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The fine city of Paphos has delivered this Friday a verdict so quiet in its numbers that one might almost miss the tragedy buried within it. A father, Mr Foster of Essex, placed his two-year-old son upon a hotel windowsill to admire the view of a waterpark, believing the glass behind him was closed. It was not. The boy fell nearly forty feet. The Paphos District Court, having heard all the harrowing particulars, has fined Mr Foster three thousand euros – two thousand five hundred pounds – for causing his son’s death through a reckless act. This Author will not pretend to know what justice looks like in such a case, for no court in the world possesses the currency to address it. One observes only that the man leaves Cyprus to return to his wife and surviving daughter, carrying something no fine can name. On some days, the column must simply bow its head.
To lighter outrages, then – or at least to those in which the grief is entirely self-inflicted. Chancellor Healey is, it is whispered with great confidence by those who ought to know, preparing to raise taxes upon the banking sector at the forthcoming Budget. The four great banking houses of the Kingdom collectively pocketed some fifteen billion pounds in profit in the first six months of this year alone. Fifteen billion pounds. One pauses to let that settle, like a very large cat making itself comfortable upon a very small chair. The Royal Exchequer is said to be eyeing a reversal of the surcharge reduction introduced in 2023, which could raise approximately two billion pounds. Shares in the houses of Lloyds and NatWest fell more than two per cent on Friday upon the mere rumour. One notes, with great amusement, that Chancellor Healey has previously described the banks as “the crown jewels” of the economy. Gentle Reader, when a Chancellor calls you a crown jewel and then produces a velvet cloth and a loupe, do be on your guard.
From the Temple of the Sick Children in the Capital comes news that ought to restore one’s faith in the ingenuity of modern medicine. Ten-year-old Willow Crowther of Kent arrived at Great Ormond Street Hospital in March in a condition so critical that her family was summoned to say their farewells. Pneumonia had triggered seizures and multiple cardiac arrests. Her chance of survival stood at fifty per cent. And yet, the physicians there employed what is called metagenomic testing – a diagnostic marvel that sequences all genetic material present in a single sample, rather than requiring doctors to guess in advance what villain they are hunting. The test revealed a drug-resistant bacterial infection requiring a quite different antibiotic to the one already prescribed. Willow received it. Willow recovered. Her mother, Stacey Moore, put it rather plainly: “It saved her life.” This Author, who has written a great many columns about the failures of institutions, takes considerable pleasure in recording one of their finest hours.
Now to a matter which has been simmering upon the hob of public discourse since Wednesday and shows no sign of cooling. The Reform Society finds itself, once again, answering questions about the quality of those it permits to wear its colours. Undercover filming broadcast by a rival news organ has shown a local party chairman advising a reporter – posing as a candidate – to delete social media posts sympathetic to Tommy Robinson before applying to stand as a councillor. A further former candidate claims he failed vetting twice and was permitted to stand regardless. The party denies this strenuously. Lord Jenrick appeared before the Broadcasting Society to observe that every party has its “bad apples” – a defence This Author would classify as technically true, deeply unsatisfying, and the rhetorical equivalent of a man caught with jam upon his face insisting that jam exists in many households. Meanwhile, Viscount Farage, it seems, was the great white whale the undercover reporters sought and failed to harpoon. Small mercies, one supposes, for all involved.
This Author has saved, for the final paragraph, the story that confirms what polite society has long suspected but rarely states aloud: that the machinery of institutions, when confronted with the unthinkable, will frequently choose the comfort of inaction. The Thirlwall Inquiry into the crimes of Lucy Letby has now reported, and in its wake the lead neonatal consultant at the Countess of Chester Hospital, Dr Stephen Brearey, has spoken publicly for the first time. He led seven consultants who raised alarms – alarms that were, he says, repeatedly ignored by hospital management. He confesses, with evident anguish, that he “naively” assumed senior managers shared his values and would act accordingly. The Cheshire Constabulary was not asked to investigate until May 2017. Letby remained employed until her arrest more than a year after that. The inquiry found a “toxic negativity” within the National Health Society that continues to discourage staff from speaking out. This Author notes, with no pleasure whatsoever, that the distance between a raised concern and a police investigation should not, in any civilised institution, be measured in years.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.