At a ridiculously early hour, John's mind switched on and he sprang out of the spare bed at Joseph's mansion. Because of his methodical preparation, picket signs, leaflets and loudhailer were stashed in George's convertible. The only problem he foresaw was to in putting on his flowing red robes in the outside winter air rather than in the cloistered environment of his chambers.
"If I get arrested by the police because of being caught up in your infantile games," hissed George from behind the wheel," I will be absolutely furious. I will never forgive you if I get caught out. I will want compensating of course."
"You don't change, George. You were just the same when you were a little girl." chuckled Joseph to George's embarrassment and John's knowing smile.
As they approached their final destination, everything felt unreal. For a start, they was heading away from his beaten track and for another, they were up and about a lot earlier than normal. George parked her car discreetly round the corner from the Home Office, her eyes flitting in every direction to spot anyone she might know. Fortune had blessed them with a rising sun on the horizon just starting to illuminate what set out to be a fine blue sky and not a breath of wind. The conditions were perfect. George hurriedly got out the robes of office, and pointedly ignored the instruments of public protest.
"If you must take part in this ridiculous masquerade, then I insist that you must be smartly dressed. I don't want the pair of you to disgrace yourselves on the front page of 'Cosmopolitan' magazine."
"You mean if we are arrested." John said impishly.
"I mean, John, I will not have either of you looking as if you have stepped out from an Oxfam sale." George retorted acidly, refusing to rise to the bait." Now I'm going home and I'm going to have a quiet day at home and, no, I won't be watching the news. I dread to think of what I might see."
As George stalked off haughtily, she threw the parting remark from over her shoulder.
"Phone me on your mobile and I'll pick you up."
"If I know George, she'll video the news. She's really proud of us, only she can't admit it." Joseph's very carrying 'stage whisper' was answered by John's grin as he watched two hackney taxis converge on them and Morag and Monty arrive. The arrangements were starting to fall into place.
"All right, John, where's the action?" Morag called out casually, her robes neatly in place.
John shot a quick look down the street. Already, lines of yellow-jacketed policemen were assembled outside the front entrance. He propped his picket sign over his shoulder and held the loudhailer by the handle, using it to gesture to the others.
"Over there unless they're double crossing us, Morag. I think that we should not disappoint the public guardians of the peace. Come on."
"I don't know about you but it's biting cold outside and a shot of whisky would warm us up." urged Monty.
"Great idea," pronounced Morag. The ardent spirits soon coursed through their veins and warmed their spirits without taking the edge off their thinking. They could hardly be arrested for being drunk and disorderly on a picket line. After all, they were judges, were they not?
They filed over to the front doors of the Home Office and curiously enough, the policemen gave them space. Ancient instinct prevented the Metropolitan police from barring the way to four distinguished judges, customarily the upholder of order.
There was a polite stand off as there was a pause in the proceedings. There was a curious uncomfortable edge in the air as if the police were confronting their traditional enemies on the picket line. On the other hand, the four wise judges were starting to feel as if they were actors in a performance of Waiting for Godot.
John looked at his watch. It struck him that for the first time in his life, he was forced to work to Haughton's daily routine. He glanced at the entrance to the underground car park and judged that this was the entrance to block. Long dormant instincts enabled him to size up the geography of the situation and locate themselves three dimensionally. John understood immediately what the political activist had said about the traffic noise. Fleeting steel shapes whizzed past them and their constant irregular droning sound intruded on everything, including private thought. He had not noticed it before, having been one of the drivers.
Suddenly, a crowd of casually dressed demonstrators rounded the corner, and filed in their direction. They were well muffled up against the elements. Instantly, the police reverted to their normal boot faced impassive demeanour. They recognized their natural enemy and felt almost relieved about being able to revert to type. They closed ranks so as to bar their way.
"Hands off our judges." A single shout rang out from the crowd. It seemed to confuse them.
"Are these others with you" one policeman curtly enquired of John.
"Looks like it." came John's dry response." Any free spirited English people are welcome to celebrate with us the traditional freedoms, which are under threat from the government. I'll be answerable for their good behaviour so can you let them pass."
John's forceful tones had the desired effect and the line of policemen parted so as to let the crowd through. Their leader extended his hand to John whom he recognized as being in charge. John noted approvingly that his grip was as firm as the man's politics.
"You must be John Deed. I'm pleased to meet you."
"I'm glad you could make it. We're pleased that so many of your friends could spare the time to come along."
"I said that a lot of us would come along and support you."
"I confess that I'm not used to being up at this early hour. At least the weather is fine."
Incongruously, the unwritten but powerful mores of conventional English polite society prevailed on the city streets, occupied by four supposed members of the British ruling class and their one-time class enemies.
"How's your strike going?"
"We're certain that the Old Bailey and the Court of Appeal will be closed for the day. Hardly a single judge will turn up for work. There will be very few barristers who will even try and turn up for work and they won't dare cross the picket lines. I'm going to phone up in a bit and check."
Images came into the other man's mind of folk images of furious confrontations in the 1984 miner's strike. He could not help but be impressed that this strike was so solid and well organised.
"The press are arriving, comrade."
John glanced round and, to his surprise, a group of photographers were coming in his direction, complete with cameras and hand held film gear. Even he was becoming slightly overawed by the scale of the event unfolding. Was it only days ago that this was all talk as they had conceived the idea and made their plans?
"This way, gentlemen." John's carrying voice called out in their direction, still holding the megaphone in his clasp. It was just while they were crossing the road, Morag called out to him in an urgent tone of voice.
"Look out, everyone. Haughton's coming."
The pressmen froze for a second, before the more quick-witted hastily grabbed their cameras, video and sound gear just before events unfolded very rapidly. They had to take the chances as they came.
Sure enough a sleek grey limousine flashed into view, and the tableau froze for a second. Instinctively, John stepped out to block the approach of the car.
"The reckless fool," Monty muttered, as he hesitated where he stood.
Fortunately, the driver braked instinctively as a judge in full regalia was blocking his path. Slightly ashamed of his vacillation, Monty's feet unfroze themselves, followed by Morag and finally Joseph puffed his way to the scene. A lividly angry Haughton wound down his window, as the flashbulbs started popping and the cameras started to run.
'I'll have all of you arrested for obstruction if you block my way."
"And who's going to try us? None of the brethren would touch this with a bargepole."
"I'll find someone. Sir Ian might."
"You can't really mean that the fool has the slightest ability to run a court of law. To say that he was always mediocre in both his knowledge and application of the law would be to grossly exaggerate his talents. That was why he became an administrator," laughed John in his face.
The soundman noted with satisfaction that the judge's voice was nicely balanced for volume and well modulated for live transmission even if Haughton was less distinct. The smart suited politician went red in the face in anger and humiliation and raised his voice in an effort to sound masterful and dominant. After all, he was the Home Secretary, Mr. Law and Order, wasn't he? He did not realize that he only came over as petulant as nobody had ever dared tell him that. In the crowd, Helen and Nikki looked on with keen interest. This was the first time that they had seen a politician outside his protective publicity bubble.
"You will not get in the way of the elected representatives of the people. I shall crack down hard on the lot of you."
"You fool, Haughton. You'll have us out for longer than a day if you carry on like this.
You come and face us, man to man, and tell the nation on prime time television that you'll impeach me if you dare," roared John at the insignificant man who shrank back in his seat. None of his minders were there to help or advise him.
Suddenly, there came the powerful if not very tuneless singing through another megaphone to the tune of 'London Bridge is falling down." An unamplified chorus backed the singer.
"Neil Haughton is a right.
Is a right, is a right
Neil Haughton is a right."
For a few moments, John, Monty, Joseph and Morag were puzzled at the way the song built itself up in such an obscure way until suddenly the payoff line explained all…
"Tory bastard."
John roared with laughter at this neat linguistic trick of this bit of street theatre protest. As the chorus leader swung into a repeat chant, John lustily joined in, followed more discreetly by the others, not without misgivings at the way that the creep was bracketed to their conservative upbringing. Joseph Channing's long experience of life hailed back to his own legal mentor Lord Denning, or BobDenning as he knew him as, the legal stalwart of the McMillan government. No true die-hard conservative would ever deign to breath the same air let alone soil his hands by shaking hands with such a jumped up spiv. Everyone had standards in his younger days. Nevertheless, he did smile faintly at the spectacle and mumble along despite his reservations.
"Move it, driver. This is an order." Haughton snapped, unable to stomach the public humiliation any more. Unfortunately, the judges had crowded in on Haughton, the more effectively to harangue him and the way was clear. With a screech of tyres, the sleek black Mercedes was off and away, down the steep concrete ramp, round the corner and was gone.
Momentarily, John's wits were in a state of disarray. The object of their collective loathing had removed himself from the scene.
"Is that man so scared of us?" John asked abstractly of the world.
"It's more what you represent, John." Put in Monty.
"Do you want to talk to the press, John? They are waiting for us."
John pulled himself together in response to Morag's quiet suggestion. It was taken for granted that John was the most capable in this particular area. After all, had he not gone public in his crusade against the creeping power of the executive on a number of occasions? However much they may have criticized him at the time, both his past experience and his boldness made him the obvious public spokesman.
He eyed the pressmen warily, having crossed swords with a number of them who violated court procedures in their coverage of a 'reality TV' trial. One of them had sneaked a photograph of a witness on a mobile, put it up on the Internet where it was downloaded onto the front page of the tabloids. He had had the lot of them held in custody, day after day, until the culprit cracked. The difference was then that he was on John's territory, whereas he was now right out in the open on their territory, with no defence except his sharp wits. He saw that very same reporter was joining the queue to launch the attack.
"Isn't your strike an attack on law and order?"
"I disagree. Any authority can and should govern with public endorsement of its morality rather than mere passive acceptance. It is the Home Secretary who is bringing the law into disrepute. He is obsessed with shredding and binning what rights are still left to us leaving no opportunities for dissent. A famous man said that if you do not give the people reform, they will only give you revolution in return."
"Won't the public suffer?
"Name me a strike that hasn't had some effect upon the public. The argument is not of our making but the Home Secretary."
"Don't you feel that you're being used?"
"By whom? We have minds of our own. If you refer to the supporters of the strike, I can only express my gratitude in their public spirited attitude in passing up a morning's lie in."
"Won't the viewers feel uncomfortable in left wing activist extremists latching onto an otherwise worthy cause, and hijack it to their own ends?"
"The strike has a clear objective, that the bill which will shackle the freedom of judges be withdrawn. There is a general principle at stake that the executive should back off from its attempt to seize total control over all aspects of society. I think our worthy companions and fellow protesters agree with this last principle, whatever banners they may carry."
"What sort of example are you setting the criminals out there?"
"The laws of this country do not permit unpunished what is clearly a crime so long as the due process of law is complied with. The right to peaceful legitimate protest is a time honoured one. History will tell anyone that rights were hard fought for yet so easily taken away unless we all stand together."
"Do you anticipate any more strike action?"
"That is in the hands of the government. They don't have to misapply the overused Churchill metaphor of refusing to budge for no clear reason. If they have minds, then they can be open to reason and they should be large minded enough to admit their mistakes. The ball is in their court."
"Can you therefore definitely rule out any further strike action?"
"We shall continue with whatever it takes to achieve our goals. Naturally, a peaceful solution is to be preferred."
"What sort of support have you had in your strike action?"
"I quite forgot. I meant to check with my colleagues. If you bear with me for a minute."
John said courteously as he fished out his mobile through his red robes.
"John here." He asked coolly and calmly." For the benefit of the press and TV who are right next to me, how's the strike going on at your end………oh, one hundred per cent support apart from the obvious one…. a mere handful of barristers came to work and turned round the moment you politely asked them to…and the turnout at the Court of Appeal was exactly the same …….that's excellent…….well, I hope that you are all in good spirits….."
"I am proud to say that all the judges have risen to the occasion and that both courts are closed for business." John proclaimed with a slight tremor in his voice. It dawned on him how much he had asked of the brethren. Thoughts had fluttered at the back of his mind, that he might be demanding more of the more cautious brethren than they could deliver. After all, they had not had his hardening experience of a long career path of brinkmanship with the forces of reaction?
"So your senseless disruption has been complete?" urged the cheeky Scottish whippersnapper of a press hack whom he had punished for taking the photo in court. God, he must be getting old, he thought, to think in terms like this.
"Better to go on strike and make a clean sweep of it rather than launch a series of half successful strikes, don't you think?"
"Do you see the successful outcome of the strike benefiting not just judges and if so, who, how and why?" came the solitary voice of the friendly young man whose chance phone call to him had steered in John's direction.
"We have struck a notable blow for liberty. As far as I see it, freedom is indivisible. I was brought up to believe in the separation of the powers in the executive, the judiciary and the legislature. We of the judiciary are rooted in the sense of England's traditional freedoms. So far from being a revolutionary demand, it is a traditional statement of the pluralist society. On the one hand, a victory for us would make the power obsessed and control freaks think twice about encroaching on our traditional rights and freedoms. On the other hand, if the over mighty executive has failed signally in their attempts to attack me, then it will encourage one and all to claim their just rights. I trust that this day's action and others who respond to it will help rebuild the necessary checks and balances and keep at bay those who wish to rob our freedoms in the name of democracy."
As the reverberation from his proudly and loudly uttered words died away, John suddenly noticed how dry his voice was. While the mainstream press had fallen silent, his radical friend nodded approvingly, and was scribbling it down in rapid shorthand. It would make peculiar reading, side by side with Trotskyite politics but it all made sense to him. It was couched in a different vocabulary than he was used to, that's all.
The four of them looked on as John held the megaphone in his hand. It dawned on them that the main purpose of the strike had been achieved. The film clippage would be duly taken away and suitably edited and the press went off to file their stories. Suddenly, a massive feeling of peace and silence descended upon the actors in this street theatre. So focused had they been on in preparing for this event, that it was very hard to work out exactly what to do next. Hazily, John realized that while they stayed there, so would the police. It felt as if they were all at an all night party, with that same feeling of being tired, yet unable to leave. They had certainly been up since very early and on their feet for hours. So much had happened in a short space of time.