James Long - Sixth Column

The Councillor rambled on in this vein for some time, unable to come to any closing crescendo of argument, but nevertheless sat down to prolonged applause from well over half the people in the hall. It washed over Johnny. He was sitting with his eyes fixed on Sir Michael as Eve might have looked at the serpent.

‘Thank you, Councillor Percival,’ said the Chairman, ‘always one to speak your mind. Now Sir Michael Parry, who needs no introduction from me other than to say that when there’s a local issue to be addressed he’s always been one to make everyone see a bit of sense.’

Sir Michael got to his feet slowly as if still thinking what he should say and this time the anticipatory applause was general. All round Johnny, the women were clapping as hard as they could and, as far as he could see, that was the reception throughout the rest of the hall too.

‘Thank you for inviting me to speak,’ he began, looking around. ‘As many of you know, my family have lived here for over a hundred years, so I think I can very nearly say I belong.’ A few people laughed. ‘I myself have lived here on and off for more than thirty years now. It was a place I always looked forward to coming back to from my postings in the diplomatic service and since I retired, it has been the centre of my life.’

There was a general approving murmur.

‘I can well understand Councillor Percival’s concern with the wealth of the community,’ he said, looking down in slightly absent benevolence at Percival whose chair was pushed far back from the table to accommodate his stomach, ‘but should that be the only consideration?’

He had a habit of starting to speak while still looking down as if plumbing the great depths of his brain for the right words, then lifting his head sharply so that he seemed to cast them out across the audience.

‘Most of you are dales people. You know what it means to breathe the moorland air, to stride out to the horizon without anyone stopping you. In all the hurly-burly of our modern life that is still the great free delight this county of ours can offer us and it has been kept that way by a system of rules and regulations which are designed to protect our heritage.’

Don’t be fooled, don’t be fooled was going through Johnny’s head like a mantra. Don’t let him into your head . But who? The man in front of him seemed to mean every word he said. It didn’t fit the image of the professional word-twister he had carried around with him since childhood, the silver-tongued compromiser who left behind him a trail of betrayed causes.

‘Now you may say,’ went on Sir Michael, passing his gaze across them, ‘that the special relationship between Britain and the United States of America should transcend such rules and regulations – that if our American friends feel it is necessary for our mutual safety for them to enlarge their base then we should simply say, “Let it be so.” Ten years ago I think I would possibly have agreed with that approach. Now, I have to say, I am not so sure. There are allegations about the activities carried on inside this establishment which I find frankly disturbing. Whatever the truth of them, it is no longer enough to say in this period of changing political balance in the world that there should be carte blanche .’ There were some restless whisperings in the audience as they absorbed his message.

‘Above all,’ he said, ‘I am a firm believer in the rule of law. It has been a cause of some sadness to me that laws have been misused in an attempt to prevent protests at Ramsgill Stray. Without necessarily sharing the protestors’ objectives, I do not think that is acceptable, just as I do not think any special exceptions should be made in the planning process for those trying to expand the activities of the base.’

He sat down abruptly to a round of applause that was only a little less unanimous than the one that had greeted him.

Johnny didn’t listen to the questions and answers. He was too busy trying to reassemble the splintered certainty of his long-held image of his father. It didn’t fit this dignified, quiet, certain man. His job told him he had to stay. His feet wanted to leave. The opposing forces pulled him down huddled into his seat with his arms folded tight across his chest and his chin down. He was roused from that only when Jo, next to him, stuck up a hand and called out a loud question to Sir Michael. Johnny lifted his head.

His father was leaning forward diagonally across the table, twiddling his glasses in one hand, swinging them by one of their arms, neck stretched as if straining to hear her words. His gaze was fixed on them and Johnny’s eyes crossed with his for a moment as he looked up. Sir Michael seemed suddenly to rock back into a slightly more upright stance. He pushed his glasses back on to his nose and looked hard towards them over the rows of seats that separated them from the stage. Did he recognize Jo, perhaps? It seemed to Johnny that his father’s gaze was fixed not on Jo, but on him.

She came to the end of her question and nothing happened; he simply went on staring towards them, then he seemed to shake his head slightly.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said, ‘would you mind awfully just saying that again. My ears are past their best, you know.’

Jo smiled. ‘I was only asking whether you thought the new criminal trespass proposals are fair?’

He sat back. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said slowly, ‘I think it’s another long-standing right that we are in danger of losing without really registering the fact. Let’s be clear. The first stage was bad enough. That made it a criminal offence to trespass on someone else’s ground if it impeded the occupant’s lawful activity there. It was aimed at hunt saboteurs, travellers and peace protesters. Now they’re proposing to make it more general still so that whatever the reason, it would be a criminal offence to trespass anywhere where the occupier didn’t want you.’

Councillor Percival looked sideways at his fellow-panellist and said loudly, ‘Private property’s private property. What’s wrong with that, then?’

Sir Michael considered him. ‘I think I’ve seen you walking up the hill above Foxdale Mire, near my house?’

‘Aye, that’s right. I’ve walked there since I were a lad. What about it?’

‘Well, I own that stretch of hillside, Councillor Percival and under the new proposals if I decided I didn’t like your face, I could have you arrested for it.’

There was laughter and clapping. The point was won. Percival sat back shrugging and looking discomfited. Sir Michael had a broad smile on his face to rob the words of hurt and for just a moment, Johnny found himself smiling with him. He checked himself and looked around. It was easy to see the audience approved. The voice of reason or the Lorelei? He rubbed his forehead hard to fight off the first twinges of a headache.

That was almost it. There were two more questions and the CPRE lady announced that there would be a petition for their signatures by the door. The planning man gathered up his pile of papers again and Councillor Percival tried to buttonhole Sir Michael about something but had difficulty getting his full attention as the old diplomat scanned the crowd. Johnny helped get Jo’s chair down the side of the hall, through the people to a quiet corner at the back where he saw the other women waiting. The group didn’t seem to include Heather and he couldn’t immediately see her.

Margo turned to him. ‘What did you think of that?’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Interesting.’

‘Pretty pointless when it comes down to it. This lot aren’t going to get too stirred up about it, not with Percival and his cronies in there. Thank God for Sir Michael.’

‘Yes.’