There was nothing extraordinary about Ledbury Town Council's extraordinary town council meeting on 4 December, 2017.
 
As we pushed open the heavy meeting room door, what met us was a row of dour, insolent faces ranged around the two far sides of the meeting table, and a heavy fug of stale human breath. This is Ledbury Town Council's camarilla, a characterful Hogarthian assemblage, some craggy, some bloated but all with pinched expressions and more or less up to no good.
 
Here is the liar Bob Barnes who likes to think of himself as the Father of the Town Council, its intellectual and moral dynamo, bulwark of traditional Ledbury values. He sits next to Ledbury's shortest-lived mayor, the ill-fated Martin Eager, perennially red-faced and embittered by the public reaction to his crimes. There is the Mother Crowe, centre stage, tossing her blond tresses triumphantly like an Aryan goddess. Her nemesis, Jayne Roberts is uncomfortably at her side with a curled lip: perhaps she is remembering Annette's nasty line of comments about her resembling a slug? Citizen Tony Bradford looks to his friend Debbie Baker who is stony-faced and unblinking. With something of the Toby jug about them, the slightly disheveled pair have common cause in a range of occult pursuits. Finally, the inscrutable Andy Manns stares straight ahead, creating the strong impression of someone who knows a very great deal, or else knows nothing at all.
 
It was 7.25pm. They had each one arrived early to gain the psychological advantage of established formation, and being serried together, were thus enabled to make sotto voce remarks and cast meaningful sideways glances if required. Even though so many of them hate each other with a passion, it is important that they cleave together in this time of disquiet.
 
Councillors from the 'other side' (ie Harvey et al) arrived along with a half a dozen or so members of the public, cheerily greeting each other while those opposite continued to glare menacingly, irritated by the pleasantries. In the manner of a theatre late-comer, the ambitious Ms Jean Simpson was the last councillor to arrive and had to squeeze herself awkwardly past chairs and scramble over already seated councillors to get to her confederates on the far side. The only difference on her part was the marked absence of civility; there was no 'excuse me' or 'sorry to trouble you' or 'thank you'. The slightly unseemly commotion passed, and once seated, Jean carefully set her sharp face perfectly to the same wintry expression as her confederates.
 
Almost on the stroke of seven thirty, the stand-in clerk Lynda Wilcox, who had been waiting timorously in a back office, scuttled to her place at the head of the table, head down and avoiding eye contact. She was followed noisily by the Mayor fresh from a fortifying ciggie and thus fortified, redolent of stale tobacco smoke. Good evening, she rasped loudly, plonking her big bag on the table in front of an increasingly woebegone Deputy Mayor Keith Francis, causing him to start.
 
There was nothing whatsoever in Elaine's bold performance to suggest that just ten minutes before, she had had a blazing argument with another councillor sitting just across the table, an ex-mayor. Like so many before it, the altercation took place under the shadowy vaults of The Market House. It was brought to an abrupt stop by the appearance of several members of the public also making for the Town Council offices. Debbie Baker raised the palm of her hand contemptuously and walked away even while Elaine was still remonstrating with her. 'Not interested', said Debbie. The Mayor's face was contorted with rage and frustration at the slight, and yet just a few moments later, it was returned to its customary public serenity.
 
After a little whispered conferring with Lynda, the old library clock chimed the half hour in its wan, melancholy way. The mayor got out her customary bag of boiled sweets and plucked a vivid red one which she popped between her freshly lipsticked red lips, equally vivid.
 
Let the meeting commence. 'Welcome to this erm extraordinary full council meeting,' she gurgled while theatrically shuffling papers . 'Members of the public are permitted to film or record meetings to which they are permitted access... deemed to have consented... those exercising... rights of... Data Protection Act 1998... is there anyone filming? Oh you, yes... well then, first item Apologies... no? Good. Interests...'
 
And so for several minutes the mayor droningly read out the meeting rubric in the manner of a bored priest saying mass for the ten thousandth time, or an old Latin master starting his double period with an improving, complex piece by Horace. This conventional preamble is usefully designed to allow an air of tedium to settle on the meeting, becalming any restive creative spirits who might have ideas to create a diversion.
 
In the silent pauses, you could just hear the clanking of a boiled sweet against one of the Mayor's remaining molars. That tangy fruitiness had her mouth awash with saliva so that when she spoke, she seemed to struggle to contain it all inside; her tongue swirled against the meaningless tide of words and scarcely controllable dribble that fought against each other. Was it possible without embarrassment?
 
'Public participation. Members of the public... which is at the chairman's discretion shall not exceed... shall not exceed five minutes... shall be directed to the Chairman... Now, Item 4 Minutes of the Last Meeting...'
 
Suddenly the mesmerizing spell of the Mayor's fructuous oration was disturbed. A hand was raised. 'I'd like to speak' said a member of the public pertly. 'Oh sorry', the mayor spluttered. She had apparently mesmerised even herself and forgotten about 'public participation'. 'Yes,' said the lady. 'I want to ask with respect and politeness, that the matters for discussion are conducted in the open, without the public being asked to leave. I would like to say...' She didn't get any further because the Mayor interjected. 'No, I'm sorry. That won't be possible because the business being discussed is confidential, it's legal you see'.
 
There was a little artificial argument between the mayor and the importunate lady: you see we would very much argue that since it is process, and not personal details, that are being discussed... (Interjection) No, it is legal and it is privileged so you can't be present... But don't you think the public should be allowed to know...? (Interjection) No, I'm so sorry, you must leave... But, but... (Interjection).
 
Thus 'the public' were expelled. As they filed out of the meeting room, the Mayor continued fulsomely to thank everyone for coming along while continuing to gulp back the product of her tart salivary eructations. Thank you and good night she growled warmly. Close the door after you.
 
Out in the impossibly picturesque cobbled street of timbered houses and jutting gables, a few snowflakes drifted by on the cold breeze. The Hogarthian scene was perfected. 'What's the bloody point?' said the defeated petitioner disconsolately. 'None at all,' came the reply. 'It's hopeless', said another, 'one more evening wasted'.
 
To the sound of the thin, tired strike of the quarter hour, the group parted in the gathering darkness. 

In Italy they say that it’s good to trust. But it’s even better not to trust.

Ernest Hemingway put it another way: the best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. 

Both these pieces of advice should be taken to heart by anyone contemplating involvement with Ledbury Town Council.

At their July meeting discussing the threatened judicial review, Ledbury's town councillors were being asked to agree to have a solicitor look over some legal papers and then write a letter back. What could be more innocuous? Only six thousand pounds...

Town councillor friends tell me that they were repeatedly reassured by Mayor Elaine Fieldhouse that this didn’t mean the Council was actually voting to fight the judicial review. It was simply answering a nasty letter (here it is: the 'Letter Before Claim') from Liz Harvey’s lawyers which warned them to rescind the councillor bans or face legal action.
 
It was another of those closed sessions, discussing 'confidential business', but you can imagine the scene. In her honeyed tones, Elaine would be smoothing over all the scratchy bits. Everything will be fine she would say nodding vigourously. It will probably all go away amicably after the solicitors have done what they do, a bit of legal ‘toing and froing’. Trust me.  
 
Worried councillors - including Matthew Eakin - wanted to know whether the Council was insured to pay for costs in case it lost. Stand-in clerk, Lynda Wilcox allegedly told them the matter wasn't to do with insurance, or even going to court. It was just a small formality: they'd had a solicitor’s letter and they had to write one back. Interestingly, she didn't commit herself on the insurance question apparently: that'll be a no then?
 
I won't be divulging my sources but they were multiple. Fieldhouse and Wilcox repeatedly said that by appointing the (unnamed) London law firm, (which Elaine had found from a google search), this did not mean that the Council was actually deciding to fight the judicial review. It was just an exchange of letters, the sort of thing lawyers do all the time. Nothing at all to worry about. It would probably all go away once they’d corresponded. Silly Billys they are, lawyers. Trust us.
 
In any case, even if it turns out the Council should fight the judicial review, everything would come back to council, ‘stage by stage’, for them to decide upon with all the facts before them.
 
Credit to young Cllr Matthew Eakin who pressed the Mayor on whether the Council would be consulted on each decision. Oh, yes, said Elaine, at every stage. And so assuaged, a majority of councillors voted for Bob Barnes’ pre-prepared resolution that “Ledbury Town Council engage legal counsel to contest this judicial challenge, with funds from the budget and from reserves, as necessary”.
 
Excuse me? What was that? Contest this judicial challenge? It seems that some town councillors got more than they bargained for. What they’d just voted for was to spend an unlimited sum (“as necessary”) to fight Liz Harvey right up to the High Court. They were fighting the JR after all.
 
Thank you and good-night, said Elaine Fieldhouse breezily. Meeting closed. Predictably, there was uproar. 
 
Fast forward a month to the August meeting. Bob Barnes was immediately on his feet again proposing that: “The Town Council take all necessary steps, subject to legal advice, to oppose the judicial review proceedings and to delegate decision-making authority to the standing committee, which will report back to Council.” The ‘Standing Committee’ consists of the mayor and her  deputy and the three committee chairs of planning, finance and environment; for the record: Fieldhouse, Francis, Crowe, Barnes and Bradford. Except the last, these are the people who have been running the anti-Harvey/Harrison campaign from the start.
 
Once again I am told, Eakin was at pains to make sure that that nothing would be agreed by the Standing Committee unless the whole council had been consulted first. Oh yes, said Fieldhouse again, councillors would get to vote on everything. Trust me.
 
She said the very words: 'vote on everything'. People wrote it down.
 
The resolution was carried, nine for, five against.  
 
As we have seen, young Matthew is not the sort of person to hide his feelings. So when at the November meeting it was revealed that Standing Committee had no intention of referring key decisions to the town council for agreement, he was extremely vexed.
 
‘I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back' he said. 'I was assured by the mayor that we would have the chance to vote on everything before any action was taken by the standing committee’ he said angrily.
 
Town Clerk Karen Mitchell reminded him that this wasn’t in the minutes and they had already been approved as a true record. And Elaine remained silent.
 
Ah well. Just another mendacious day at the council. 

That Matthew Eakin and I haven't hit it off, is a matter of regret.

He is one of Ledbury Town Council's newest and youngest councillors, a bright young man of evident integrity and honesty, courageous too in putting himself forward for election in 2015 at the age of eighteen. Many people applauded his achievement, even if some didn't much care for his Lib-Dem affiliation.
 
More honoured in the breach than the observance, Ledbury's 'convention' was that the town council should be a party-politics free zone. What this led to was the absurd situation that people would stand for the Conservatives for County Council elections, but at the same time, be badged as an 'Independent' on the Town Council ballot paper. How does that work? Debbie Baker and Phill Bettington successfully pulled off this chameleon trick.
 
The reality is that a large fraction of Ledbury town councillors are either card-carrying Conservatives, or close fellow travellers. It was always joyfully ironic to listen to them berating Liz Harvey for bringing 'politics' into the town council. (It will be remembered that in successive county and town elections, it was solely Liz who had the candour to declare openly that she was standing on a party ticket, IOC.)
 
In the same vein, young Cllr Eakin decried my criticism of the way in which Ledbury's ill-starred Neighbourhood Plan was being managed. 'You are being nakedly political,' he announced bitterly to the uproarious gathering. 'Your comments are biased and unfair and are aimed at political advantage'. His manipulative town council buddies applauded delightedly... 'well said', 'hear hear', 'absolutely', they cried out.
 
It didn't go down quite so well when I pointed out sarcastically that he was the first town councillor to have stood on a national party political ticket for donkey's years. (Martin Eager for the Conservatives was the last I think). 'Ooh shame' roared the baying ladies and gents. 'Leave him alone... stop bullying him... how awful'.
 
Matthew approached me at the end of the meeting and told me angrily that my political vendetta on behalf of It's Our County against the town council was unacceptable and disgraceful. I politely disagreed, and we have not spoken since.
 
From this incident, I draw two conclusions: Matthew has the best of intentions but he has also been misled by his would-be political operators. Among the political top brass of the town council and the Herefordshire Lib-Dems, there are people who hate Liz Harvey, and by extension, all her friends even if, like me, they are not IOC members. They do so because she, and her IOC party, refuse to toe the line and increasingly pose a mortal threat to the county's political status quo. She, like Cllr Eakin, is also well-intentioned, intelligent and honest: rare qualities around these parts.  
 
Matthew clearly wants the town council to function transparently and democratically, and that all the people involved with it, including me, openly declare their affiliations and motivations. Anything less is a deception.
 
On this, Matthew and I are in accord. I say this to him: please continue to be your own man, and to do what you think is right. Do not always believe what you are told by people holding an already sharp axe next to a revolving grindstone. We might not agree, but at least let's believe we are speaking the truth as we see it.
 
My door is always ajar.