Maddon's Rock (13 page)

Jenny stayed chatting until our lunch arrived. As she prepared to go, I said, “Will I see you again?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m catching the afternoon train to London. There are things I’ve got to do there. But I’ll come down for the trial. And if you need me as a witness——”

“I think we probably shall,” I said. “We’re going to be a bit short of witnesses for the defence by the look of it. Thank you for promising to come for the trial. It—it’ll help a lot knowing you’re there, even if we can’t speak to each other.” I hesitated. “Jenny,” I said. “Will you do something for me before you leave the camp?”

“Of course,” she answered at once.

“Will you have a word with Captain Jennings? Tell him what you can. I think he’s inclined to believe my story. If you spoke to him—well——” I suddenly laughed. “With that ridiculous little hat you’d convince him of anything.”

She smiled. “Is it only the hat?” she asked in mock disappointment.

“No,” I said, “you look bewitching enough to bias anyone.”

“Oh, you want him bewitched, do you? Well, I’ll do
my best.” She said goodbye then. As she shut the door behind her, the drab wooden walls of the room closed in on us again.

When I next saw Jenny three weeks had passed. It was outside the hut in which the Court-Martial was being held. She was standing amongst a little group of people, some civilians, others in khaki. She smiled at us as we were marched in. Captain Halsey was also there, so was Hendrik and Jukes and Evans and Rankin.

The Court-Martial was held at a camp just outside Exeter. It was due to start at nine-thirty. We left our quarters at eight in a military police three-tonner, one of those cumbersome trucks with a post-office grill at the back that they use for rounding up drunks. It was a glorious day. The sun shone out of a blue sky and the roadside was bright with spring flowers. The primroses were thick on the hedge banks and the woods were carpeted with bluebells. “Makes yer wish you was a nipper again, don’t it?” Bert said as the tyres of the three-tonner hummed on the tarmac. I didn’t say anything. I felt wretched.

But the sight of Jenny cheered me immensely. It was so wonderful to feel that someone cared about what happened to us—cared enough to come all the way down from Scotland. She was standing next to an elderly, grey-haired man with a little moustache and sharp, bright eyes. I guessed it to be her father. She had written to say that he would be coming down with her. We were marched straight into the hut and put into a small room on our own. A military police corporal remained with us.

As the door closed on us, Bert said, “Did yer see my missis?” He was excited. He hadn’t seen her for a long time. “She was standin’ on ’er own by that tree. No,” he said with a grin, “I reck’n you’d only have eyes for Miss Jennifer. Nice of ’er ter come down. Was that ’er father wiv ’er?”

“I think it must have been,” I said.

We didn’t talk much after that. It was like a dentist’s waiting-room. We heard the shuffle of people going into
the court-room. A sergeant came in and asked if we were the prisoners. I had got accustomed to being referred to as a prisoner. “Prisoners! Prisoners, shun!” It had happened every day as the orderly officer came round to make the formal request of “any complaints?” But now it seemed to have a special significance. We were in the grip of the military legal machine. We were no longer individuals. We were just the day’s quota of prisoners to be tried by Court-Martial.

The sergeant read from a sheet of paper. “Number 025567342 Corporal James Landon Vardy. That’s you, is it, Corporal?”

I said, “Yes, sergeant.”

He checked Bert’s identity. Then he went out. A broad shaft of spring sunlight stretched from window to floor. Dust flecks sparkled in it every time we moved. Lorries lumbered by on the road outside. Once a tank clattered past. And all the time a blackbird sang in a tree directly above the hut.

At last we were called. “Give me your hats,” said the military policeman. Bareheaded we were marched into the court-room. We were told to sit facing the plain trestle table at which our Judges were seated. The atmosphere of the court gripped me the moment I entered. It was cold, impersonal—a place for the weighing of facts. And the facts were all against us. The very impermanence of the surroundings—the wooden benches, the trestle tables, the blackboard on the wall behind the judges, the plain matchboard walls—all emphasised the emergency conditions of the country. The windows were closed to block out the sounds of the normal world outside. The sunlight made bright patterns on faces, uniforms and fresh-scrubbed floor. The Judge Advocate rose and read the convening order. When he had finished, he turned to us. “Do you object to being tried by either the President or any of the Court you have just heard read?”

We said, “No.”

He faced the Court again and in his cold, precise voice said, “Everybody will stand uncovered whilst the oath is
being administered.” The court-room clattered to its feet. He turned his alert eyes on the President. “Now, Sir, will you repeat after me?” The clear, precise voice, followed by the gruffer tones of the President, patterned the hushed room with sound—“I swear by Almighty God … that I will well and truly try the accused before the court according to the evidence … and I will administer justice according to the Army Act now in force … without partiality, favour or affection.…”

After the President, the various officers of the Court and finally the witnesses were sworn in.

And whilst this was going on I had an opportunity to look around. Facing me were the five officers who sat in judgment, the President, a Guards’ officer with the crown and two pips of a colonel, in the centre. He had a heavy, commanding face. The red tabs on his lapels were bright daubs of colour against the drab khaki of his service dress. His sharp eyes roved restlessly over the Court. He had a habit of massaging the left side of his jaw with the fingers of his left hand. A gold signet ring glittered on his little finger. The officers on either side of him were younger. On the table in front of them lay white, clean sheets of foolscap on fresh pads of pink blotting paper. There were five pads and a pen and an inkpot beside each pad. To the left of us was the prosecuting officer. There was a pile of papers and a brief-case on the table in front of him. Captain Jennings was on our right. Near him were two other officers. I gathered afterwards that they were under instruction. At the back of the court-room the witnesses stood taking the oath. Jenny was standing next to her father. She caught my eye as I turned. Just behind her were the four
Trikkala
men and Rankin. Strange—every single survivor of the
Trikkala
was gathered in this stuffy little courtroom.

The swearing-in was finished. The witnesses were ushered out. The Court settled in its seats. “Think we got a chance?” Bert whispered as we sat down.

“God knows,” I answered.

The court-room was full of nervous little coughs. A
tank rumbled by, the sound of its tracks muffled like the distant tattoo of a drum. The blackbird’s song was a faint, unreal echo of spring. The Judge Advocate was on his feet again. He had a sheet of buff paper in his hands. “Number 025567342 Corporal James Landon Vardy, R.A.O.C., attached Number 345 Holding Company—is that your correct name and description?” he asked me.

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Then he turned to Bert. “Number 43987241 Gunner Herbert Cook, R.A., attached Number 345 Holding Company—is that your correct name and description?”

Bert said, “Yes, sir.”

The Judge Advocate put the paper down on the table and looked across at us. “You are charged with joining in a mutiny in His Majesty’s Forces.” His voice was cold, impersonal. “Contrary to Section 7, sub-section 3 of the Army Act. And the particulars are that you, on board the s.s.
Trikkala
on the 5th March, 1945, joined in a mutiny by combining among yourselves to resist and offer violence to your superior officers in the execution of their duty.” His eyes fixed on me. “Corporal Vardy—are you Guilty or Not Guilty?”

“Not Guilty,” I replied.

He turned to Bert. “Gunner Cook?”

“Not Guilty,” Bert answered.

The Judge Advocate went on then: “Do you wish to apply for an adjournment on the ground that any of the rules relating to procedure before the trial have not been complied with and that you have been prejudiced thereby or that you have not had sufficient opportunity of preparing your defence before trial? Corporal Vardy?”

“No, sir.”

“Gunner Cook?”

“No, sir.”

Then finally the proceedings opened. The prosecuting officer rose and began to put his case. I don’t remember his speech in detail. But I shall always remember his opening words. He addressed the President and in a
sharp, vibrant voice said, “May it please the Court, the two accused are charged with joining in a mutiny, which is one of the most serious offences known to military law and for which the maximum penalty is death …” Those words—
the maximum penalty is death
—rang in my ears throughout his speech. I turned to Jennings trying to see in the lines of his face some flicker of hope. But he sat, impassive, almost disinterested, watching the prosecution.

Rankin was called as first witness for the prosecution. He seemed nervous. His large, round face was white and puffy. I noticed for the first time that his dark hair was flecked with grey at the temples. The gilt buttons of his navy blue uniform looked dull beside the gleaming brass of the officers ranged behind the trestle table.

Rankin’s eyes flicked once in my direction. There was no sign of recognition. He looked at me with the cold appraisal of a man looking at some object known by a lot number that was up for auction. He straightened the dark blue tie in his spotless white collar. He gave his evidence in a dull voice, without inflection; the sort of official voice that policemen use when giving evidence. My heart sank. It was so coldly factual, the way he said it. And his facts were correct. I felt there was no more to be said, that all the Court had to do was decide on the length of sentence. I looked across at Captain Jennings. He was sitting back comfortably in his chair. The paper in front of him was white in the sunlight, unmarked. He was watching Rankin’s face.

The prosecuting officer began to emphasize the points of the evidence by asking questions. The President took it all down in the form of notes. The prosecuting officer had a little ginger moustache and a freckled face out of which blue eyes peered, as though he were in a state of perpetual surprise. His voice was sharp and quick, not a pleasant voice, but a voice that impressed itself on the ear so that the points he made were easily remembered. Now he was hammering home the point that Rankin had given us every opportunity to obey his orders. “Mr. Rankin,” he said. “I want the Court to understand this
point clearly. You say you ordered the Corporal into the boat three times?”

“That’s correct, sir.” Rankin was more assured now. He even had an air of smugness as though he were enjoying his own performance.

“And on the second occasion did you make it clear to all three soldiers that it was an order?”

“Yes, sir.” Rankin turned towards the President. “But the Corporal still insisted on taking a raft. And Cook said he’d go with him.”

“Did all three of them understand that it was a military order you were giving them?”

“Yes, sir. That was when Sills said he’d get into the boat. And he advised the other two to do the same to avoid trouble. I told the Corporal I’d give him one last chance. I then ordered him again into the boat. But he still said he’d take the raft. Cook stayed with him. I reported to the Captain on the bridge.”

“Was it whilst you were on the bridge that the Corporal persuaded Miss Sorrel not to get into the boat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The boat was cleared then and as you left the bridge you saw the two soldiers cutting the raft clear. Was that when Captain Halsey ordered you to stop them cutting the raft clear?”

“Yes, sir. The order was given to myself and Mr. Hendrik, the first mate.”

“Why did you think they were cutting the raft clear?”

“The Corporal had said he intended taking a raft,” Rankin answered. “I presumed they were clearing it for their own use.”

“What did the Corporal do then?”

“He ordered Mr. Hendrik and myself to stand back. He unslung his rifle and held it at the ready.”

The prosecuting officer leaned forward. “I want you to be very careful on this point. Was the rifle cocked?”

“Yes,” Rankin answered. “I distinctly saw the Corporal work the bolt of his rifle.”

There was a little murmur in the court-room. The President of the Court looked up and then made a note.
Rankin smiled. He reminded me of a fat, white cat, that has just found the cream. The swine was enjoying himself.

The prosecuting officer nodded in a satisfied way. “Thank you,” he said. “That is all.”

The Judge Advocate looked across at Captain Jennings. “Captain Jennings, do you desire to cross-examine?” he asked.

Jennings rose to his feet. He had a rather bored, off-hand manner. We had talked it all over with him. He was going to try to show that we had no confidence in Rankin. But in the face of that evidence I felt he had been given an impossible task. His manner almost suggested that he felt it too. “There are just one or two points,” he said in a mild, rather tired voice. Then, as the President nodded his permission he turned to Rankin. “Mr. Rankin, you were in charge of this guard?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Did you do guard duties yourself?”

“No, sir. It’s not customary for a Warrant Officer in the Royal Navy to do guard duties.”

Bert nudged me. I could almost hear him imitating Rankin’s voice.

“Quite so,” Jennings agreed. “But this was an unusually small guard—that made no difference as far as you were concerned?”

“No, sir.”

“I see. But naturally you slept with the cargo you were guarding and were there most of the time?”

“No, sir.” Rankin’s hands fluttered up to his tie. They were very white against the dark blue of his uniform. They looked soft and well-cared for, like a woman’s. “The Captain gave me a cabin. I messed with the ship’s officers.”