In his years as an anarchist, my late uncle used to have a bumper sticker that read: “Whoever you vote for, the government gets in.” (He later joined the Liberal Democrats, who would prove this point in 2010.) On Tuesday afternoon, subpostmasters explained how this principle worked in practice. 

You remember the subpostmasters, the victims of the biggest miscarriage of justice in British history, stitched up by computers, betrayed by their employer, jailed by the courts, and vindicated only after a long, lonely battle? You’ll recall how they were let down by successive governments, how it wasn’t until their fight was dramatised that anything began to move with any speed. You might have a dim idea that in opposition, Keir Starmer demanded swift action to give them redress. See if you can guess what happened next.

The Business Committee was hearing from Sir Alan Bates, who started the year as an obscure Mr, but has risen to national treasure status, and will surely be appearing in the Christmas episode of Strictly. Despite being one of the nation’s most famously wronged men, he is still awaiting compensation. “What on earth is going on here?” asked chair Liam Byrne. “I wish I knew,” replied Bates. 

There were clues. Bates is being compensated under the “GLO” scheme. Alongside him were applicants under the “HSS” and “HCRS” schemes. There’s an alphabet soup of bureaucracy between them and justice. “You’re told it’s one thing and then you find out it’s something different,” Bates went on. 

Still, at least there’s been a change of government, sweeping out the useless old Conservatives, and replacing them with fresh, dynamic Labour, the champions of the little man. Bates had since written to Starmer, he said. Twice. “I never received a reply.” You could feel the Labour MPs on the committee wincing.

The constantly amazing thing about the Post Office scandal is that it happened without anyone involved wanting it to. There were liars and fools and jobsworths, sure, but no one at any stage seems to have said: “Let’s bang up a load of innocent people”. In the same way, I struggle to believe that anyone inside Number 10 actually decided it would be a smart move to let Bates feel ignored.  

It wasn’t his evidence that stuck in the mind, though. Each of these hearings has introduced us to another horror story, another tale of an upstanding citizen dragged through hell for no reason anyone can explain. We heard first from Jill Donnison, whose mother had been a school governor, a magistrate, and a subpostmaster. 

“Her first office won best office in the North East,” Donnison explained. Then she’d moved to a branch that used the Horizon computer system. It had reported shortfalls. A man had come out, and been shown how the paper records were fine. He’d been unable to find a problem with the computer. Years later, they learned he’d reported back that she was “hiding something.” 

“For 20 years, people were reading those reports, thinking Mam’s a thief,” Donnison explained, furious. Her mother had, like others, put her own money in to make up the reported gaps, once having to find £5,000 overnight. The thought that she might need to find more preyed on her mind, before she finally sold the business at a loss. Like others, she’d been told that nobody else had reported problems. Like others, she’d died without learning that she’d been vindicated. And like others, her family are still waiting for compensation, navigating a maze of forms. 

Then we heard from Dewi Lewis, who ran a branch in North Wales. He was a councillor, who’d worked for the Post Office for 26 years before he was accused of stealing £53,000. He’d been told that if he paid it back, he wouldn’t be prosecuted. His parents mortgaged their house to raise the money. He was prosecuted anyway. “I served four months,” he said, a catch in his voice. “Mum and Dad had to come in and see that.”

He went on: “Having said that, I was lucky. My community, my friends and family stood by me. Nobody thought I was guilty.” He knew other people who’d served longer in worse prisons. He’s still on medication, though less strong ones since his acquittal came through — “I was on the top end of things.” Listening, Byrne looked close to tears. Lewis thanked the committee for giving him the chance to tell his story. Byrne croaked a reply, and sipped some water.  

Lewis, too, had been waiting months for promised compensation. The first payment arrived last week, after it was announced he would be appearing in Parliament. “The miracle of the select committee,” observed Byrne. “I try not to be cynical,” Lewis replied. 

And with that, we made our way back to our desks, where the TV news was all about America, a country that can only dream of the happy continuity of an intransigent bureaucracy.