stole across the room.

“Sir, members – regrettably, I am unable to track down at this precise moment the document that I require. However, the wheels of justice need not cease to turn – you know of the allegation – I shall call the evidence before you without further delay.”

Glancing to my left, I noticed that Brigadier Drubb's nose was twitching. The smell of stale booze had not missed her either. Meanwhile, Sir Fred, his flabby face as white as chalk subsided in his seat and whispered to his junior. He obviously had not read the brief, I surmised, but relied on there being a comprehensive police report (which was always available in civil cases) to help him out. What he did not know was that, in military cases, the Royal Military Police were responsible for collating the witness statements only and did not write a report before handing the whole process over to their lawyers.

Major Rashleigh now rose instead and was about to address the court when a retching sound emanated from Borler. For a moment, I thought he might be having a heart attack but then guessed the ghastly truth – the man was about to be sick! And he was, vomiting straight into his wig which he snatched from his head just in time. That venerable piece of headgear was used in a way which must have been totally unprecedented in legal history. Staring in horror at its stinking contents, Sir Fred fled the courtroom without further ado.

“Ugh!”

The dead silence that followed was broken by Rashleigh's exclamation of disgust as he flopped back into his seat. I felt it wise to adjourn at that point, and was soon visited by a young staff captain who had been responsible for Borler's movements whilst in Germany. It was confirmed that the QC had got so drunk in the VIP lounge at Heathrow Airport that he was not fit to catch a flight until the following day. Having finally arrived, he was duly accommodated in the Berlin Garrison's senior officers' mess where he had met up with the mess bore (a retired colonel employed as a blanket counter in the stores), and the two had stayed up until the early hours drinking and yarning about their experiences of National Service.

“So Sir Fred's now been prevailed upon to withdraw altogether, Major Rashleigh will take over the case. He's asking for a short adjournment to get his tackle into order,” the embarrassed captain concluded.

“All right, half an hour then. It's a simple enough case.”

When Rashleigh finally rose to his feet, the smell of stale booze and vomit still lingered in the air. Wrinkling his nose, he flipped his hand open, palm upwards, as he spoke.

“Sir, members, I believe that you have been told that Sir Fred has withdrawn from the case. I believe that you know enough about the facts already so we can proceed. However, in order for us to do so it will be necessary for the court to travel down to Brockendorf and reassemble at the Fortress to hear the General's evidence.”

“Why? That means even more delay!” I said, appalled.

“Unfortunately, the General indicated that he was only available in Berlin for a day. He's now back at his headquarters and can't come back.”

I was furious.

“Major Rashleigh – this case was specifically sent to Berlin so that it could be tried outside General Hudibrass's chain of command. What you are suggesting is that we hear a vital part of the case – his evidence – back at BAOR headquarters. It's simply intolerable!”

Rashleigh looked pained.

“Well, that's what I told Colonel Kayward also but he said it was just too bad. The general simply refuses to return.”

“Mr Clibbery, what do you say?”

“Quite inappropriate, sir, for the General to remain on his patch when giving evidence. Defeats the purpose of removing the case to Berlin.”

It was at this point that Brigadier Drubb intervened.

“Tell the General that he must do what the judge advocate requires – that's now a direct order.”

“Does that help?” she whispered to me. “Even a general can't disobey the command of a court martial, surely?”

I was not entirely certain. Normally, only a field marshal could order a general to do anything but common sense eventually prevailed after I indicated we were not going to move in any circumstances.

So finally, General Hudibrass stood before us like any other witness in a court of law. He saluted the seated members of the board, which I'm glad to say was not reciprocated. Queen's Regulations made it clear that a military witness attending a court martial should salute it as a matter of respect but it would be inappropriate for it to be returned by the board.

“You may sit, General,” Brigadier Drubb said in her best ‘nurse in charge' voice.

Rashleigh took him briefly through his evidence-in-chief which was simple enough, confirming that he found his favourite club to be missing shortly after playing at the Gut Larchenhof club. Now, it was Clibbery's turn to cross-examine.

“General, because of your senior rank you are entitled, are you not, to an official driver whether on or off duty?”

“Being in command 24 hours a day, I have a driver available to me at all times, yes.”

“But the same principle wouldn't apply to a golf caddy, would it? Your exalted position entitles you to many things – but not that, surely?”

There was a pause.

“The golf caddies are drawn from the pool of service personnel who provide the drivers.”

“Quite so. But being a caddy is hardly the same thing as being a driver, is it?”

“Not exactly, no. But the driver doubles up as the caddy – he's still on duty throughout.”

“That being the case, General, do you reimburse the caddies for the extra work?”

“Reimburse? I don't follow what you mean. These soldiers are simply carrying out their duty.”

“But what they actually
do
for you is over and above their duty, surely?”

“Certainly not – and why should I pay them? After all, playing golf is an integral part of fulfilling my social obligations in Germany. I do have a certain position to maintain here, commanding the British Army of the Rhine.”

“I see.”

An undertone of sarcasm had crept into Clibbery's tone.

“So, serving his commander-in-chief
in any capacity
should always be regarded by a soldier as a singular honour, in your view. Despite that privilege, did you ever thank them for doing it?”

The General looked nonplussed.

“Generals are not in the habit of thanking private soldiers.”

“So the answer to my question must be
no
. Indeed, Private Merse's case is that you never once thanked him, even though being a golf enthusiast himself, he was very good at the job and caddied more than anyone else as a result.”

“There was no need for me to thank him – whether he was a good caddy or not.”

“Really? Well now let's turn to the occasion of the tournament at the Gut Larchenhof Club – shortly before Private Merse went absent. He wasn't able to drive a car that day, so you must have had another driver?”

The General frowned.

“If you say so – I can't really remember.”

“In fact, Private Merse had been disqualified from driving by his commanding officer for a drink-driving offence some days before but was still ordered to attend. You were determined to have him with you as your caddy, weren't you?”

“I don't recall the details...”

“Well, Private Merse actually asked Colonel Kayward if he could travel in the same vehicle as you that day, General – were you aware of his request?”

Hudibrass glared across the court.

“A General Officer Commanding cannot be seen sharing his vehicle with a private soldier – it's quite unthinkable!”

“That's what Merse was told – so he travelled by train instead. Anyway, he duly arrived at the club on time and, as it happened, the tournament continued well into the evening, didn't it?”

“There was a play-off which didn't involve me and by then I had returned to the clubhouse anyway.”

“Were you aware that just after you left, Merse was involved in an accident whilst taking your clubs back there?”

The General thought for a moment.

“Somebody may have mentioned it...”

“In fact, he tripped up and fell into a bunker injuring his leg. Did it ever cross your mind
how
he was going to travel back to the garrison?”

“Not really – I had to leave for Brockendorf rather quickly in order not to be late for an official function.”

“So poor Private Merse didn't even have time to stow your clubs in the back of the official car, did he? With an injured leg and lugging your clubs, he was expected to make his own way back to the garrison – all on a Sunday evening!”

“Indeed, I am not responsible for the movements of private soldiers whilst on duty.”

“Mr Clibbery,” I felt it was time to intervene, “clearly, the purpose of these questions is to establish that your client may well have harboured a grievance against the General. Can I take it that he doesn't dispute that he actually
kept
the club?”

“Oh, no. My client has always admitted that after returning the golf bag he went absent without leave, taking that club with him.”

“In that case,” I observed, “what did he ultimately intend to do with it? We will hear that he placed it in a cupboard initially, I believe.”

“Had he not been arrested, he would have written to the General offering to return the club – after being paid something. The defence case is that he felt he had a claim of right, or to put it another way, wasn't dishonest in keeping it until he had been compensated for his work as the General's caddy.”

Hudibrass turned bright red.

“You mean that Merse is saying that he stole the club because I owed him money for caddying. That's quite preposterous!”

Rashleigh now jumped to his feet.

“Sir,
in law
, I must agree. Merse just acted out of
spite
. Taking the club in those circumstances would be thoroughly dishonest.”

“Be silent, Major Rashleigh,” I snapped. “Whether what Merse did was dishonest or not is a matter for the board and not the prosecution. You will have an opportunity to comment on the weight of the evidence at a later stage.”

Suddenly, General Hudibrass replaced his headdress and stood up.

“I've had enough of these damned fool questions. Merse can't deny that he
kept
the club so my valuable time is being wasted!”

I was about to open my mouth when Brigadier Drubb beat me to it.

“No,
no
, General,” she said in her best matronly voice, “you can't leave until the
court
allows you to do so.”

Hudibrass looked at her as if he was about to explode.

“For my part, he doesn't need to remain any longer,” Clibbery concluded smoothly, “because I have no further questions for him.”

With the General's departure, the atmosphere of the court returned to normal and the trial proceeded. Later, it was Clibbery's turn to examine his client.

“Private Merse, have a look at the club, please? It's a handcrafted, silver-alloyed one and the agreed statement of evidence given by Lady Hudibrass indicated that it cost some £300. Just look at the base of the shaft, would you? Will you read the writing inscribed there.”

“Yes:
To darling Hidgy, from his beloved Pompi.
”

There were giggles in court as Clibbery explained, “Pet names for the General and his wife, sir – all contained in her statement. Private Merse, did you ever intend to
sell
that club?”

“Hardly likely, sir – not with that inscription on it.”

“No. Now, let's see what appears above the inscription? Ah, the BAOR crest and the date Lady Hudibrass gave the club to her husband. So tell the board
why
you took the club in the first place?”