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The
Times September 2010 - 1
The
Times September 2010 - 2
Chris
Mullin Daily Mail Article
Boris
Johnson interview 1998
The
Jones Family
Michael
Chronology
Contacts
& Links
Hedgeman - The Book
The Berlin Wall
Into
the Roaring Nineties
1991
Stanton Turns Really Nasty
Annus
Horribilis
The
End Of The Annus But Not The Horribilis
The
Judgement
The
Hand Of Peace
Fame
The
Big One
No
Carte Blanche
Come
On Stanton Pay Up
April
Fool
Niniteen
Ninety Seven
A
Little Help From The Lord
Guestbook
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COME ON STANTON - PAY UP!
There were trying difficulties to be overcome within the Stanton family;
the old man was eighty-seven and doddery; for the last seven years there
had been an affectionate, caring relationship with his eldest son, Paul
Terry. The death of Freda, wife and mother was a fearful blow; it was
sudden, unexpected, and excruciatingly painful and had that element
of violence. Far more accidents occur in the home than anywhere else
and the majority involve the elderly; she was vulnerable. That she was
'stressed up' is indisputable; she was the willing, wilful, feminine
third part of the revenge, retaliation, resentment, spite triumvirate
that maintained a spy tower at the end of their garden overlooking our
boundary; that aggressive threesome commissioned an intrusive photographic
survey by a so called expert -the surviving twosome refused to pay him
because he was inadequate to fulfil their command. Of course, she was
quivering and shaking at an age when friendships are made and enemies
soothed. For nine years she and her old man waged an aggressive battle;
stolen our light and amenity and, lit their disgraceful smoky fires.
We all drop things in kitchens; rarely full, heavy bottles; rarely on
a foot: unusually this caused a fatal blood clot. Somebody had to take
the blame. Father and son hated me to the depths of their souls (although
they didn't believe in such things); they hated me before the trees
were planted and smoky fires lit; they hated me when our house was built
upon the sacred playground of childhood. Now, after seven, adrenaline
soaked, exhausting but exciting years, daddy had tired, got bored of
losing and not only withdrawn from the triumvirate (although one was
already dead) but also the contest in the most exceptional, unacceptable
way; he sought solace in a relationship with another woman for his last
few years. Paul Terry was bereft; he made it clear on behalf of the
sons, this new woman would not inherit his birthright; the old man made
over the property to his sons: a sensible arrangement, yes, but this
should have been told to the Recorder; we were yet to be told this but,
the battle for costs recovery had to be waged with the old man's name
because it started in his name; now Paul Terry, the magnificent stag
took over - he was once a bull - no matter still a vegetarian; PTS raised
his noble head, snorted, pawed the ground then lowered his antlers.
Four years ago my affidavit included a photograph of a line of Leylandii
saplings stretching the whole width of the boundary. They had to compete
with the adjacent green mountain a couple of yards away; that now diminished
there was equal competition for moisture, nutrient, light and air; they
were no longer struggling little devils but virile, young, strong robust,
free, eager vile ugly bullies thrusting their evil growing tips into
vast trees of the forest. One news report stated PTS was intending to
grow these monsters into the stratosphere.
"These do not form a hedge along the boundary so they do not fall
within the Bournville Trust covenant"
This threat formed the sharpest, most prominent point of his antlers
and as he pawed the ground he shrieked
"I am not paying a penny piece of that man's costs".
That antler point got broken off; it arose from the Court of Appeal
taxation court which was in London. Payment of my costs was guaranteed
by his solicitors; the action was allowed to proceed in the eventuality
that if it failed and there was insufficient funds to pay, the defendant
would be unfairly disadvantaged. Ray, my solicitor, now only employed
by me to administer the tricky cost recovery quickly compiled his bill
and made an offer; the Stanton camp refused preferring taxation, obstruction
and delay rather than saving money. It was at this point I had to pay
one and a half £K to Nick. I liked this highly intelligent guy
who specialised in constructing bills of costs for taxation judges.
We spent a day and a half together as well as two sessions in the county
court. The first thing he wanted from me was the file from my previous
solicitor - it was fours years old but it represented the first wedge
of legal expenses.
Ray had virtually done the London, Court of Appeal account but it needed
the expert touch of Nick who knew the minds of taxation judges - he
thought them unpredictable and dealt with his end product as an art
rather that a science - copies went to the Tax Master and Stanton camp.
I met up with Ray, taking the necessary expensive early train. It was
then very surprising that the Stantons were not present or represented
at all. I was refused my expenses for the day although Ray's were allowed.
Costs were itemised for his attendance on Counsel at Lincoln's Inn.
Ian and I also had an expensive day out; in addition we had an abortive
day out for a long session with our barrister - his clerk made a booking
error for which his chambers paid - but not our expenses. It was this
sort of thing that accumulated into a large sum for which we were never
compensated. Ray argued well but the judge was ruthless - the Stanton
decision to keep away was wise, no day off work; no solicitor to pay.
We finished the business in the morning and I went home - the amount
allowed was £10 1/2K and the judge signed. When Stanton gave notice
of appeal I was told it would be £33K - if we had lost it would
have wiped us out. Ray asked for immediate payment. There was a question
of the professional guarantee that would put extra pressure on PTS;
he didn't like paying anything at all at any time. We took out a 'statutory
order' for bankruptcy that on its expiry would lead to court. It was
a simple one based only on the Court of Appeal costs and it had to go
to the old man who was feeble by this time. I had a letter from his
'insolvency advisor' saying that all his assets had gone but on his
behalf he offered £6 K in settlement of all legal costs. I immediately
went to our Community Resources Centre and faxed it to Ray. I had scarcely
arrived home when Ray rang to say that he had phoned and pointed out
the criminal offence of the property conveyance that should have been
disclosed to the Recorder. Unusually events accelerated, the statutory
times expired and I duly met Ray in the County Court Buildings outside
yet another court door. As I was about to go in, Abe handed me the cheque
made out to me personally from his client account. Ray immediately said,
"That's mine". I gave him a cheque for the same amount, made
out to his firm because it was substantially out of pocket - and so
were we.
Ray would not settle up with John Wetherall, our tree expert; unbeknown
to me he had been using delaying techniques for some time. John disliked
Ray intensely; a couple of years later Ray used these against me. A
couple of years earlier the thought of two key people in my team not
hitting it off would have been the object of terrible disquiet. I was
deeply grateful to John, worked with him and found him absolutely loyal
and true - he was an integral part of our defence at a time when we
were not professionally represented. It was his talented witness and
highly skilled professional performance that turned the tide - it was
Abe, who said in that telephone call to me,
"Of course, we did not appoint our tree man; you did and you got
the right one". Then John did something disastrous, shocking me
to the core and turning Maureen from love to hate. John was ashamed
of himself, made it clear and, I forgive him; I would like to believe
he was always my friend. At 9 o'clock one evening, long after Maureen
had gone to bed, our door bell rang; it was John. I showed immediate
welcome and invited him in wondering why to God he was there, one and
a half hours driving time from home. He had just visited Paul Terry
Stanton and offered to sell him the debt of the remainder of his fee
- owed by Ray's firm. I had never heard of that sort of thing but it
sounded like treachery. Maureen came downstairs in her dressing gown
and a repeat explanation was given, much to her fury; she did not sleep
that night and her anger has never subsided. Paul Terry would pay our
expert £2K immediately (or so he said) - whatever figure John
would state was subjective - he could prescribe the number of hours
- his fee per hour was astronomical - he had spent many hours at our
house - overnight on one occasion. I asked if he would take a £1k
cheque and forget about it. He had not sent me his final accounts -
John accepted absolutely that these matters were left to my lawyer and
that I personally would never take part in refusing to pay him.
When it came to taxing the county court tax master was even more severe
than his appeal court counterpart; very reasonable claims were not admitted
- of course the client could pay his professionals what he liked but
the law only allowed the reasonable. I had got the £1K exactly
right and in the end Stanton paid. John then found out that PTS had
refused to pay the remainder of his own tree expert's bill of nine hundred
pounds on the grounds that he was no good. PTS correctly gauged he would
not take him to court.
For me it was now 'cum-uppance' time for the lawyers in my life. Once
upon a time there was the 'Solicitor's Complaints Bureau'; In 1989 Stanton
referred his first solicitor when she lost her file on me - he sacked
her and that is how Abe got the job; the SCB became an object of public
fun and a complete waste of time; the then Tory Lord Chancellor dismissed
all the complaints; dissolved it and instituted the 'Office for the
Supervision of Solicitors': with cynical heart, I had a crack at the
OSS and posted the two sins of old Abe.
Firstly, his neglect, despite telephone reminders, faxes and letters
to ensure the amended judgement of Recorder Woltan was included in the
file put before the Appeal Judges. It is amazing that all the relevant
material was left to appealing legal team (with the check of opponents
of course) and not sent on by the county court judge's clerk.
Secondly, his failure to inform the Recorder of the conveyance of the
old man's property - did Abe's firm convey it? I tried to find out but
the OSS said that was confidential. In the legal world there is a built
in delay and procrastination factor: the excuses are chosen from a list
- the legal case worker is ill; on leave; left or retired: if they have
been on holiday abroad they have come back with a nasty virus that can
last quite a time: if you ring up, they are out of the office, in court
or in conference - if they are forced to reply in writing the standard
phrase is 'in due course'.
They informed me that a complaint against one's opponent's solicitor
or indeed any solicitor other than the one you had hired would not be
accepted; it was a matter of client confidentiality - if they had broken
the law then I must take them to court or inform the police. We had
gone through enough litigation and there was still too much to do. On
the WM Radio, Phone-in programme there were daily complaints against
solicitors. Host Ed Doolan gave the telephone number of a solicitors
prepared to sue fellow solicitors; I rang one pompous ass that dismissed
my desire for justice; he couldn't care a fig about the honour still
less morality of his professional colleagues - he told me to forget
about it and should really charge me £230 for his time - but he
would let me off.
OK, so what about my early solicitors and curry breathed ex- barrister
- I had hired them and paid them a month's pension for a session in
court when they sold me down the river; I had a hell of a game pulling
myself out of their mistakes, after sacking them. Well the solicitor's
own professional body didn't want to know about that one either. I phoned
the OSS and engaged the attention of a senior case worker for an hour.
I called his organisation and his profession bad names and in the end
said my words should not be attributed to him personally. He replied.
"I appreciate that more than you can possible know - you have gone
through so much; I am so sorry that there is nothing I can do to bring
you the justice you feel you deserve".
Then my attention was concentrated on the Disciplinary Committee of
the Bar Council. It concerned both barristers; my first barrister for
inferior service and incompetence and my opponent's barrister for among
a number of things, hinting I was a 'Peeping Tom'. I must admit there
was a much greater concern by barristers for the professional conduct
of its members than the solicitors were for theirs. I wrote a lot and
the secretary wrote back a lot, we also had plenty of conversation -
then charges were made and both lads had to answer them - now they were
in the dock and it took them hours and hours to construct their defence.
The committee also spent hours on it and in the end exonerated both
but imposed a severe reprimand for the words used by the Stanton barrister-
"Words are important".
I got an apology; it was not that important. Ray got the message from
the legal circles that the stricture upset the barrister greatly. Good;
his face would have gone redder than usual. More importantly he would
have struggled for hours defending himself against the charges I had
laid. Yes, he wriggled out of those but he had been humiliated for representing
a couple of hoodlums - he claimed (that was upheld) he had no option
of refusal to act for them; then his sneering, cynical use of power
when he drafted the injunction to sign before the judge, keeping me
away from part of my garden for five years. I pledged then to get my
revenge and serve it cold. Yes, I saw him deeply distressed and disappointed
when he lost the trial just before Christmas; what a cheek to utter
his infernal insolence; to accuse me of being a "Peeping Tom".
Ha, ha, ha. The other three got away. What annoys me most is that the
Law Society, through its Office for the Supervision of Solicitors did
not pose a case for Abe Lincoln to defend. That makes me sad for his
none 'come-uppance' - this included what he had done to Maureen. As
to my first barrister - well, he would have to spend lots of his £300
an hour time defending himself - if he had spent time and belief in
my cause, we might have fought the whole case through together and he
could be famous. My first solicitor? Ray offered to sue him after saying,
"I expected that load of rubbish from the Law Society". There
was no way of me going through another couple of years through the courts
so I put both legal teams through the wringer again by referring them
en-bloc to the Legal Services Ombudsman - who is by definition of the
parliamentary act to be a non-lawyer. She upheld the decisions of the
Bar Council and the Law Society.
Then a solicitor friend sent me a copy of the Birmingham Law Society
Gazette containing an astonishing advert; it was placed by the Barrister's
Chambers whose honorary president was Recorder Woltan; it was unlikely
he knew of the content or conspired in its construction; its purpose
was to draw attention to the excellence of its members and attract custom;
it did it by outlining the facts of Stanton v Jones, one of which was
that I had cut the hedge down to seven feet - something that their honorary
president when acting in his capacity of judge had rejected - this sort
of spin contaminated its message and added to its lack of taste. It
said nothing of the grief and stress involved by my family, the physical
assault on me' the grotesque omission of any law which precluded the
imposition of hedge nuisance and exuded the morality of the infinite
extension of litigation instead of compromise and conciliation - a precept
extolled by the honorary president in his judgement and accepted by
Lord Woolf in his Report "Access to Justice". In other words
'crude lolly'; the exploitation of clients or more significantly, the
poorer one, flung into court with the only option - an outrageous settlement.
I put together a point by point objection and took the Leader of Chambers
to the Disciplinary Committee of the Bar Council. It was refused but
of course took up many expensive man-hours of time. I sent a copy to
the Office for the Supervision of Solicitors and referred the Editor
of the Gazette for lack of professional conduct in publishing the advert.
It was unlikely there was any procedure for dealing with it, however
as I sent another copy to the editor via Birmingham Law Society. I waited
a few days before ringing and had surprisingly little difficulty in
getting through to via a firm of solicitors, to someone who actually
admitted to being the appropriate person to talk to. I have stated before
that solicitors employ secretaries capable of putting off by excuses
such as 'on leave, in conference, in court etc.' He was highly irritated
and annoyed and when his phone was interrupted (no mobiles then) he
politely said,
"Excuse me for a moment Mr Jones". I answered,
"Not at all", thinking this was a wheeze; he was genuine and
obviously tried to press the off button that would temporally disengage
the line to me - he shouted to his interrupter,
"Will you gerroff this line, I've got bloody Michael Jones on it".
He actually listened to me but he was professionally skilled in talking
but getting nowhere.
I was getting very busy talking every day to people who had nasty neighbour
experiences; the check out lady at the Co-op grocery was one of them;
she had followed our saga with fascination. It wasn't at a busy time
and customers diverted themselves to other empty outlets. She had trouble
with solicitors and had told her present one that she knew me; he had
said,
"He is completely mad, isn't he"?
The Bournville Village Trust, in conjunction with Classic FM organised
a Gardener's Forum at George Cadbury Hall - it was packed; top gardeners
formed the panel - we were asked to send our questions in advance. I
asked,
"Should there be a law to control nuisance hedges"? I thought
that my question would never be called but it was towards the end; there
was a murmur of recognition when I was called upon to ask it. There
was no straight answer - they were gardeners not lawyers or politicians
and perhaps they had never suffered hedge nuisance - perhaps lawyers
and politicians would be bad at garden questions and would have given
more relevant answers. However the most interesting was,
"When growing a massive hedge consideration should be given to
the person living the other side of it".
The Housing Grants Construction and Regeneration Bill was on its way
through the House of Lords. It occurred to me that an amendment might
be slipped in and went to see Denis Howell. His paraphernalia of peerage
was on proud display and he talked me through it - Baron Howell of Aston
Manor - it wouldn't have gone down very well as a 'labour lad from Lozells
of fifty years ago; here he was enjoying showing it off to me - a once
left-wing firebrand. He was no longer a young hard working junior minister,
constituency MP, member of Aston Villa board and so many sporting executives.
He had suffered family tragedy and had serious heart trouble. What happened
to my idea, I know not - I thought my hedge campaign would be boosted
when the press got hold of it - I enjoyed his gallery of Labour Leaders
- Keir Hardy, Ramsay MacDonald, George Lansbury, Clement Atlee, Hugh
Gaitskell (ah you were a Gaitskellite) Harold Wilson, Jim Callaghan,
Michael Foot, Neil Kinnock, John Smith and Tony Blair - I could have
talked all day. We did talk about gardening Denis was keen on his garden.
On the 11th of May we went to the Scilly Isles - on a much needed holiday.
We were direly short of leisurely, relaxed and intelligent conversation
and deliberately took the train to Penzance; the five and a half hour
journey did the trick, nicely. The Isles were covered with the pink,
non-hardy, herb Robert or cranesbill, so called because, typical of
the geranium genus, the seed head resembles that of a crane; so does
the pelargonium, mistakenly called geranium to which it is not related.
The flowers of this beautiful shrubby plant - Geranium Maderence indicate
its origin in Madeira, although it is also called Canerience. It has
established itself in absolutely frost free parts of Devon such as the
RHS garden 'Rosemore' where it is called 'the flower of the month for
June', but here in the Scillies in the week before mid-May it was growing
wildly rampant but the seed heads had not as yet formed. I bought a
packet of thirty-nine seeds from the Abbey Gardens shop in Tresco; all
of them germinated, the first in a day or two, the last in a couple
of months. It was my hope to grow them in hanging baskets and let those
thousand of gorgeous flowers cascade down the front of the house, in
the following summer. The plants did not like root restriction and although
I molly-coddled them through the winter, they resented going out in
the early summer - or even kept in the greenhouse and produced precious
little bloom. I gave twenty potted plants away without report of success.
I was glad to relinquish hope and let the last one go in three years.
There are more than thee hundred named species in the genus and are
promiscuous breeders; many are hardy in my garden and I love the scent
of a crushed leaf.
We were out walking in St Marys and took a short cut through the cemetery;
Maureen was ahead as I was looking at the graves; one was fairly fresh
and marked with a wooden cross bearing the words -
The Right Honourable Sir Harold Wilson PC. KB. OBE. CH. 11th March 1916
- 24th May 1995. The grave received a suitably inscribed headstone shortly
afterwards. No one was very moved by his death a year ago as he had
been in dementia for years and recognised no one. The Queen, John Major,
Margaret Thatcher, James Callaghan, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown attended
his memorial service in Westminster Abbey but the time for sadness had
long since passed. Now, briefly on my own I could spare a little tear
as I looked for a flower; there was a three month old remains of a bunch
at the foot of the grave but just below that there was a bunch of tiny
daises; I detached one, dropped it on the grave and let the tear slide
down my face. Maureen was seated, contentedly waiting whilst the birds,
so tame perched close to her feet.
There was a promenade garden walk and a line of dead Leylandii - at
one time there must have been seven years of growth but on just one
stormy night, exceptional combinations of gale and massive wave had
killed them: it was the salt. I have had scores, possibly hundreds of
requests and advice about killing these trees or even of their owners.
Concerning the latter one fellow sent a letter giving his CV, highlighting
his service in the British Nuclear Police. This organisation had no
connection with the Military or Civilian Police; it is highly plausible
to have connections with the Secret Service and 'understandings' about
unfortunate accidents on behalf of the 'nuclear, military, industrial
complex'. During the cold war nuclear power station security was ruthlessly
efficient and anecdotal stories abounded about fatal happening to anti-nuclear
campaigners. I once met a teacher who knew a guy who would carry out
a 'contract' on a head teacher for a thousand pounds; when I mentioned
this to an apparently docile teacher he replied,
"It would be worth two or three hundred quid each to get rid of
a tyrant - make life a lot easier". I spoke on the phone to dodgy
contractors who would cut the trees down and get the hell out of it.
One of them, more considerate than the rest said,
"I always counsel the owners first before cutting them".
"How long do you spend on that"?
"Oh, two or three minutes at least - then we're away - they won't
find us - we do this in the States for four months in the summer".
We had lots of visitors one of whom was Max Ayriss from Nuneaton - he
was boss of his own company and brought me stacks of stationery. Denis
Harris devoted a lot of time and research planning to visiting members
of parliament at their constituency surgeries; it was an invaluable
service and he enjoyed it, making a day out of the occasion. He was
never once refused on the grounds that the MP was not his own. Betty
Boothroyd was particularly helpful to him. She was popular and as she
was not contested by the Tories or Lib Dems had a massive majority because
their voters supported the Speaker. She had read all about Leylandii,
indeed it couldn't be missed - it was part of the Language and an object
of fun in cartoons and radio comedies. Betty wrote to the appropriate
Minister and got the typical letter of support, agreement, good will
and no promise of doing anything at all in the immediate future. I was
writing all the time and getting letters by the sackful but this actual
visiting was unique. I told victims all over the land,
"Get in touch with your MP".
"But my MP is useless".
"But this is all we have got - parliament is where we make law".
In the majority of cases the victim had never been in touch with their
MP before. I was quite surprised at the sympathy and level of support
completely cross party - and they had less than a year to wait before
they had a new MP. What struck me was the absolute ignorance of mature,
well read, sometimes academics had not a clue as to why policies could
only be changed by new laws - the parliamentary process was the only
way. One day I had an anonymous letter from someone claiming to be a
Royal Gardener supporting my stand, he loathed Leylandii and enclosed
his cure for their eradication' - a handful of commercial salt in a
can of water - apply in the dead of night'
It was the RHS Chelsea show and Dominic Kennedy, 'The Times Court Correspondent
reported from the Royal Marquee - he told me months later that Leylandii
and Stanton v Jones dominated the conversation. Good! Snobbery in gardening
is as odious as in any other; obviously prejudices led by Royalty have
hope of being sustained. Leylandii was rejected and unacceptable and
if its doughty fighter was me, I was as pleased to accept any accolade
on offer and we were to get it in spades. Whether Roddy Llewellyn was
present in that Royal Tent (bet he was) or not, he was without doubt
the Royal Gardener, owner and designer of an island garden; thirteen
years the junior of Princess Margaret he became her beau on the collapse
of her marriage. He had written an article in the 'Mail On Sunday' supporting
the courage of Maureen and me in our stand against the Leylandii scourge
- that was read by an eight million circulation - what is more he told
us about this before yet another Esther programme.
ITV had been screening the popular, prime time, massive audience rated
- 'The Cookson Report'. BBC attempted to match it with the 'Ransome
Report'; it was encouraging that Leylandii nuisance and the strong public
demand for legal control had captured the public imagination; the presenter
decided that, with two other very emotive issues screened to catch the
sensitive and emotional ears of the campaigning public it would do the
trick; it was too complex for one programme and not researched enough
to discover traps; the possibility of legal action led to its withdrawal
from future repeats and endless, lucrative screenings on the commercial
channels. In view of the debacle in the first Esther programme the Stantons
declined further exposure but the researchers were interested in a new
case.
Brenda and John Law had bought a brand new bungalow in a Hereford meadow
from Land Owner Foley - his family stretches back to the court of Charles
II and Nell Gwyn - the local graves, place names exude saga of each
generation. The programme personnel should have concentrated on Leylandii
and the modern Foley and interviewed him. I knew little of the amazing
audacity of this man at the time and my mind was stuffed full of the
bullying techniques of a hundred or more victims; when any journalist
rang me I could put them on to a local story.
Brenda and John had not attached importance to a line of tiny Lleylandii
saplings six feet from the walls when they were led into a legal trap
by signing a conveyance that the property could only be sold back to
Foley. For six years it was idyllic (so was the Stanton menace to us)
the next four years first evoked apprehension the good natured tolerance,
then apprehension, then fear, then anger as finally the sturdy forest
trees subsumed the bungalow, Foley offered to buy at a fraction of the
value. We were told later that he had tried this technique successfully
before and succeeded because the husband died and the wife had dementia.
We were at the front of the studio audience hours before our feature
came up. Maureen and I were sitting together and Roddy Llewelyn was
sitting next to her. He introduced himself, expressed his pleasure at
meeting us and asked if we had read his article about us in the 'Mail
on Sunday'. Now, Maureen has never read any article or news item or
seen the recording of any of my or our broadcasts; we have never read
the MoS; he was surprised that we had not. I hadn't a clue to his royal
connection or eminence in the upmarket, gardening world of the wealthy.
We were friends immediately but he got on particularly well with Maureen
doing crosswords, in the long wait ahead. The production team was having
difficulties. On one of the sets they had, for indoors, an enormous
Leylandii, horizontally across the stage and at the start of our act
it was dramatically hauled by ropes and pullies into a vertical position.
We only got about fifteen minutes and as it was broadcast only once
seemed a lot of slog, travelling and waiting about. We had our expenses
paid and were put up in a hotel for the night. In terms of publicity
for changing the law it was worth thousands of pounds - beyond the scope
of my begging from the wealthiest of my contacts - and as for us, Ray
Burford continued to ask me for money.
We decided to go to Yorkshire for a few days - by car - without booking
up; it was the cheapest and best of all our holidays. We aimed for Harrogate,
parked the car outside the tourist centre and were directed to a lovely
B&B, guest house with a room and all facilities en suite. It was
the main holiday period and we waited to record the broadcast of the
'Ransome Report' - then we just buzzed off without telling anyone -
Ian, Christopher and Andrew were away, and so were the neighbours.
Come the evening we found a lovely pub and Maureen tolerantly endured
me drinking a couple of pints of Theakston's best bitter with a tuna
salad and baked potatoes. Next morning we had a very substantial Yorkshire
breakfast and a great welcome from our hostess before setting out to
the RHS gardens at Harlow Carr, to fulfil an ambition. Without returning
to base to clean up and get ready, we knew the type of place to go for
our evening meal, then tired, early to bed, read the paper, Maureen
to do the crossword, listen to the news. Our landlady was waiting; her
husband had recorded the Esther programme and she had played that day
-
"I've been telling everyone, that man had breakfast in my house
this very day".
After only a few days, it was water the hanging baskets, go through
fifty letters, then start on the answering machine and hear the devastating,
tragic news that wiped away our happiness and relaxation of the last
few days.
Mary, the widow of my brother had unexpectedly died. She was seventy-nine,
a year older and had outlived Roger by seven years. They were married
for forty-nine years and met because my sister Connie brought her home
after her first day at work. She was a local Handsworth girl, had lost
her father a few years previously, a Methodist, twenty, a mere slip
of a girl and I was nine; we used to fight violently for the next ten
years and she would win and I would be in pain. She would insist that
Roger included me when they went to the pictures which was great when
it was an 'A' requiring an accompanying adult. If Roger thought I was
an intruder he did not show it - he was the kindest and gentlest of
men, deeply religious and saintly in his last years. This might have
brought some strain on the marriage as Mary was fun loving, completely
extrovert, energetic and a forward planner. She put on weight in her
later years and was trying to cut down because of varicose veins. We
visited her in hospital. She supported us strongly in our desperate
plight against the Stantons and, of course had been in court nine months
previously. I have mentioned her in an early part of my biography and
will write about her and all members of the extended family in a subsequent
book.
My main motivation was getting old man Stanton to pay up and getting
an operable piece of law to control nuisance hedges: you do this either
by amending existing law, making a new law or in our case encouraging
Bournville Village Trust to enforce their covenants. The new line of
Leylandii stretched sixty yards along the whole width of the boundary
and ten feet away from it; along half the stretch parallel to the existing
hedge there was scarcely room for the Stantons to get by. There was
a horticultural problem here; the old hedge was deprived of light, moisture
and nutrient from its southern aspect; it could not compete with its
new vigorous rivals. In three years we would have real problems.
There was overlap in the appeal and county court costs - the hearings
were fifteen months apart and unusually they were in that order as my
readers following my narrative will understand - by now two years from
the judgement had elapsed - an allocatur (this was a legal term never
before experienced - it meant an order to pay in three weeks) had been
issued and Ray sent it to Abe and nothing happened so Ray took out a
bankruptcy writ and served it on old man Stanton personally, with the
results I have previously outlined. A court hearing was obtained for
11th November at 11 o'clock - we were just a little later as two minutes
silence was observed for the whole building but the Taxation judge had
given some study to the papers. Nick my taxation lawyer was representing
me. I liked him very much and promised that he would figure in 'Stanton
v Jones' - the film - I forget who he nominated as actor to take his
part; he was unfamiliar to me; I nominated Robert Coltrane for my part.
Nick's expenses were chargeable to the total costs but Ray's were refused.
Stanton, the younger did his own objections but Abe was in attendance
- he announced he was working for another firm (and of course would
earn his fee). Every single item was argued and of course it took up
the whole time; the court adjourned for two months until the New Year.
PTS had set out to delay and had won this one. But just you wait till
the New Year, mate.
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