The balloon suddenly went up as soon as the print was dry on the draft bill to limit the power of judges. The monstrous whooshing sound and an enormous expenditure of emotional energy possessed those concerned and pulled in a surprisingly large number of liberty loving people of all shades and descriptions.
The first rumblings of the explosion to come came when Sir Ian approached Joseph Channing down a long corridor. The older man's pulse started racing overtime, especially recalling that at one time, they were on friendly terms.
"Houghton cannot be serious about this bill, Ian. It's damnably un English and brings this country far closer to a dictatorship than I ever thought possible."
"He is an elected MP and a cabinet minister, Joseph," came the other man's attempt at languid unhurried tones." Let's face it. It gives him a certain credibility of accountability."
"Poppycock," exploded Joseph in disgust, his anger racing away with him." A craven assembly of minor political functionaries had this reptile imposed on him as if a parcel was delivered. The seat chosen was one so that even a halfwit couldn't have failed to be elected. Once he gets there, he does a Cook's tour of various ministries without really knowing what on earth he's doing. I would wager a bottle of my finest malt whisky that this is his idea and a perfectly loathsome one at that."
"I must warn you, Joseph, that you are making yourself extremely unpopular with your outbursts. I am advising you confidentially for old times' sake but you really musty be careful."
"I am inclined to become even more reckless than before and damn the consequences."
Sir Ian glared at Joseph Channing. He was getting worse and worse every day. His rejection of helpful advice was the last straw. He turned away and walked rapidly away from him. Joseph Channing's mind was in turmoil. What had been long feared was about to come to pass. After his anger had subsided, he headed for his chambers and sat awhile deep in thought. At one time, he might have directly remonstrated with the Attorney General and the Home Secretary but he instantly ruled them out as a sheer waste of time.
Without any great surprise, he reached for the phone and called the most reliable, more determined of the brethren and relayed the same message. The plan to canvas support for their rebellion were underway.
****
A couple of days later, the four of them sat in the splendour of Joseph Channing's mansion as a council of war. Their initial feelings of powerful outrage had settled down a little but only as far as to propel them to plan the unthinkable.
"So we come to the moment of decision. Just how many of the brethren will actually go on strike." Joseph concluded. That word had a strange taste in his mouth, of some illicit pleasure." We have all made our individual approaches and we need to know what we can actually deliver. From my soundings, the signs are promising. How have you fared, Monty?"
"Those whom I spoke to were most vociferous in their support. For years they've felt pushed around by this government. They are fed up being given restrictive guideline and generally told what to do. They don't like the feeling of perpetually looking over their shoulder before they pass judgment. Most of all, they loathe and detest Haughton as a squalid little jumped up know nothing advertising tycoon. They have absolutely no respect for him, as he is a mediocrity. This has been a long time coming and this wretched bill is the final straw. All they've needed is someone or something to spark them into action. They'll be with us, even the usual fence sitters except for, of course, Huntley but I never expected any better of him."
John and Morag Hughes, a comparatively young female judge, chorused their agreement. This was a revelation. They all smiled freely at the news, which was better than they had dared hope. It only took one shove at the delicately poised boulder and it would roll its course. It gave them a strange feeling of power, tempered with responsibility. In what direction would it roll? This was uncharted territory to them all, or nearly all of them and made them nervous.
"So how do we organize this strike?" Morag enquired." We don't just stay at home and watch it on TV surely? There must be more to it than that. Unfortunately, your lectures at Warwick University to me and the others didn't include this on the syllabus."
John grinned at Morag's droll remark on her past experiences of him lecturing in law. He had thought at the time that he had been quite subversive enough, but this deficiency now became obvious. He could sense the direction the conversation was turning and felt relaxed about it.
"John, you're the expert. I remember how you used to hold forth about your sit ins and protests at university."
"I remember the way you said that it made your blood boil and that it was damned un English of me," smirked John playfully at Joseph.
"That was then, but this is now. I'm quite entitled to change my mind. This is England's heritage that we are talking about, after all. Remember Oliver Cromwell. He gave that Charles the First fellow short shrift when he got too big for his boots. Soon cut him down to size. We need your experience."
John laughed heartily at Joseph's gleeful enthusiasm in his unintentional pun and he ransacked his distant memories. He could remember that extraordinary event as a vivid patch of interconnected pleasurable sensations. He recalled equally vividly the crowd of marching charging people down to the city centre, as equally sleeping with that gorgeous woman with the long blond hair in the large communal sleeping area. He remembered standing next to the leader of the sit in, when the university files were broken open in order to check just how much surveillance there was on the more notorious troublemakers. He shook his head, as his memories eluded his search for specific answers to the here and now.
Historians always had both the time and opportunity to interview a whole variety of sources to investigate the motivations and backgrounds of the key players, to piece together the sequence of events that led up to the main riots and revolutions.If you were in the middle of events, which burst in on you, it was not so easy. After the sit in, John had relied on the sheer brilliance of his mind and on not being definitely caught out in the aftermath to go on to his illustrious career. The specific memories were consigned to his adolescent phase, even while he boasted of the allure of such adolescent delinquencies. Now he was being called upon to lead such disreputable behaviour. He smiled to himself at life's little ironies. In the absence of specific experience to draw upon, he would have to fall back on his inventive mind.
"We have to decide upon our targets. There's the Old Bailey and Court of Appeal and they are very handy and well known for the press. They won't need a route map to find us."
His experience was either of being doorstepped by pushy reporters from the Daily Mail to dish the dirt on him, or alternatively of briefing the more intellectual parts of the media on the government attack on freedoms. Building on this experience started to boost his confidence. His boldness and instinct told him that where there was a will, there was a way and that the brethren would back them.
"What about the Home Office?" Joseph suggested." We might as well take the war to the enemy?"
"Are there enough of us to stake out all three places, much though I like the idea?" questioned Monty.
"Are there enough of us who are bold spirited enough to look after the courts while we concentrate on bearding Haughton in his den?"
All three of them nodded their heads. The die was cast. Joseph poured them all a generous measure of whisky in celebration.
"Not too much, Joseph." John said softly.
"And why?"
"Because we're going to be busy organising the strike. If all goes well, we'll have a victory celebration and then we can all get thoroughly plastered."
"Good man, John. I'll drink to that. For England and St George and damnation to the establishment," enthused Monty, drinking a generous measure from his glass.
"This will make an excellent 'team building' initiative, all of us combining our forces and talents together to make that man grovel. It will be both a sacred duty and pleasure."
All of them burst into hearty laughter at the delicious irony of Joseph's witticism. The day's activities would certainly unite the brethren, but against the government.
"I don't need to say that barristers and solicitors cannot be seen to take part in strike actions. While there is nothing the LCD can do to touch us, they are quite capable and willing to take the wheels off the road of any barrister. We cannot let them take that step."
"So, do we spread the word to them to just stay at home or travel to work, and be ready to be turned aside and go home?"
"Well" Joseph reflected long and hard." If they have business to do at home, let them do so. If there are those disposed to even try to come to work, there'll be nothing for them to do, if we're united and resolute. Besides, they'll have us to reckon with, on the day and afterwards."
"The weather forecast is good for the time of the year. It predicts cold but bright weather," remarked Morag in the thoughtful silence." There's no wind either."
"Oughtn't we be provided with hip flasks to keep out the cold?"
"Oh, good." beamed Joseph Channing at Monty. The day promised dedicated firmness of purpose and the prospect of pleasurable enjoyment was an added bonus." I shall donate my finest malt and enough hip flasks for us all."
"And we must wear our robes of office if we want to steal the headlines." Morag grinned.
"That reminds me," concluded John." We have to go out and get maximum publicity. It won't necessarily come to us. It strikes me that the media need to be forewarned. I suggest the BBC, ITV, the Guardian and the Independent for a start, unless there are too many of Haughton's cronies who would sit on the story."
"I think we can discount any attempt by the gutter press to create a diversion in terms of John's affair with Francesca Rochester if you don't mind me putting it this way, John." Monty added in the friendliest of tones.
A moment of doubt caused the mood to darken. They suspected very strongly that the greater danger was that the story could well be simply spiked.
"Aren't there any socialist rags or subversive organizations that would be happy to cheer us on, John?" Joseph Channing said hesitantly, screwing up his face at John. "They may once have seen us as their natural enemies at one time and vice versa, but these are strange times indeed. We must be prepared to be bold and innovative."
"I'll do the necessary research, Joseph. Just don't ask me too many questions."
"We'll leave all that to you, John," Joseph pronounced with a murmur of assent. They knew to trust to John's creative and imaginative mind.
A strange smile played on John's lips as he sat in his chambers the next day having given strict instructions to Coope not to allow any interruptions on pain of his most severe anger. His large memory conjured up possibilities as to where to start looking.
"I know of one organisation that might help," muttered John as his search of the Internet brought up a promising source of help." Somewhat Bolshevik but I can't say that I disagree with some of their ideas. He glanced at an article on Crime and Punishment and he couldn't help approving of the notion of 're-establishing park wardens, bus conductors and platform attendants who provide some community control, and giving people a degree of hope and a sense of community.' He jotted down the contact number and picked up the phone.
The tousle haired man dressed in jeans and T-shirt was no stranger to phone calls from rank and file comrades, on the point of leading the workers out on strike. Yet at the same time, he was sensitive to that element of fear in the voice on the other end of the phone, as the prospect loomed ahead of the high risks in going over the top. He was used to the variety of regional accents and speaking manner but he was definitely unprepared for the rolling self-assured Etonian accent that made its leisurely way down the phone.