A dream of that ilk Sir: Ever since reading Dunne's
fascinating Theory of Time, I've
intermittently kept a journal of my dreams. It has, of course, been lost: as women insist on tidying up houses.
The curious thing about what follows is that I truly dreamt it,
for dreams don't usually follow any logical sequence. But in the early hours of St Drostan's Day 1970 (14 December), after a day's shooting in Essex with a torn back, I had a vivid and unusually coher- ent dream : and wrote it down be- fore breakfast.
The Conservatives had put up a Dark Horse (actually a black mare) for Berwick-upon-Tweed. When the Socialists objected that it was not a human, the reply was
that it was not a peer nor a lunatic nor a convicted felon— also that some of the younger Socialist MPS were hardly human either, but mere lobby-fodder.
On hearing the word 'fodder' the horse neighed. She was promptly elected. The Socialists refused to let the matter rest. They took it to the courts: curiosly enough to the ordinary courts—not to the High Court of Parliament, the Privy Council or a Committee for Privileges of the House of Com- mons.
Owing to the peculiar situation and history of Berwick, Scottish and English counsel were briefed on both sides. It was agreed by all at the outset that the matter was not covered by statute law.
Scottish counsel for the Conser- vatives argued that, where there is doubt about our customary law, recourse may be made to Roman law. There is nothing in Justinian's codification to cover the point, but Caligula did make his horse a consul.
English counsel for the Conser- vatives pointed out that at that time the Emperor Caligula was the legally constituted authority in Britain, and that this was therefore the correct precedent in England too.
Counsel for the Socialists argued that Berwick-upon-Tweed had ceased to belong to Scotland in the fifteenth century, and that the point must be settled by English law. They then observed that the legal memory of English customary law does not go back before the reign of Richard Coeur-de-Lion.
I was just reflecting that perhaps they'd got it the wrong way round, and that it was customs established since the twelfth century that didn't count.
At that moment I turned over off my torn back onto my abscess and gave a sharp yelp that woke my wife as well as myself. Hot words were exchanged; and I lay awake a long while pondering what counsel's opinion I would have given if briefed.
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