At which point another young man stood up very suddenly in his seat and said, “But… I… That’s not…” His face was scarlet and distorted with some kind of emotion; Andrews held up his hand.
“Your turn will come,” he said. “And I will decide when. Please sit down, and be good enough not to interrupt proceedings again. I would remind you this is a court of law, and you are required to show it a proper respect. Sergeant Freeman, continue, please.”
Sergeant Freeman continued; and then Weston took the stand and the oath. Andrews watched him with interest. Another emotional revelation, perhaps?
“Now, Mr. Weston, perhaps you would like to start by telling us what you wanted to say.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, you see… well, that is, my statement wasn’t entirely correct.”
“Really?” Andrews’s voice was full of innocent disbelief.
“No. No, the thing is… that bit about the tyres, that’s not right. I… When I gave my statement to the inspector, I wasn’t at all well. I was in a lot of pain: I’d been running a temperature; I had an infection in my leg; they… well, they’d thought they might have to amputate. It had all been very traumatic; I was still very upset. And confused.”
“I’m sure. Very understandable. I believe your leg is to a large extent recovered now.”
“Yes. Yes, it is, thank you. Anyway, it was not correct to say that Barney-Mr. Fraser-had persuaded me… not to check the type pressures. It was at my insistence that we left immediately and drove on. I’d had… well, I’d had a rather… rather pressing call from my father-in-law-to-be. I just felt that we had to get to the wedding no matter what. Mr. Fraser was very anxious to check them, very unhappy at leaving them. I’m extremely sorry about the… the confusion. Really very sorry indeed.”
“Well, well,” said Andrews, “thank you for that, Mr. Weston. Of course, we have heard from Forensics that in their opinion the blowout was caused by the presence of the nail in the tyre, so I don’t think you need to worry on that score. But accuracy in statements is, of course, very important, as I’m sure you realise, and mistakes can waste time and indeed change the outcome of an enquiry in certain instances. It’s always a pity when it is lacking, and indeed deliberate inaccuracies can be regarded as an offence. Do you have any other corrections?”
“No, no others.”
“Good. Then let’s go on.”
Weston’s evidence was without further dramatic input.
Fraser, his best man, he who had clearly been so distressed earlier, was called; he appeared shocked, strained; his answers were often faltering; then suddenly he spoke of his remorse that he had escaped “literally without a scratch, while everyone around us, it seemed, was horribly hurt. To this day, I feel bad. One of the doctors at the hospital was great; she told me how common that was, helped me to come to terms with it, this survivor-guilt thing.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Fraser. May I say, this kind of remorse is very common. It doesn’t mean you should feel you bear any of the blame. And we now know,” he added, looking directly at Toby, “that you were keen to do the right thing and check your tyres. I think you will find that gradually you will lose your sense of guilt. I hope so.”
More evidence followed: from a rather sleazy-looking chap, the white van driver, whose nail-studded planks had slithered out onto the road; Andrews rather enjoyed questioning him very closely as to how this had happened. It was not for him to apportion blame; it was still possible to make plain where blame lay.
And finally, an old lady gave evidence, a very anxious old lady, who said that she felt responsible in a small way, because she’d made Mr. Weston wait while she paid for her own petrol.
“I feel absolutely awful,” she said. “I kept thinking how wrong of me it had been; he asked to go first, he said he was in a terrible hurry, and for some reason, I told him he had to take his turn. Who knows, had I not done that, those young men might not have been caught in the accident, but arrived at the church in time, and… Well, I’d like to apologise to them.” She looked across at them both rather nervously.
“I really don’t think, Mrs. Mackenzie, you should feel too bad,” said Michael Andrews gently. “It would have made so little difference to the time and-”
“Yes, yes, but that little difference might have been crucial, don’t you think? I’m sure you know the old parable about the horseshoe nail?”
“I’m… not sure,” said Andrews.
“Oh, yes…” And as he waited, clearly expectant, she went on. “Well, it goes like this. ‘For the want of a nail a horseshoe was lost; for the want of a shoe the horse was lost; for the want of a horse the rider was lost; for the want of a rider the battle was lost; for the want of a battle, the kingdom was lost. And all for the lack of a horseshoe nail. Who knows? I might have been that nail. If you follow me.”
“I… think so, yes. But I think even the rather more tangible nail would not alone have kept them from the wedding, you know. Still it’s a very interesting thought. Thank you, Mrs. Mackenzie. You may step down now.”
It was five o’clock when Andrews rose to do his summing up. He was surprised by how positive an experience this inquest had been. Long, gruelling, and very sad at times-but uplifting in its own way: the courage displayed by the victims’ families, and indeed by some of the witnesses, the general clarity of the evidence. It had also been very satisfying to conduct; there had been no serious confusion, no conflicting evidence, no self-justification… except for that ghastly van driver chap.
It had been one of those rare things, this: an accident, pure and simple; nevertheless, for the families of the victims this was little comfort.
He began by speaking to them, saying how sad it was when lives were cut short… “any lives, not only young lives; one cannot compare or quantify losses or tragedies. Mr. Barnes had much to look forward to in his retirement; Sarah Tomkins had her whole life ahead of her; and for the Marks family a wife and a mother have both been lost. I am sure I speak for the whole court today when I say our hearts go out to you. Accidents are terrible things: one moment everything is under our control; the next we lose that control, fate takes over, and the world changes. No one can anticipate accidents, and they are in many cases virtually unavoidable. We have heard how the road on the afternoon in question was dangerous because of the recent spell of hot, dry weather and the heavy hailstorm; we have heard that no one was driving in any way dangerously. We have heard that the nut came off the wheel of Mr. Bryant’s E-Type not through lack of care, but if anything too much. We have heard that Mr. Connell was driving meticulously and that nothing could have prevented his lorry jack-knifing and his load spilling on the road. We have heard of much courageous and unselfish behaviour, and I would like to pay tribute in particular to Mr. Gilliatt, and of course to the emergency services and the staff at St. Marks Hospital, Swindon. And I would like to thank certain witnesses for their courage in coming forward when they were clearly nervous as to the outcome.
“There is much talk these days of the perfect storm-a confluence of weather patterns that separately would not be fatal or even dangerous, but which combine to be both; I would make an analogy between those perfect storms and this accident-everything conspiring to make it happen as and when it did. Rather as in the old nursery rhyme, as Mrs. Mackenzie reminded us. It is so easy to say if; and yes, if Mr. Weston had left the petrol station a few minutes earlier, if there had not been the queue for petrol, if the thunderstorm had not taken place… One can go on ad infinitum: the fact remains that it was not because these things happened in isolation; it was because they happened in a sequence that was tragically fatal. I therefore return the only verdict I can, that of misadventure.”