Wig Betrayed (7 page)

Gafford opened the door at a time when, by prior arrangement, I knew his wife wouldn't be in. I was determined to say my piece before he had a chance to speak.

“No wonder you wanted to get rid of this,” I said, dangling the medal in front of him. “Who wouldn't, in your situation? Your wife has told me that you were kicked out of the army by a court martial and there wasn't even a judge advocate officiating!”

About to slam the door in my face, Gafford's look of fury turned into a frown.

“You're the chap who bought the puppy from us, aren't you and later rang me! My wife's obviously been talking. Anyway, what the hell would you
know about any of this?”

“Oh enough, I think. You see, I happen to be a
judge advocate and, from what I've gathered, I suspect a gross injustice was done to you.”

There was a long pause. Gafford sighed.

“You'd better come in then.”

Taking me to a book-lined room which was obviously his study, he offered me a beer.

“That's very kind of you, thank you.”

“Make yourself comfortable whilst I go and fetch it.”

Curious always as to people's reading material I glanced at the bookshelves which seemed to contain German novels in the main with a smattering of English tomes mainly about gardening. On top of one shelf, a photograph of a much younger Frau Gafford was prominently displayed.

“That's my Beatrix,” Gafford said returning to the room and giving me the beer, “when we first married. I met her when I was posted to Brockendorf in 1947 not long after the war. Her mother had been killed in an air raid. Her father…well, his name was Fritz Birnbaum...have you ever heard of him?”

I shook my head.

“No reason why you should have done, really. Although he was in the SS, he wasn't in the top echelons of the Nazi party. He disappeared after the war and Beatrix didn't know whether he was alive or dead. Then the British Military Police discovered him in Hanover. He was tried for war crimes relating to the shooting of a group of elderly Jews in Poland and he was hanged in 1948. But if you
really
want to hear the whole story, I'll start at the beginning.”

“I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

Gafford sighed and made his way to a sideboard. After extracting a bottle of German brandy from it, he poured himself a large measure.

“It happened a long time ago and I've never talked about it before. It will take a while, I'm afraid...”

* * *

“When I was posted to Brockendorf, Beatrix was working in the garrison as an interpreter. As I had been appointed the garrison liaison officer dealing with the local populace, naturally I saw a great deal of her and one thing led to another. We fell in love but remained discreet about our relationship. Fraternization, as such, with the Germans was no longer forbidden but nor was it exactly encouraged.

“She lived with her grandfather, her mother's father, here in Wickrath but Beatrix didn't come from this area. She had been brought up and educated in Berlin where she learned English and only left at the end of the war. As her father held a good position in the SS, the family had been comfortably housed in a flat in Wansee but that was destroyed by a massive bomb in April 1945 which killed her mother. Her father vanished shortly afterwards.

“With her father gone and her mother killed, Beatrix could only come down here and live with her grandfather – a local farmer. Then, in 1948, her father was arrested. Beatrix went up to Hanover to see him one last time before his execution. You could hardly blame her – he was still her father, whatever he had done. I couldn't allow her to go on her own even though I wasn't allowed to leave. But I went anyway and that's when our problems really began.

“An English journalist, rooting about for a good story, got wind of it and we were exposed in a daily newspaper: ‘
English Officer falls for Nazi killer's daughter
'. You can just imagine it.

“I was in real trouble. Beatrix resigned from her job in the garrison but, of course, I went on visiting her. We were in love and she couldn't be blamed for her father's crimes. An investigation started over my being AWOL and this caused a problem. I was put under mess arrest pending what the authorities intended to do, which might be a reprimand from higher authority or a court martial. Although I continued to use the mess facilities, things were a bit tense. I wasn't exactly sent to Coventry, but people avoided me all the same. Then a new adjutant arrived, Captain Nathan. By now, it was the Christmas period and he was obliged to remain in the garrison as duty officer. So there were just the two of us in the mess.

“One evening, we started chatting in the bar before dinner. He'd heard that I liked cards, which was true; I'd played poker over the years although never for very high stakes. Anyway, he suggested that we play later on and ask the bar staff to join us in a game of brag after dinner. Gambling wasn't normally allowed in the mess, certainly not with the other ranks, but it was Christmas and the usual rules were relaxed.

“We ate alone in the dining room and didn't exchange much conversation – although, at one point, he asked me if I had plans to marry. Realizing he must have known about Beatrix, I became a bit defensive and blurted out that I was going to marry her, come what may, when all the fuss had died down. He didn't react at all but just stared at me for a while before leaving the room abruptly saying he'd go to fetch some cards.

“After he returned, we went back to the bar and joined the mess staff, a corporal and a lance corporal for a game. The stakes weren't very high. A couple of marks initially but, with brag, which is substantially a bluffing game, they soon increased rapidly. We played several rounds before the lance corporal dropped out and, with just the three of us, the game became more competitive. Nathan began to lose. Looking back, I don't think he was really concentrating to be honest. Sometimes I caught him looking at me in a contemplative sort of way too. I didn't think much of it at the time but now I suspect he was forming a plan.

“About one in the morning, we packed up for the night and the corporal went to lock up the premises. I'd done quite well – a lot better than Nathan, in fact. Then he said something curious: ‘
Enjoy your winnings, Gafford – you may need them more than you think!
'

“I didn't meet Nathan again. He was posted to Berlin in the New Year. Then, in late January, I appeared before my commanding officer on a charge of Conduct to the Prejudice and Good Order and Discipline. It averred that I dishonestly obtained monies from Captain Nathan during the course of a card game by false means, namely by the use of certain playing cards marked by me in advance. I was absolutely astounded by this allegation which obviously had no foundation whatsoever.

“A few days later, papers relating to this charge – I was to be prosecuted for being AWOL as well – were served on me. Nathan had made a statement that I'd provided the cards for the game initially. That, of course, was a damn lie. He went on to say that he had become suspicious of the skill I was showing and, when I went to the lavatory at the end of the evening, he examined the cards. The more valuable ones – kings, queens, and aces were all marked by a thumbnail. He produced the cards as an exhibit: they were of an ordinary kind which anyone could buy at the NAAFI.

“I was astounded. Why would Nathan perjure himself so blatantly? Only later did I learn that his mother's family – all Polish Jews apparently – had been exterminated at Auschwitz.

“Anyway, a court martial was convened at Brockendorf. The president had formerly sat on a British military tribunal trying war criminals, although not on the one that had dealt with Beatrix's father, obviously, and was very experienced, so no judge advocate was called for. I represented myself, with the help of a defending officer but it has to be said he didn't show much enthusiasm for the role.

“At the actual hearing, a problem arose. The Berlin Airlift had just begun and Captain Nathan was now on operational duty, so couldn't attend. Consequently, I was asked if I would object to his evidence being read. I replied by saying that as it was his word against mine I needed to challenge his evidence. The president said that they would have due regard to that, but the best course was for the hearing to proceed. No-one had any idea when Captain Nathan would be available, after all. So that was that. As a result, I never had the chance to cross-examine him.”

I was horrified.

“You agreed, but that means you never had the opportunity to test his evidence or even whether he looked as if he was telling the truth!”

“Well, the president did say that they would bear all that in mind.”

“Bear it in mind! Is that all? If there'd been a judge advocate officiating he would have declared that a fair trial couldn't possibly take place. It's just appalling.”

Gafford sighed.

“Anyway, they found me guilty and dismissed me from the service, with disgrace. I thought that they might confiscate my medal too, but later I was informed I could keep it – once a war hero, always a war hero apparently – but that meant nothing now.”

Sipping his brandy he paused, lost in thought. I was desperate to hear how he came to be awarded the medal in the first place, but did not want to push him too far all at once. As if he knew what I was thinking, he gave a wry smile.

“In for a penny, in for a pound, eh, Mr Judge Advocate – or can we call each other by our first names now? Mine's Roland, by the way.”

“And I'm Charles. Please tell me more about how you acquired the medal.”

Gafford continued his tale.

* * *

“I was second-in-command of an infantry company at the time of the D-Day invasion in 1944. The regiment were deep in Germany by now and had penetrated the Teutoberg Wald – a forest where we met strong resistance. We were tasked to take a hunting lodge which was supposed to be empty but turned out to be occupied by a German machine gun unit. My captain was blown away right in front of me but I just kept running towards the guns, shouting for my men to follow. My conduct was either brave or foolhardy, depending on your point of view, but I simply did what my training had prepared me for. Anyway I made it, as did two of my men. It turned out that the Germans were on the verge of running out of ammunition and when they did they surrendered immediately, meek as lambs. I captured five soldiers, including a sergeant – not a bad haul, eh?”

His voice had descended to a husky whisper by now. I stood up and walked to a window which looked out on a well-kept garden. How could I, with no war experience, make any appropriate comment?

“Do you mind if I speak professionally for a moment – about the trial, I mean?”

Gafford cleared his throat.

“That's why you came, isn't it? Although I don't see how anything can be done about it now.”

“Well, for a start did you take the matter up – by way of appeal, I mean – with the army chain of command?”

Gafford shook his head.

“To be honest with you, I was glad to be out of the army. All I could think about was Beatrix and being able to see her again. And they hadn't locked me up, either. Beatrix and I were married soon after, taking over the farm when her grandfather died. I never went back to the garrison, or returned to England for that matter, opting for German nationality a few years later. Farming was hard work and I never had time to brood. When we packed that up, I thought that gardening might have the same effect, but I was wrong; it began to play on my mind once again. Getting rid of the medal was one way of attempting to dispel the memory. Quite frankly, your phone call didn't assist that process much either – although when I told Beatrix about it, she said your intentions were honourable.”

Suddenly, I felt ashamed. What right did I have to upset this man over something which, after all, wasn't my business?

Gafford gave me a wry smile and said, “I know what you're thinking, but don't worry. Perhaps it's not such a bad thing to have got it off my chest after all these years.”

I nodded, my lawyer's mind going off on another tack.

“Captain Nathan – do you know what happened to him?”

“Ah well, that's the irony. Nathan became a hero himself shortly afterwards. During the lift, he was engaged in unloading cargoes at Gatow Airport in Berlin and worked himself literally into the ground, dying of a heart attack whilst taking a nap between flights. So even if his conscience had ever got the better of him, it's too late.”

I nodded, lost in thought, contemplating the records of the old cases which I had been examining. Before the days of verbatim court recorders, anything that occurred at court martial proceedings was supposed to be carefully annotated in handwriting on the papers themselves. How had such a vital issue in the case been recorded on them, I wondered.

“There's one thing, at least, I
can
do and that's search for the original record of proceedings. Who knows, they might still be in Brockendorf itself, for all we know!”

“But even if you manage to do that, what then?”

“Attempt to have the whole thing reviewed again, fresh information having come to light. Leave it with me, Roland, for a day or so...”

My initial problem was that officially no files were kept in Brockendorf. All court martial sets of proceedings were sent back and retained in London until a final legal review took place, as I already knew from my previous conversation with Peascod.

“What happens to the proceedings when the London office has finally finished with them?” I asked Margery, after I explained what I was looking for.

“Filed away in a remote government archive, I should imagine. Thinking about it though, those proceedings might still be here somewhere. At one time, when the British Army here was much larger, final legal reviews
did
take place in Brockendorf itself, and I've seen a pile of old stuff stored in one of the cellars under the Fortress dating back to the time when the office was located there.”

“Can you arrange access for me?”

“Just give me a few minutes over the phone. There should be no problem in getting you down there.”

Nor was there as it turned out and eventually, after rummaging through bundles of papers in the dank cellars of the Fortress, I located the relevant record of proceedings, written in manuscript. Turning over the yellowing pages, I came across this entry which followed the formal record:

Nothing else: no indication that Lieutenant Gafford had agreed or the reason the witness couldn't attend in the first place. On the face of it, the proceedings were irregular just because of that and I was convinced that the fairness of the trial itself had been compromised. The Judge Advocate General would have reviewed the proceedings and given advice as to their legality. What comment had he made on these matters? Under the Army Acts, only after receiving such advice could a senior officer confirm the proceedings as being legally in order.

The advice document was always attached to the top of the set of proceedings, which were bound up like a book. Sure enough, the relevant minutes were there and I read through them quickly. In the event, the conclusions were clear enough:

‘It is a matter of regret, but due to the lack of any explanation as to why Captain Nathan did not give evidence before the court in person you may share my view that confirmation is not desirable in this case.'

‘Share my view!' This comment irritated me because of its equivocal nature. Either the judge advocate advised
something or he did not, so why mention sharing at all? I saw that the Judge Advocate General at the time had been Sir Augustus Gullipant QC. However, the actual advice had been prepared and signed out by Judge Advocate Binden Peascod. Devilling this work was quite common if the Judge Advocate General himself wasn't available for one reason or another.

This was intriguing in itself but then something else caught my eye. Just above Peascod's signature and partially obscuring it was the mark of a stamp which read ‘
Proceedings confirmed to be legally in order by GOC
', above a squiggled set of
initials. Peascod's advice had been ignored!

Armed with this information, I resolved to return to London and confront Peascod straightaway. At the same time, I might find out more about how the enquiry was progressing.

* * *

“Gracious me, Courtley – when you told me that you had spotted an irregularity in a case, I didn't realise you were referring to one over 40 years ago.”

Peascod, head wobbling, peered down at the set of proceedings on his desk.

“Does that matter? If the interests of justice merit it, your letters patent give you the right to reopen a case at any time, don't they?”

“Only under the most exceptional circumstances, such as new evidence coming to light.”

I tapped the dusty papers in front of him.

“Not
just
for that reason alone, surely? Lieutenant Gafford's conviction in 1948 should never have been confirmed at all. Just read your own minute!”

Peascod's head wobbled even more furiously as he perused the papers.

“Ah, I must have been a very junior judge advocate then.”

“Yet you signed the minute on behalf of the Judge Advocate General, didn't you?”

“True, I was acting on his behalf. But this wasn't
binding
advice, Courtley. The general officer commanding chose not to take it and the proceedings were confirmed anyway, as you can see.”

“But this was
wrong
. Not only did you think that at the time, but changes in the law since must reinforce your original view. Nowadays, much greater emphasis is put on the fact that a fair trial can only take place on evidence which has been fully canvassed before a court – the European Convention on Human Rights says as much.”

“This all happened before the Convention came into being, Courtley. I can't possibly reopen the matter after all these years.”

Now I was furious.

“This is tantamount to bloody cowardice! You're supposed to be responsible for overseeing the military justice system and right obvious wrongs even when they took place long ago!”

Peascod rose from his chair; his wobbling cheeks had turned puce.

“Please remember who you are addressing, Courtley. I am your immediate superior and what you say amounts to rank insubordination.”

“Rubbish! I'm not in the army having to take orders! And I'm beginning to wonder if I can carry on in this office much longer!”

With that, I stalked out.

Resignation was now on my mind, and as I walked back to the Wanderers in Pall Mall, I began to draft an appropriate letter in my mind. I might even write to the newspapers! But before taking any action, I would sleep on it and enjoy a decent dinner in the meantime.

At nine the following morning, I was having breakfast when a club official approached my table.

“A call for you, sir, on the telephone. The gentleman said it was rather urgent.”

“Oh Courtley, it's Binden here. I need your help. Due to an…er...misunderstanding, I am presently at Aldgate Magistrates' Court.”

“At court, Binden – whatever for? Are you due to give evidence there?”

“No, not exactly. Frankly, I need you to come straightaway if you would.”

Abandoning breakfast and catching a cab immediately, I was at court within half an hour to find a very forlorn and rather dishevelled Peascod banged up in ‘the cage' – the custody area designated for all prisoners surrendering to their bail on arrival at court. Without saying anything, Binden handed me a charge sheet. I perused it swiftly. It alleged that whilst in his car he was soliciting a woman in the street for the purpose of prostitution.

“Kerb crawling in the Kings Cross area. What on earth were you doing, Binden?”

“Well it was a private matter… but since my wife died five years ago I've often craved a little female company, so I drive about in that area and sometimes a girl gets in and we talk...at first.”

“Well, there's nothing illegal in just talking. What happens then?”

Binden turned away, his face red with embarrassment.

“I...er...ask the girl to help me...er...find relief.”

“Oh, Binden.,” I sighed. “How did you get caught?”

“I was entrapped, no less. The girl who got in my car turned out to be a plain clothes police officer! She arrested me and took me to a police station where I was kept in a cell overnight. Then I was brought here.”

“They'll require you to enter a plea this morning, Binden...”

“Oh, I've no alternative but to plead guilty. I know you can't represent me as such, but would you be prepared to give character evidence? You see, my plight grows worse. I'm due up before Laurence Longden, the Stipendiary Magistrate, and I know him. We were pupils together in the 1940s and can't stand each other!”

Lorry Longden, known for a total lack of compassion and biting sarcasm; his menacing expression, accentuated by a glass eye, would no doubt take great delight in seeing his old enemy squirm.

But then, something caught my eye. The court sergeant entered the cage, and announced to the milling prisoners that their cases would be called on shortly. It was my old friend ‘Sarge' – instantly recognizable from the thick, black spectacles he always wore and the thin roll-up cigarette attached to his lip.

“‘aven't seen you for a while, sir.”

He gave me a friendly nod as I strolled over, wondering whether I could get the case moved to another court.

“Must have a chat over a cup of char – I still runs my little canteen round the back, you know.”

I lost no time in explaining the embarrassing situation, adding that, on top of everything else, Peascod was worried about the publicity if it came out that he was the Judge Advocate General. Sarge chewed on his roll-up for a minute.

“Can't do nothin' about transferring the case away from Lorry's court, it's already in his register. Or the publicity…except...” He stroked his chin in thought. “Just you leave this to me.”

* * *

“Number
five
in your list, sir,” bellowed Sarge. “Mr Binden.”

Lorry glowered at Peascod in the dock, his glass eye glinting in the light.

“Guilty or not guilty, Mr Binden?” the clerk of the court asked in a bored voice, after rattling through the details of the soliciting charge.

“Guilty.”

“I don't need to hear the facts, Sergeant. The allegation speaks for itself. Anything known about him?” The magistrate growled.

“No criminal record, sir,” replied my old friend.

“Very well. Stand up, Binden. You'll be fined £20 – don't do it again.”

Peascod was only too anxious to leave. The newspaper reporter, stationed in his usual corner, stirred only briefly on hearing the charge read before slumping back in his seat. Now, I was able to take up Sarge's offer of that cup of tea.

“A good ruse that,” I said, “calling the case using his first name only, but how did you square the clerk of the court and the magistrate?”

“No problem with the former. He's an old mate and went along with it straightaway. As for Lorry, well, me and him go back a bit, see. He's a nasty old bugger but I've got him eatin' out of my hands these days.”

Sarge dropped his voice to a whisper and tapped his nose.

“He lives in a large house in Hampstead. Burgled a few months back. Villain appeared here for the remand hearings before going up the road for trial at the Crown Court. Take a guess what the loot was?”

“Family silver, jewellery, that sort of thing...?”

“Oh yes
,
but a load of filthy books too – kinda stuff the porn squad arrest people for. Now nothing ever came out – chummy put his hands up an' did a guilty upstairs – but I remind Lorry when he gets uppity-like that the Lord Chancellor might take a dim view of his private life!”

The next day, I confronted Binden back at the office. Composed after his ordeal, he had the grace to thank me profusely. I decided to press my advantage.

“I think you owe me a favour or two, Binden. The first is that you put the Gafford case right.”

“Yes, yes, all right, Courtly. If you tell Gafford to write to me
formally
, I shall find a way to advise Her Majesty to quash the original finding.”

“And that's not all – I want to start sitting again.”

“Now
that
I can't resolve, Courtley.” Peascod's head began to wobble. “The Army Board is still investigating the matter. It's simply not within my remit. I explained that to you before.”

Despite further protestations, he refused to budge so now it was time to take the matter further myself. Thus I arranged to meet up with Rex Huggins, now a Lord Justice of Appeal and my old pupil master. For old time's sake, we met at Tom Tug's Wine Bar, the barristers' watering hole, which was situated near the law courts in the Strand. Contentedly sipping glasses of fizz, we began to recall the past.

“The very last time I was in here was when I was appointed a judge, Charles – a few years ago now.”

“Don't I remember! It was the day of the QCs' appointments too and poor old Dan Rydehope walked in knowing that they were never going to appoint him now. What insouciance that man had!”

Rex nodded.

“Coming in when the new silks were celebrating – that took some courage, I must admit. Mind you, who am I to talk? I never applied at all, but became a boring old judge instead!”

“Come on Rex.”

I knew him to be highly regarded in the Court of Appeal and rumour had it that he might even land up as a law lord. Rex was in a teasing mood.

“Well, I chose a different path but you might have taken silk yourself in time, instead of becoming a military man!”

I could not help but rise to the bait.

“But that's the whole point, Rex. I'm
not
in the military but they are acting as if I
am
which is why I've asked to see you.”

I told him my sorry tale.

“This is absolutely outrageous, Charlie. It's a matter you should raise with the Lord Chief Justice without delay!”

“How do I do that? I've never met him.”

“Go and see him immediately and ask for his help as a fellow judge. Indeed, I'll tell him all about it in advance, and tip off his clerk as well, so ring him to make an appointment straightaway – I'll give you the extension now.”

* * *

“Ah yes, Mr Courtley, Lord Justice Huggins said that you would be ringing. Yes, the chief will see you the day after tomorrow in the morning.” The clerk told me later.

“What time should I come in?”

“Nine forty-five? That's the best time. The court doesn't sit until ten thirty but the chief is always in by then.”

Originally I intended to walk to the law courts from Pall Mall but as it was raining I attempted to catch a cab, but without success. So I set off for Piccadilly Circus to get the tube instead. The problem was that midway between Embankment and Temple stations, the train broke down in the tunnel and there we remained for nearly an hour.