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THE COURTROOM REEKED of new carpet and wood polish. Lawyers and clerks and ushers wandered in and out, their footfalls and chat absorbed by the pine-panelled walls and blue-carpeted floors.

The cushioning of noise was deliberate. Fearing that proceedings would be interrupted by low-flying military aircraft from nearby Boscombe Down, the builders had installed deep soundproofing, cocooning the courtroom in an echoless chamber. No outside clamour penetrated. No shouts of command to waiting defendants. When the doors were closed and proceedings began, the specially designed acoustics accentuated the merest sigh or quick breath or tapping of keys.

This was Bulford Court Martial Centre in September 2006.

The press were calling the case against the seven defendants a war-crimes trial. They were enjoying the circus. It was a unique occasion which would continue to fill headlines and bulletins for weeks. The very term ‘war-crimes trial’ evoked passions and memories. Editors could turn to those black and white grainy pictures of Nuremberg and Göring and Speer and all those Nazis and draw comparisons, however absurd. Readers would make the connection even if it wasn’t pointed out to them.

For those taking part, the court martial had a more mundane feel. The advocates were ordinary criminal barristers. They would behave no differently than they did in their last appearance at the Old Bailey or Winchester Crown Court or Horseferry Magistrates or wherever else they practised. Julian Bevan QC was the lead performer. He commanded the prosecution, his Old Etonian manner charming those about him and offering a solid personality in charge of the elephant of a case he had to present. Assisting him were a number of lesser figures: Lieutenant Colonel Eble of the Army Legal Service and two junior barristers. Between them they would coordinate all the evidence and submissions the court would hear over the succeeding six months.

And then there were the defendants’ barristers. In truth they would monopolise proceedings, queuing up on occasion to address a witness, muscling each other out of the way or cooperating for greater effect, all in the interests of their particular client. Like professional actors, they had their reviews, comments on their past performances quoted with relish on their chambers’ websites. Even the most senior members of the Bar appeared to need good publicity.

Tim Owen QC represented Corporal Donald Payne. He was a suave-looking man, robust in build and fleshy-faced, but with a bitter wit. His website quoted the assessment that he was ‘as good as it gets’ in public law matters. His junior was Julian Knowles, although his acclaim was no less meritorious, described as ‘demonstrating all-round brilliance’. They would share the cross-examination duties although it would be Owen who addressed the crucial witnesses.

LCpl Crowcroft’s barrister was Richard Ferguson QC. One of the Bar’s most experienced practitioners, Ferguson had acted in a string of notorious criminal cases over decades. Normal retirement age had passed several years previously, but that hadn’t diluted his reputation for hypnotic charm in the courtroom. He would die three years later at the age of seventy-three and so this case was something of a swansong for him. He was assisted by William England, a man who could claim wide experience of such cases given that he’d already appeared in the Camp Breadbasket court martial. His expertise would be officially appreciated some years later when he would be instructed by the Ministry of Defence to represent them in the Baha Mousa Public Inquiry that would begin in 2009.

Crowcroft’s comrade, Kingsman Darren Fallon, was represented by another doyen of the criminal Bar: Geoffrey Cox QC, Member of Parliament for Torridge and West Devon, a Conservative, elected in 2005, leading barrister and head of Thomas More Chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, London. His chambers’ website noted he was ‘highly regarded for his versatility’, and described his advocacy as ‘flamboyant’ and ‘extremely persuasive’. It was a wonder that he had the time to be in court. Mr Cox was a very experienced advocate, as his chambers’ résumé would remind anyone who cared to look. He too needed an assistant: a Mr Cross was on hand.

Major Peebles was able to call upon another very senior barrister. Lord Thomas of Gresford QC was, and remains, another parliamentarian with a distinguished legal career. A member of the Liberal Democrat Party, he was appointed to the Lords in 1996, having failed in numerous general elections for the Wrexham constituency. Whilst the trial at Bulford proceeded he also acted as Shadow Attorney General and Shadow Lord Chancellor. Like Geoffrey Cox, he must have been an extremely busy man, dividing his time between Westminster and Salisbury Plain. Lord Thomas was assisted by a Mr Clark.

Then there were the advocates acting for Sergeant Kelvin Stacey: Jeremy Baker QC and Ms Fiona Edington, both of whom worked from the same set of chambers as Geoffrey Cox. Edington was the only female barrister taking a significant part in the proceedings. Given the male domination of the profession, mirrored in the military, this was no surprise.

WO Davies had one of the more prominent defence barristers available, Jeremy Carter-Manning QC, whose particular specialism was publicised as ‘fraud’ on his chambers’ website.

And finally those representing Colonel Mendonça were Timothy Langdale QC and Bernard Thorogood. Langdale’s plaudits on his chambers’ promotional material were effusive. He was quoted, apparently without irony, as being ‘more polished than Aladdin’s lamp’, ‘incredibly adaptable’, ‘a marvel as an advocate’, and ‘like a champion boxer who has marked out every inch of the ring, he knows exactly where he is and precisely how to manoeuvre his opponent’. Thorogood’s publicity was more subdued, but it recorded that he once served in the army on a short-service commission in the infantry. No doubt his experience would be useful.

Between them, this gathering of defence barristers could claim decades of experience in criminal proceedings. There could be no doubt that the smallest gap in the prosecution witnesses’ evidence, the slightest contradiction or confusion, would be pierced by these seven QCs and their numerous able juniors. Collectively, if they were ravens, which they resembled in their black court gowns flapping down the corridors of the court, they would be called an ‘unkindness’. That would be a quality many witnesses would experience by the time the case ended.