The Man in the Street

by Martin Howe

  “Oh my God Tony, look at you. What happened?”

  Tony struggled to collect the words, but his friend was not interested in an explanation.

  “You need to understand I’m not here as your GP, but as the police surgeon. Emily called me saying she thought you’d been assaulted when they brought you in.” He looked over his shoulder and pushed the door to with his foot before whispering, “I told her I left the Party years ago, as you know. I couldn’t stomach what was being done, what was being said. With things as they are now, I don’t know how you could have stayed in Tony. They’re right to bring you in here in my opinion. I told them outside I didn’t want to get involved, but the Sergeant ordered me, saying if I wanted to keep my job I had to do it, so here I am. You didn’t keep membership lists did you? They won’t be able to trace anything back to me will they?”

  Tony glanced up at him and said nothing.

  “I’m a professional man, Tony. Youthful indiscretion, actions of a hot-blooded young man, that sort of thing. Tony, as a friend I’m begging you not to say anything that would drag me into this. Please?”

  “You’ve nothing to worry about,” Tony said almost absent-mindedly, “You flatter yourself Dougie, they are only going after the big fish. Minnows like you always seem to get away.”

  The doctor sighed with relief and sat down heavily on the stained mattress. He looked around, his face contorted with distaste.

  “It’s fairly rank in here, what the hell have you been up to?”

  “Fucking treat me and get out.”

  Tony’s anger startled his erstwhile friend, who stood up and clutched his black bag to his chest. Tentatively reaching out he turned his patient’s head from side to side, cursorily examining the clotted abrasions and swollen florid bruises.

  “You’ll live Tony. A broken nose, black eyes and bruising to your head and upper arms are all it is. The nose will set itself. As for the rest, well time is what is needed. Something you’ll have plenty of, no doubt.”

  “Bloody hilarious. There may be nothing written down, that I know of, but I’ll remember, don’t you fear. You’d better hope I am in here for a good long time.”

  The police surgeon wiped his hands on a handkerchief he took from the breast pocket of his jacket and stepped back, a fear-tinged sense of superiority coupled with a desperate need to leave evoking in him an unconvincing bravado.

  “You’re a spent force Tony. Even if the Nazis win this war they won’t be interested in your lot, they’ll bring their own people over. So stuff you. They’ll be sending you away for the duration I expect, so I won’t be seeing you again.”

  “Unless it’s all been some horrible mistake.”

  “No chance, dream on Tony, dream on.”

  He tapped on the door, which opened immediately, and walked out.

  “How is he doctor? Is he fit? Can they talk to him?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently.

  Daylight had faded away, only a faint outline remained at the window, otherwise the cell was in darkness. Tony pulled his jacket tightly across his chest, hugging himself against the creeping cold. There was a naked light bulb hanging high above him and he hoped it wasn’t broken, unable to bear the thought of sitting alone in the dark. What had he done to deserve this? The question was corrosive.

  The loud ringing jolt of a steel bolt sliding open woke him into blackness. The harsh electric light brought him to his senses. Blinking he saw two policemen standing in the open door.

  “Cox, it’s time to get up. You never know you may have visitors today.”

  “Visitors? Emily? What time is it?”

  “Nearly six, what too early for you?”

  Tony had slept hunched in a corner of the cell, his body numb with cold, joints painfully stiff, he felt dirty, his skin clammy.

  “Give me a hand will you,” he pleaded, “I don’t think I can move.”

  “Piss off. Get up yourself.”

  Tony leaned forward, his clothing peeling away from the damp wall, then rolled over onto his side, before managing to scrabble on to his hands and knees. Movement brought life back to cramped limbs, his frozen feet agony, he stifled a cry.

  “Come on, time to go for a walk.”

  It was mortifying, but this was how it was going to be from now on, he thought, day in day out, stupid fucking bastards making stupid fucking jokes and all he could do was accept it.

  “Woof woof.”

  “Good dog, do as you’re told.”

  Deliberately, one considered action after another, Tony got to his feet, hand on one knee then the other, balancing delicately, stretching sore muscles, a dull ache in the small of the back, needles behind his eyes, streaking his vision with phosphorescence, his cracked lips, ragged, grazing the sensitive tip of his parched tongue. Savage gripes in the pit of his stomach made him uneasy and he needed to relieve himself. He limped over to the bucket, giving its contents barely a glance, and concentrating on the wall in front of him, urinated in its general direction. The policeman following his every move, backed away.

  “Christ, Cox.”

  Tony turned at ease with himself, buttoning up his fly. He was resigned to whatever was to come.

  “You’re a cocky bastard. You can mop that up later. Now get over here, we’ve been told to clean you up.”

  They escorted Tony along a dingy corridor to a small washroom. The floor was wet and slippery, unpleasant in stocking-feet and he self-consciously tiptoed across it. There was one grimy, cracked enamel sink and a cold tap.

  “Go on, wash, you’ve five minutes.”

  Tony hesitated, he sensed a smell and tasted it, the cutting chemical tang of must and putrefaction. How do these people bear working down here, he wondered, before turning on the tap and plunging his hands into the brown spluttering torrent. Splashing icy water onto his face, he bore the chill burning into his damaged skin, relishing the delicious enveloping numbness. He stripped off his jacket, shirt and trousers and standing only in his tattered black socks, doused himself, yelping and shivering in turns. He was alive. The policemen looked on, dragging on their cigarettes.

  “First time I’ve seen anyone do that, ain’t that right Reg?”

  “Too true, Arthur, stupid sod, look at him.”

  With his head under the tap, Tony’s body appeared twisted, water cascading over his neck and shoulders and streaming in rivulets across the sloping tiled floor and out into the corridor.

  “That’s enough, this isn’t the public baths. Get dressed.”

  The hours passed. He flung the stinking palliasse onto the floor and lay down on the bare rough-hewn wooden slats and stared at the ceiling. He must have slept, because the next thing he knew he was being roughly shaken by another policeman.

  “Why’d you do that, I was well away?”

  “Grub?”

  “Thanks.”

  Tony sat up, swung his legs off the bench and took the tray.

  “Is this all there is, bloody dripping?”

  “Think yourself lucky, some of the lads are all for giving you nothing, there’s a war on, as they say.”

  “Are you one of them?”

  “What?”

  “That wants to starve me to death?”

  “That would be telling, and we’re under strict orders not to tell you anything.”

  The constable stood in the doorway and watched as Tony, revulsed, nibbled at the bread and sipped his tea.

  “This is terrible. What are you staring at? Hard to believe anybody can eat this muck?”

  “Where did you grow up? It’s good enough for most people.”

  Tony rubbed his face and looked up.

  “If you don’t mind I’m tired and I’d rather not talk, not unless you can tell me what I’m being held for and whether I’m going to be charged? Otherwise, I didn’t sleep very w
ell last night and I need to rest.”

  “No, we’re all talking about it. What makes someone like you, a local lad, turn against your own country when we’re up against it like we are today. For God’s sake, the Germans started this, they’re evil bastards. You can’t want us to be like them?”

  “Look, do you know why I’m being held?”

  “It’s regulations, nobody knows the details. Order came from the Chief Constable. Your name was on the list.”

  “You mean there were others?”

  “Oh yeh, they’ve rounded up most of your lot in Lancashire. Don’t know about anywhere else, expect so though. Lots of Italians as well, a few Germans, but that’s been going on for a while. We’re at war with them, so it’s no surprise.”

  “Why don’t you give over. You all keep on about it, it’s getting me down.”

  “I won’t be the last. Can’t you see people don’t understand. I bet your wife’ll get it in the neck from your neighbours, patriotic lot…”

  “My wife? What have you heard? Tell me.”

  “Oh nothing, but when I told my Ethel we’d brought you in, she said she wouldn’t want any of you living near us. She said the whole lot of you should be locked up, children and all – evil was what she called you.”

  “Come on, we’ve lived here for years. I was born in Blackpool.”

  “Makes it worse mate, believe me. We’ve not seen much of the war up here, but everybody knows someone who’s away in the forces. My brother’s in the merchant navy on the North Atlantic run. Makes my blood boil to think of the likes of you rooting for the other side.”

  “I’m not rooting for the other side. I’m a patriot, not a traitor. For God’s sake our government was dealing with the National Socialists for years, they were dead keen to get a share of the German market, they weren’t interested in a war.”

  “But we’ve got a war, Poland, France taken over. Hitler’s treaty with Stalin. It’s all bloody bad news. Your lot went on calling for a deal with Hitler, what do you expect people to think? Them and the Nazis are one and the same thing. It’s a disgrace whatever way you cut it.”

  “No, no they’re very different, people don’t understand.”

  “Dead right.”

  “Look the National Socialists, Mussolini’s lot from Italy and us, the British Union, are only looking after their country’s interests. We believe in protecting our Empire – it’s vital for employment, markets, the lot – without it Britain is nothing. So we must, it’s so important, we must be friends with our potential rivals – Germany in particular. Germany’s interests in Europe are nothing to do with us, they’re not in anyway vital to our economy. Britain doesn’t need Europe, we have the Empire. On the contrary we should be encouraging Germany and Italy to expand in Europe, that’s what they want, and it suits us, as it will lead to the collapse of the Soviet Union and that’s in everyone’s interest believe me. The Communists are a much bigger threat.”

  “That’s rubbish, Germany doesn’t see it that way. They cosy up to Stalin and they’re bombing us.”

  The policeman shook his head in disbelief. Tony got to his feet and began pacing up and down his cell. He was silent for a moment then went on animatedly.

  “It’s all a Jewish conspiracy, Britain…”

  “Oh no, not all that again. It’s a load of claptrap.”

  “No listen, that’s your opinion. Listen please?”

  The policeman shrugged, he had nothing else to do.

  “Go on, it’ll give me something to talk about in the pub.”

  “The pub…,” for a moment Tony was distracted, “ … no listen. All through the thirties the government wanted to deal with Germany, “peace in our time,” all that stuff. No different from what we were saying. But things ran out of control. The government was in the grip of the financial markets, they were subservient to THEIR vital interests. Britain was forced into the war by a quarrel between Jewish finance and Germany.”

  “Come on, why would we do that? This is stupid.”

  “This war is a Jews war. They saw a powerful Fascist Germany as the main barrier to their plans for global domination. It was in their vital interests to stop Germany. Now who could do that? Britain, of course, the most powerful Imperial power in the world.”

  Tony was excited, he was back on the stump, enthused, arms gesticulating, speaking to the unconverted.

  “Britain’s mistake was to go to war for Poland. You know what Poland is? It’s a Jewish controlled state, which is all part of their plan. You mentioned the Nazi-Soviet treaty, well that’s a key component of it too – a Jewish communist plot to create war between Germany and Britain. We’ve been goaded and manoeuvred into it. It’s all so clear.”

  “Why doesn’t anybody else see it then? You never had much support, because people know it’s all rubbish.”

  “Not true, party membership went up last year, after the war started and Mosley was calling for a negotiated settlement with Hitler. People don’t want war, they want peace, they want security and they want work. They don’t want to be fighting for somebody else’s interests.”

  “But we are fighting and it’s bloody serious in most people’s book.”

  “I know its serious, don’t get me wrong. Now we’re at war we support fighting to save Britain, nobody gains if Britain loses.”

  “I don’t believe you. Mosley would be Prime Minister in a Nazi government. You people would gain a hell of a lot. Come on, pull the other one.”

  “I don’t think so, there is no such agreement, and even if that did happen it would still be a German-run government. The key thing from Britain’s point of view is that if the Nazis were in charge that would lead to a break up of the Empire and that would be the end of the United Kingdom. Believe me, for the future of the country we need a negotiated peace settlement that protects the Empire.”

  “A negotiated settlement that brought you to power.”

  “Maybe, but that’s better than defeat and the loss of India, the Gold Coast, Nigeria and all the others. It could have been so different.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The Chamberlain government was right to deal with Germany, accommodate their vital interests so long as they didn’t interfere with ours. Divide up the globe into spheres of influence and make it crystal clear where all the main powers stood. But they should have spent more on rearmament, they really should. Only thing they got wrong as far as we were concerned was they didn’t spend enough on the military. Mosley was absolutely right on this one. He was a great believer in, what was his phrase, “appeasement through strength”. Deal with Italy, Germany, but build up your own armed forces to ensure that in the future if their governments ever forgot where their national interests lay, Britain wouldn’t be a pushover.”

  The two men faced each other in silence, Tony gently tapping his cheek with a finger deep in thought, the policeman put out by what he had heard but unable to think of a suitable rebuttal. In the end he gave up and pointed at the dinner plate lying on the floor.

  “Have you finished with that?”

  Tony turned and nodded.

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “You really believe we can negotiate with Hitler, even now?”

  “Yes, I do, along with many others. It’s not in our interests this war.”

  Tony bent down and picked up the plate, an untouched slice of bread fell to the floor, leaving a greasy stain on the stone flags, he handed it to the policeman.

  “Can you do me a favour? I’ve lost my shoes, could you try and find them for me or ask my wife to bring a pair in?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’m not sure your wife will be allowed to visit, but I’ll ask.”

  “Thanks, do you have any idea what’s going to happen to me? You’re the only person who’s spoken to me since I’ve been here.”

 
“Look, you keep quiet about that, nobody is supposed to talk to you. I’ve heard you’re to be moved on fairly soon, but to where I’ve no idea. No one here has, we just brought you in.”

  Four days passed, each one identical to the others, the natural rhythm of the sun establishing the pattern: woken at dawn, two meals, a trip to the washroom and then sleep at dusk. The electric light was only switched on sporadically, no one spoke more than a few words and the highlight came on the morning of the fourth day, when a pair of brown shoes, two sizes too big, appeared with his lunch. He asked every day about Emily and the children, but was told nothing. His injuries healed slowly and when they came for him on the fifth day after his arrest, he still wasn’t able to wipe his nose, without flinching.

  “You’re leaving today. Can’t say anybody here is sorry.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “No idea, mate. Here, we got you this bag, razor, soap, comb, stuff like that.”

  “That’s my bag.”

  “I know, we got it from your wife.”

  “Emily? How is she? Have you seen her? And the children?”

  “She’s fine. A little trouble with the neighbours, but that’s no surprise.”

  “What do you mean? Is she alright? Tell me.”

  “She’s a tough woman. She’ll have to be, the mess you’ve left her in.”

  “What trouble?”

  “Oh, nothing much, windows smashed, weed killer on the lawn, dog shit through the letter box, that sort of thing.”

  Tony lunged at the policeman, but was grabbed and forced down onto his knees.

  “Temper, temper. We should do you for assault, but what’s the point? From what I’ve heard you won’t be back round here for a while. And if the problems continue for your wife, she’ll be keen to move away as soon as you get out.”

  Handcuffs were slipped onto his wrists as he struggled on the floor.

  “If I were you, I’d watch that nose of yours. Any little knock could set it back.”

  The policeman grabbed Tony by the hair, signalled to his colleague to shut the cell door, and then slammed his head forward hitting his nose on the stone floor. Tony screamed. A dirty towel muffled his cries and soaked up the blood. Tony writhed, gasping for breath, but was helpless, pinned to the ground by three burly men.