North Star

It was just short of eleven when the usher came out and called 'Michael Randall'. I got up and followed him into the courtroom to take my place in the witness box. Standing there, the testament in my hand and repeating the oath, I had a clear view of everybody — the judge, Sayre, a tall, thin man looking dignified in black gown and wig, the massive bulk of counsel for the defence, the two men in the dock. Bucknall, his pallid, freckled face framed by long hair and wearing a suede jacket over a gaily-coloured shirt, constantly shifted his feet, his eyes downcast; Claxby, much tougher, an older, heavier face with a drooped moustache and long sideburns, stared back at me, sullen and watchful.

The clerk finished administering the oath and there was a general stir as people settled themselves. I glanced up at the public gallery. Most of the seats were filled, the back of the court, too. I saw Scunton there, several others I recognized — and Fiona. I think she smiled at me, but I couldn't be sure. It might have been a nervous fluttering of the mouth.

'You are Michael Mouat Randall?' Sayre was on his feet facing me across the court, his brief, all his papers, on the desk in front of him. Quietly, crisply, he took me through the events leading up to the moment when I had stood waiting outside No. 5 Washbrook Road. 'And you walked from the Congregational Hall to Washbrook Road?'

'Yes.'

'Was it a dark night?'

'Yes, pretty dark. Raining, in fact — a light drizzle.'

'When you left the hall the meeting was still in progress.'

I nodded.

'How long did you have to wait before the bomb attack took place?'

'Less than half an hour.'

'You were standing in the shadow of some bushes at the entrance to an area of waste ground known as the Stonepit. You remained in that position all the time without moving?'

'Until the light in the porch was broken, yes.'

He reached down for a sheet, holding it and looking at the judge. 'Milord. I have here a plan of this section of Washbrook Road, also copies for the jury. It shows the distance from the gate of No. 5 to the bushes where the witness was standing as forty-seven feet. It also shows the distance to the nearest street lamp. This is on the opposite side of the road twenty-two yards from No. 5 and thirty-five yards from the witness. All measurements taken by a member of the Surveyor's Office, who also prepared the plan.' He handed the sheet to the clerk, who passed it to the judge, and copies were distributed to the jury. Sayre turned back to me. 'Was there any light on in the house?'

'Not in the house. There was a light on in the porch. It was the first thing they broke.'

'But you were able to see who they were. You recognized them?'

'Yes.'

'Are they here in court?'

I nodded.

'The witness must answer so that we can all hear,' the judge interposed.

Sayre looked at me and I said, 'Yes.'

'Would you point them out to us please.'

I indicated the prisoners in the dock and he nodded. 'We have already heard from another witness that they parked their car in neighbouring Ellsworth Terrace. Presumably they were on foot as they approached No. 5.'

'Yes.'

'Was it the street light that enabled you to identify them?'

'No. They were on the opposite side of the road to the light, the same side as No. 5. They had their heads turned towards the houses. I think they were probably checking the numbers.'

'So at that point their faces were in shadow. When did you positively identify them?'

'When they opened the gate to No. 5.'

'An earlier witness, who had picked them out at an identity parade, has admitted under cross-examination that she could have been mistaken. If she could be mistaken, how is it you are so positive?'

'Because the light from the porch was full on them. They had their collars turned up, but from where I was standing-'

'It's a lie.' Claxby was thumping the edge of the dock. 'He's lying. I was never there.'

'Go on, please,' Sayre said, ignoring the outburst. 'From where you were standing…?'

'From there I had a clear view of both their faces as they turned in at the gate.'

'What were they wearing?'

'Cloth caps and raincoats.'

'Both of them?'

'Yes.'

'Can you describe their clothes in greater detail?'

'The raincoats were rather shapeless, and one of them had a muffler. No particular colour. I think it was Bucknall and his cap was in some dull check.'

'Anything else?'

'Not that I recall.'

'Who broke the light in the porch?'

'Claxby.'

'And who threw the petrol bomb?'

'Claxby,' I said again. And he yelled at me from the dock, 'You bloody liar. I was never there, an' you know it. You threw that bomb. You're just trying to cover…" A policeman grabbed him from behind. There was a scuffle and then quiet as Lawrence Mendip, moving with remarkable speed for such a heavy man, began whispering to him urgently.

In an icy voice the judge said, 'I must warn the prisoner that if he interrupts again I shall have him taken down to the cells.' He leaned a little forward over the high desk, addressing himself directly to Claxby. 'Outbursts such as you have just made tend to leave a bad impression on the jury. Proceed, Mr Sayre.'

And so it went on, Sayre taking me step by step, and in great detail, through those few vivid, crowded minutes. And all the time, at the back of my mind, was the thought of Claxby's outburst…

'And by the time you got the child out the neighbours had already gathered.'

'Yes — three of them, I think. Two women and a man.'

'And you handed the child to Mrs Fenton?'

'I didn't know her name. But one of the women, yes.'

'Did she say you must wait for the police?'

'No, I think the man said that.'

'Why didn't you?'

'I was mate on a trawler. We were due to sail at first light, and my hand was cut by the broken glass. I wanted to get a dressing on it.'

'Thank you. That's all.' And he sat down.

There was a rustle of movement in the courtroom, the sound of feet shifting and people coughing. Lawrence Mendip was on his feet, standing with his head bent, staring down at his papers. His head came up and he was looking at me, his eyes small and very sharp. 'You say it was a dark night. A light drizzle I think you said, yet you saw the faces of these two young men very clearly.'

'In the light from the porch. It was only a few yards from the gate to the porch.'

'And as they went in through the gate, did you move to get a better view of what was happening?'

'Not immediately. Not until I heard the bulb break.'

'But you didn't show yourself?'

'No, not then.'

'And you didn't call out. You didn't try to stop them?'

'I wanted to see what they were going to do. If I had known-'

'And when the bulb was broken, it was suddenly quite dark. Then how did you know it was Claxby who broke the bulb?'

'There was still the light of the street lamp across the road.'

'Oh yes, the street lamp. A single bulb lamp, not a fluorescent standard. And his back towards you. Are you sure it was Claxby?'

'Quite sure.' I felt easier now. It was like all the courts I had been in before, the defence trying to shake the witness on matters of detail. 'I had reached a point where I could look over the hedge as Claxby came out of the porch.'

'Did he try the door?'

'I don't know. All I saw was him coming out of the porch.'

'And going round to the window.'

'Yes.'

'Where was Bucknall?'

'He was already facing the window.'

'His back towards you?'

'Yes.'

'There is virtually no difference in their height. Bucknall is five foot ten and Claxby five foot ten and a half. How tall are you?'