"John Deed here. I looked on the Internet and found your organization to be one which could give advise on taking strike action."
"I'm glad to help you, comrade. Are you the branch secretary of your union?" he asked cautiously. The tone of voice aroused his suspicions, as a part of his political education was a healthy paranoia about MI5 agents trying to infiltrate the organization or alternatively, act as agent provocateurs.
"Aaah, I'm not an official leader but all the others follow me."
"Oh, so you are a rank and file leader?" the man asked approvingly. On the face of it, this sounded promising. There was a certain diffidence of tone, which suggested that he was a newcomer to rank and file trade union activism.
"As rank and file as a high court judge ever is. We do include the odd appeal court judge or two."
At that point, the man's hearing tried to make contact with his brain and failed utterly. This lay totally outside his political experience and didn't fit in with the familiar associated alphabet soup of organizations, political or trade union. No MI5 spy would have the bizarre imagination to masquerade as such pillars of the establishment. They would more likely to represent themselves as leaders of some suitably grimy handed proletarian organizations as railway or engineering workers.
"A high court judge? So you and your fellow workers are all judges?"
"That's correct," came the courteous reply.
"You don't mind me asking, why are you going on strike?""Is it safe to talk openly on the phone in case the line is tapped?" came John's cautious reply.
"It's all right, err comrade John, there is an up to date scrambler fitted to the phone."
"Briefly, I have been a thorn in the side of the establishment for years. Specifically we are up against the Home Office and their craven lackeys in the Lord Chancellor's Department. They see the relationship between the executive and judiciary as a master servant one and that we should manipulate the progress of politically sensitive trials to suit their squalid purposes. What brought matters to a head that I and two other judges recently wiped the slate clean of Nikki Wade who was unjustly punished for defending her partner. She was on the point of being raped by a policeman with a record of violence as long as your arm."
"Jesus, so you were that judge." Gasped the man in mingled astonishment and admiration to John's pleasure." That case was the talk of our organization."
"I am also particularly guilty of persuading my fellow judges who had previously thought me an outspoken maverick to share my point of view. In particular, I have crossed swords on a number of occasions with Neil Haughton, the present Home Secretary, and unprincipled, money grubbing petty dictator. What's bringing us out on strike is his proposed bill to totally shackle the powers of the judges to the powers of the Home Office which I hope you've heard about."
"That bastard," exclaimed the other man. Of all New Labour ministers, he was more hated than any of them." Too right, we've heard about his plans and we've wondered how it could be stopped. It will bring in a police state."
"Precisely. I cannot cast aspersions on his parentage, only on his character. As for stopping his plans, you need look no further than to us." John's droll tones responded. The man on the other end of the phone had to grin and warm to the comrade. He had a uniquely stylish wit and clarity of thought about him. Instinct told him that this story was becoming more and more promising.
"The only good that he has ever done has been that his dictatorial manner has taught the brethren that I have been right all along so that I ceased to be the disreputable outsider that I was once considered. They have come to follow my lead and set us on collision course with him."
"Brethren?" queried the man.
"It is an expression, referring to the entirety of the judges."
"Something like comrade," hazarded the other man helpfully. Everything John said made sense. He had made up his mind firmly on the matter and found himself on more familiar ground in describing his feelings on the matter.
"That sounds about right." John answered in studied tones while respecting the other man's succinct summary. It struck him as rather droll to be addressed as 'comrade' in contrast to opposed to 'my lord.' It recalled dim memories of egalitarian philosophies of his student days. The language of the voice on the phone sounded strange to begin with, but he found himself more and more comfortable as he continued. He sounded perfectly genuine, and was definitely on a higher moral plane than the false politeness of the apparatchiks.
"Look here, John," he exclaimed excitedly," I am sure our organization will back you but what's your plan?"
"The strike's on for Friday June 23rd 2001. We're picketing the Old Bailey and the Court of Appeals and also the Home Office where we hope to remonstrate with Haughton in full view of the press to make an ideal photo opportunity. We'll be in full regalia of course. It will be cold and the robes will keep us warm. Three high court judges and a very angry court of appeal judge will give him plenty to think about."
There was a perfect silence at the other end of the phone until the man picked up a stray thought, which made him urge caution.
"It sounds great but had you thought about the Tory anti-trade union employment laws? You have to give so many days notice or they'll hang that one on you, declare the strike illegal and seek damages against you."
"Against the National Union of Judges? No such organisation officially exists. Besides, who will do the government's dirty work for them? You need a judge for that and not even that one miserable spineless coward who won't come out on strike will dare do that. We are united in struggle and none of us are disposed to do the government's bidding."
The beautiful simplicity of John's formulation left the other man was like a bombshell and left him giddy with the rush of possibilities that opened up before him. Moreover, John's quiet determined tones impressed him with his force of purpose and the sheer outrageous theatrics. He desperately wanted to help out and play a part in this event. More than anything else, he knew what side he was on and that was the most important thing.
"What practical form of support do you want from us, John?" he asked in hushed respectful tones.
"We'd like to get full coverage in the mainstream papers. We're going for the least corrupt of the established press, the BBC and ITV but the established media may well be gagged. For this reason, we'd be grateful if any newspapers that you are connected with could cover the event. We realize that, while firm in purpose, we are relatively few in numbers and if any of your friends care to turn up on the picket lines, they would be extremely welcome. One thing I must impress upon you. The demonstration must be peaceful, as otherwise our stance as upholders of justice would be publicly compromised."
"You can count on us to cover the event. We'll keep any head cases well away from your protest. There are some around, unfortunately. Have you had any experience of this sort of thing before?"
"Only in my student days in the sixties when I was involved in protest and sit ins."
This judge was pegged as a strange distant relation of student radicals like Tariq Ali and Paul Foot as warm-hearted sentiment washed through him. He was too young to be there but collective party folk memory passed down this history to him as well as sitting at the knee of such still active political veterans. It is strange what seeds of rebellion weresown that lay dormant for years, which have now reached fruition.
"I don't want to tell you the obvious but you'll need picket signs, leaflets to hand out to passers by and mobile phones to keep contact with each other for a start. If you can get hold of a megaphone, it'll help you to get your point of view to the public in general."
"I'm used to holding forth in an extremely large court building." John's slightly severe voice retorted in actorish tones while noting the practicality of the other suggestions.
"I'm sure you can but just think of the London traffic first thing in the morning and the wide open spaces. The acoustics are totally different from what you're used to. Why take any chances?"
"Perhaps you're right. I'd better look one out." John conceded.
"Look here, I know from what you've said, we'll back you one hundred per cent. Can you give me your phone number and I'll phone you back as soon as I can get an answer."
"That's extremely decent of you……"John said with a hint of emotion in his tones. On the other end of the phone, the word 'decent' had a quaintly old world air about it. It was something that the judge obviously believed with every fibre of his being. He had as much determination about him as any working class hero that he'd known or read about.
"By the way, is there anything else that we need?" he asked.
"You need good luck, good weather and solidarity, comrade." He closed the conversation softly.
John finally got back to his digs and smiled to himself, as that irresistible temptation that had nagged at him all day clamoured for his attention. He flipped through the phone directory searching for the names Stewart and Wade. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for.
Helen and Nikki were busy packing for their holidays. Nikki's initial idea had been San Francisco, which was the city of her dreams, but she had been prevailed upon to try another country as a dummy run. They would have had to apply for a visa and who knew what obstructions they would have had to face. In the end, the idea of Paris appealed to them as both romantic and a city of culture. Consequently, at the time when the phone rang, the normally tidy flat was strewn with freshly ironed clothes, various suits, dresses trousers and tops were hung on coat hangers all over the flat from various convenient.
"We're going to Paris, Helen. Remember the Galleries Lafayette has some of the finest
shops and we don't want to pay excess baggage." Nikki lectured Helen sternly while Helen pulled that winsome little girl look on her face and fingered the particular smart suit that she loved. Both of them were looking forward to a bit of retail therapy and
They were feeling a bit tired and bothered.
"Hi, it's Nikki,"the well-modulated voice intoned in a friendly fashion. She expected that it might be Claire or Trisha or Sally Anne. She was definitely expecting some kind of female voice and was definitely unprepared for the deep masculine voice coming down the phone.
"Hi it's John, John Deed. I trust you remember me."
"Hey, hey, I never expected to hear from you again, John, you having your life to lead and me living mine….anyway, it's nice to hear from you and I remember telling you to call if you ever wanted to just pop in."
As Helen laid her favourite red shirt back over the back of the settee, she grinned at Nikki's obvious confusion and her usual resilience. She stopped what she was doing to listen.
"I will certainly take up your very kind offer but this call is more business. I wanted to let you into a little secret. I don't suppose you've read the recent press 'speculation' that the government are planning to substantially tighten up on the powers of judges."
"Yeah, I read about it but there's no actual comment from the government," answered Nikki, the news hound.
"Take it from me that the plans are definite and we're all planning to go on strike this Friday, the full works, picket lines, press, publicity, you name it, we'll be doing it."
Those quiet spoken word had a tremendous effect on Nikki. Her eyes positively glowed and her mouth opened wide in total surprise till feelings of total exaltation and delirious joy radiated from her face
"If it was any other judge, John, I'd say I can't believe that what you're saying is for real but I believe you all right," Nikki said in shaking, emotion choked tones as the implications hit her as a rolling tidal wave of deep feeling." If those laws had been in place when I was first up for trial, I'd still be rotting alive in Larkhall."
"That is incredibly astute of you, Nikki," John's voice sounded in her ear with a telltale flicker of emotion. He had trust in humanity as a whole and Nikki was the most brilliant exemplar.
"So where do we come into the picture, John?" Nikki asked. She knew there was some purpose to this announcement.
"We need public support. We're holding a demonstration outside the Home Office and we need as many right-minded citizens in support of us. I though that you must know a number of like minded women to come along and lend support."
"You mean a demonstration?"
"Entirely peaceful, Nikki. We want to send out the right message."
Nikki' mind was decided in a flash
"We're packing for a holiday in Paris. You know what women are like but…we'll make time. We'll be there, John. We'll get on the phone and rustle up as much support as we can get…..excuse me a minute John……."
She could see Helen mouthing protest at the state of chaos that reigned in the flat and how could they get packed in time and deliver themselves at the check in at the airport in time.
"The judges are out on strike this Friday against a bill that would take away their freedoms. Solidarity, Helen. We gotta be there," she lectured in stern tones, unknowingly echoing the sentiments of the left wing organizer John had been talking to. In turn, John grinned at Nikki's succinct description of the situation. Helen mutely assented as she could equally see the force of the argument. However, she mentally reserved to herself the right to call on Nikki to make good the promise to be ready in time for their holiday.
"Right John, we'll be there. You may know that I'm not unused to protests. Just leave it to us."
"Thanks, Nikki, and Helen also. You will get your friends not to tell the press in advance. We have to keep control over this."
"That goes without saying, John. What time does the protest start?"
"We'll be there at half seven to be on the safe side. We anticipate that the party will warm itself up an hour later."
"Jesus," Nikki exclaimed. She hadn't counted on such an early start. Well, if the cause is right, all else follows. "Leave it to us. We'll be there and one last thing, John."
"What's that?"
"We'll be thinking of you as you go over the top. Good luck."
Nikki's soft tones made John feel how lucky Helen was. A couple of tears flicked into his eyes at the far-flung friendships he was privileged to enjoy.
"We'll get the packing done. We'll make time. Of course, you know that we have to be there, even if it is at eight in the morning."
Helen drew the taller woman towards her and clasped her close. No words needed to be spoken to explain why. Helen had drawn her own conclusions from Nikki's end of the conversation.
A little while later, John grinned to himself at the delicious humour at the thought of enlisting help from a left wing political organization and the equally committed band of women in whose warm heartedness and daring he had grown to develop strong affections. In these strange times, he knew that rules were made for the guidance of wise men and the slavish obedience of fools.
"Charlie, can you help me out with making up some picket signs? Oh yes, I could do with a fully functioning megaphone," John said over his mobile, making one final phone call on Thursday morning.
"Why on earth do you want to make picket signs at your age, dad." laughed Charlie.
"For the brethren to go out on strike with. What else?"
A few hours later, John and Charlie were hard at work, carefully painting some very decorative picket signs. Just as Charlie was enthusiastically putting the finishing touches, Mimi, the judge's dog, strolled past, wagging his tail and streaked the paintwork. He pirouetted in full view, traces of red paint staining the end of his tail.
"Oh Mimi," exclaimed an exasperated Charlie at her." You just have to stick your nose in everywhere. It's only because you want to be the center of attention."
"Dogs do, Charlie. They're worse than children," muttered a weary John as he straightened his back.
By unspoken agreement, John became responsible for the final preparations in the last days. He would coordinate the strike action via his mobile. What gladdened his heart was that the most cynical, jaded amenable of the brethren volunteered to man the picket lines on the Old Bailey and the Court of Appeal. It freed up the four of them to concentrate on the Home Office and John lay down to the peaceful sleep of the just. He had an early night and slept soundly.