Light Cavalry Action Page 5

  Heads were craned forward and a murmuring broke out again as Prideaux was followed to the witness box by a tall thin man with a mane of white hair. He was dressed immaculately and leaned confidently on the rail of the witness box as Kirkham addressed him.

  ‘You are Professor Edward Grimes Forrest, of the Beddington Orthopaedic Hospital?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You have the highest qualifications, an international reputation, and all your life has been occupied with orthopaedic surgery, has it not?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Kirkham smiled, satisfied with the impeccable background of his witness. ‘You had occasion, I believe,’ he began, ‘to examine the plaintiff, Sir Henry Prideaux – at that time plain Colonel Prideaux – soon after his return to this country from Russia in 1920?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘At that time I was consultant to a convalescent camp that had been established for senior officers at Ludslaw in Somerset. There were still many officers there from the fighting in France, although the war had been over for some time. Colonel Prideaux arrived at the camp with a partly healed injury to his head.’

  ‘What did you find when you examined him?’

  ‘There was a scar on his temple as though he had suffered a blow some short time before.’

  ‘A severe blow?’

  Forrest nodded. ‘Although it had healed,’ he explained, ‘I judged it to have been a fairly heavy blow. It hadn’t damaged the bone structure of the skull, however – not this wound.’

  ‘Would you say it was caused, perhaps, by a rifle butt?’

  ‘It could certainly have been. Or some similar heavy object.’

  ‘Did the Colonel say where he had received this blow?’

  ‘He said he had been in command of an Anglo-Russian cavalry regiment in South Russia and had had occasion to lead them into action against the Bolsheviks at a place called Dankoi.’

  ‘And you have little doubt that the Colonel received the blow he complained of during that action?’

  ‘None whatsoever. While at Ludslaw, in fact, he received confirmation of his d.s.o. and a promotion to brigadier as a result of it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Moyalan rose slowly. ‘Professor Forrest,’ he began. ‘I noticed a remark you made in your evidence which my learned friend didn’t see fit to query. You said – and I quote – “It hadn’t damaged the bone structure of the skull, however – not this wound.” What precisely did you mean?’

  Forrest gestured. ‘There had been damage to the bone structure from an earlier wound on the temple – but not from the one I was concerned with.’

  ‘So there had been another wound in the same spot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A severe one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m interested in this other wound, Professor Forrest. Will you tell the court about it, please?’

  Forrest considered for a moment. ‘I gathered that this was the wound that had brought Colonel Prideaux down in 1914,’ he said. ‘It had dislodged a fragment of bone and there had been a certain amount of pressure for a while.’

  ‘Serious?’

  Kirkham rose. ‘Milord,’ he said slowly, ‘I must object to this line of questioning. Is the defence trying to make out that the plaintiff was suffering from a brain injury or something?’

  The judge looked at Moyalan.

  ‘Our defence, my lord,’ Moyalan said placidly, ‘lies in trying to explain not so much what happened at Dankoi as why it happened. This line of questioning has a direct bearing on it, as the fight at Dankoi occurred because of the orders of Colonel Prideaux.’

  Kirkham gestured airily. ‘And is me learned friend suggesting that these orders were influenced by some pressure on the brain or something, my lord?’

  ‘We have every right to investigate the reason for those orders, my lord,’ Moyalan insisted.

  ‘Are courage and duty not sufficient, Mr. Moyalan?’ Godliman asked placidly.

  ‘Not necessarily, my lord,’ Moyalan persisted. ‘The defence feels that, in view of other things which occurred in Russia and which have not yet emerged in evidence, it must try to discover what prompted those orders – other than a sense of duty, of course.’

  The judge nodded. ‘I must over-rule you, Sir Gordon,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer that the defence should rephrase the question.’

  Moyalan bowed and turned to Forrest again. ‘What was the condition of the plaintiff when you saw him?’ he asked.

  Forrest paused for a moment. ‘It’s difficult to remember after all this time,’ he said slowly. ‘There were still many men passing through my hands. But, of course, I particularly noticed Colonel Prideaux because, unlike other officers from France, where wartime censorship had hidden their activities, his feats had filled the newspapers for some time. As far as I recall, he seemed shocked – as though still heavily concussed.’

  Moyalan paused, moving his papers, then he looked up. ‘You have referred to an earlier and much more severe wound in the same place as the one for which you were treating him,’ he said. ‘Could not the injury he received at Dankoi have aggravated the effects of this other wound? In other words, could what you naturally assumed to be concussion have been something else? – a disturbance caused by this earlier injury?’

  Forrest paused. ‘It could have been,’ he agreed slowly. ‘I considered that.’

  ‘What else did you notice?’

  ‘He seemed dazed.’

  ‘Had he lost his memory?’

  ‘There were points which were obviously blacked out. He seemed to be uncertain, for instance, of what he had done just after the action. He knew he had taken part in the fight and led his men out of it, but then he seemed to have a blank until he found himself at headquarters at Khaskov, directing the withdrawal.’

  ‘So that when plaintiff says he decided to go to headquarters and see to the withdrawal, he is, in fact, assuming this or has learned it from another source and has accepted that this is what he did. In other words, he didn’t himself remember doing these things.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘This is a mental black-out, is it not?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’

  * * *

  Moyalan paused and consulted his papers to let the jury absorb the witness’s words. Then he looked up.

  ‘Professor Forrest,’ he said. ‘I believe, in addition to being an eminent surgeon, you are also a psycho-analyst of some distinction?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I am.’

  ‘How long have you been practising this aspect of medicine?’

  ‘I started in 1908 after attending the first Psycho-Analytical Conference in Switzerland.’

  ‘I see. According to your report, you used your experience in this field to examine Colonel Prideaux’s mental condition?’

  ‘Yes. He was in a somewhat depressed state and I wondered whether it could perhaps be due to some other cause than the injury to the skull I’d found. I felt I must check.’

  ‘A very praiseworthy intention. What did you find?’

  ‘He was anxious, withdrawn and apathetic.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘His war experiences.’

  ‘What did you gather from him?’

  ‘That he had been bitterly disappointed with his career in France where, I knew, he had been taken prisoner and remained at the same rank for four years while all his contemporaries gained considerable advancement. There seemed to be a feeling of great anger and humiliation that he had been captured so early in the war before he had had a chance to distinguish himself.’

  ‘A feeling of anger and humiliation?’

  ‘He seemed to feel he had not come up to the standard set by his father and grandfather.’

  ‘What about Russia? Did he say anything about that?’

  Forrest considered for a moment. ‘I got the impression,’ he said slowly, ‘that h
e felt that even in Russia he hadn’t been very successful.’

  There was a stir at the back of the court and several heads craned forward. Moyalan rested his weight on his hands and gazed up at Forrest.

  ‘Did he say why?’ he asked.

  Forrest shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t. I put it down to an exaggerated feeling of dejection brought on by the injury.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I advised rest, and I was delighted later, when I read of his steps in rank to his present position, to feel I had in some way been responsible for helping him.’

  Moyalan gestured. ‘Let us now go back a little,’ he suggested. ‘You say when you spoke to him you found him very depressed and anxious? Could this have been caused not merely by the injury, as you decided, but by some inner tension?’

  Forrest smiled. ‘Of course it could,’ he agreed. ‘I considered this, as I’ve said.’

  ‘And could this inner tension of the Colonel’s have been due to some worry?’

  ‘Certainly but…’

  Moyalan interrupted quickly. ‘Suppose, for instance,’ he said, ‘something had happened which had caused in the Colonel a grave sense of doubt or a sense of guilt. Could that be the explanation of his depression?’

  ‘It could. But the Colonel’s story…’

  Moyalan held up his hand. ‘Let us leave the Colonel’s story for the moment, Professor,’ he suggested. ‘I’m trying to clear something up.’

  Kirkham got to his feet slowly, threateningly. ‘My lord, do we have to go into these facets of psycho-analysis?’ he demanded in a heavy voice. ‘They seem to have little to do with the charge at Dankoi.’

  Moyalan looked at the judge. ‘It is the defence’s contention, my lord, that they have a great deal to do with what happened before the charge and what happened after the charge, and these periods, according to the letter complained of by counsel for the plaintiff, are what we are dealing with.’

  Godliman nodded. ‘I think that seems reasonable, Sir Gordon. Please continue, Mr. Moyalan.’

  Moyalan straightened his notes and looked again at Forrest.

  ‘Now, Professor,’ he said, ‘we were talking about inner tension caused by doubt or guilt or anxiety. Let’s now look at it another way. Can inner tension be caused by something else? – frustration, thwarted ambition and so on?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And could such frustration and thwarted ambition have been caused in Colonel Prideaux by the humiliation he felt at being made a prisoner of war?’

  ‘It could.’

  ‘Could it be increased by his having built up hopes that things would be put right in Russia and that some sort of distinction would make up for the years of wasted time in a prison camp, and then by having these hopes dashed? By discovering, in fact, that the expected distinction was not to be granted?’

  ‘Ye-es.’ Forrest was looking puzzled now.

  ‘In other words, by being ambitious to do great things and failing?’

  ‘But the Colonel did great things…’

  Moyalan ignored the comment. ‘Could tension arising from frustration or thwarted ambition lead to stubbornness?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. To desire for perfection, rigidity of personality and various other things.’

  ‘And how would these affect a man? Would they, for instance, become more marked under stress and lead him to do unexpected things?’

  ‘They might.’

  ‘Things out of character?’

  ‘Possibly. But after the time he came to see me Colonel Prideaux did not do anything rash or stupid. In fact, his career has been a model since that time.’

  Moyalan looked up. ‘Were we talking of that period, Professor?’ he asked blandly.

  ‘Weren’t we?’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  * * *

  Kirkham rose slowly as Moyalan sat down. ‘I’m not sure what me learned friend is trying to prove,’ he said weightily, ‘but it seems to me that he’s trying to suggest that somewhere, somehow, something underhand had been going on in Russia and that my client was responsible. He seems to be trying to suggest something very strange about the plaintiff on his return to England. In fact, I’m somewhat confused because we seem to be talking first of one period when he was worried by something that had happened, and then about another when something happened as a result of worry. We seem to be talking about two completely different incidents when his worry was different and affected him in different ways.’

  Godliman looked at Moyalan. ‘Can you explain, Mr. Moyalan?’

  Moyalan got to his feet. ‘Yes, my lord, I can. But I would rather let the explanation come in its proper context.’

  ‘And are we dealing with two separate incidents?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, we are, as I shall show.’

  Godliman nodded. ‘Very well. Please continue, Sir Gordon.’

  * * *

  As Forrest left the witness box, Kirkham fished a watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it.

  ‘If your lordship pleases,’ he said, ‘I have two more witnesses, but one of them will not take much of your time and doubtless your lordship would prefer to get as much done as possible before breaking for lunch.’

  Godliman smiled and nodded, and Kirkham turned to the usher.

  ‘Call Colonel Robert James Forbes,’ he said.

  * * *

  Forbes was an elderly engineer who had been a railway expert on the headquarters staff at Ekaterinodar, south of Khaskov, a fussy old gentleman now, rather like the jury-man, with a pink face and a white wool of hair over his ears. His advancing years made him seem more like an ex-curate than a former soldier. From him, Kirkham elicited an account of the excitement of Prideaux’s arrival at Ekaterinodar, during the retreat south from Khaskov.

  ‘General Inde,’ Kirkham said, ‘had been dead for some time by then, had he not?’

  ‘Yes.’ Forbes nodded rapidly. ‘Typhus. Lots of people got it.’

  He described how he had heard earlier of the charge at Dankoi from a war correspondent, who he realised now was Christopher Murray-Hughes, the broadcaster and writer, and recalled the party they’d had in the officers’ mess at Ekaterinodar to celebrate what he had called at the time ‘the only decent thing that had come out of the whole rotten muddle in Russia’.

  Kirkham made a gesture of satisfaction. ‘As a former soldier of some experience, Colonel,’ he went on, ‘would you say that the words complained of in this case would have a serious effect on a soldier’s career?’

  The old man nodded, his fingers working on the rail of the witness box. ‘Disastrous,’ he said at once. ‘Disastrous. Disastrous.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Any suggestion of doubt would lead to the War Office losing confidence.’

  ‘Did you read the article complained of?’

  ‘Shown to me. Because I’d served with General Prideaux.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Appalled. Appalled.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the inference that he had not led the charge just wasn’t true. I’d seen the wound he’d received. I saw him bandaged. I’d been in Ekaterinodar when he’d arrived. He was still receiving treatment.’

  ‘What was your reaction? I mean, how did you feel this accusation would affect his career?’

  The old man gestured testily. ‘Could only do harm,’ he said sharply. ‘Obviously no man would ever be given an important command again if there were any suggestion of doubt about his career.’

  ‘Thank you. That is all.’

  The judge looked at Moyalan. He rose quickly and got corroboration of the fact that Prideaux had appeared at Ekaterinodar to be suffering from loss of memory, then he sat down again abruptly, with a sharp, ‘No more questions.’

  6

  Murray-Hughes

  There were a few curious glances at Higgins as the court adjourned for lunch. Fashionable people passing down the steps stopped to look at him, whispering behind
raised gloves, as he stood with Potter, talking to Moyalan and his junior counsel.

  Higgins was a little disturbed. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he was saying. ‘It wasn’t a bit as Prideaux said.’

  Potter shrugged and jabbed uneasily at the step by his shoe with the ferrule of his umbrella. ‘Nothing you could dispute, all the same,’ he pointed out. ‘Didn’t say one single thing that wasn’t correct.’ He smiled. ‘Somehow didn’t manage to be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, either, though.’

  Moyalan gestured with his papers. ‘There’s not much I can do about it just now,’ he said. ‘It’s not Prideaux who’s on trial.’ He paused. ‘Prideaux made a good showing in the box,’ he went on. ‘He looked and behaved like a lieutenant-general.’

  Potter smiled. ‘Always did,’ he observed dryly. ‘Even when he was just a colonel.’

  * * *

  The afternoon was dull, heavy rainclouds hanging over the city as the court reassembled for the afternoon session. Lights had been switched on and the small brass desk light on the judge’s bench showed up his face in narrow planes of aged flesh.

  The ushers were already calling the name of Prideaux’s next witness as Potter and Higgins took their seats.

  ‘Christopher Murray-Hughes! Christopher Murray-Hughes!’

  The man who took the oath was dressed immaculately, though a little artistically, in a checked suit, with a white shirt and a spotted bow tie that was just a little too large, but which somehow went perfectly with his thick white hair and actor’s features. A few of the women in the gallery whispered to each other and there was a smile of pleasure on the face of the ex-officer-juryman.

  ‘You are Christopher Murray-Hughes, at present residing in Berlin?’ Kirkham asked.

  ‘I am.’

  Kirkham smiled and twitched at his gown. ‘You are very well known to the public, Mr. Murray-Hughes, I believe?’