by Gary Seeary
“No, they were all right, Grub. A little quieter than normal, if anything. Why d’ya ask?”
“Nothing, I just wondered,” I replied, getting a tingle down my spine that told me something wasn’t right here.
Directly in front of the arched exit from the Quadrangle Garden was a large rectangular door, recessed deeply into the intricate façade of another grey stone building. Lettie said this was the entrance Elaine told us to take if we wanted to avoid lining up for ages at the main entrance.
On the large rectangular door a hand-written notice pinned into the wood stated that the Debating Society would like to apologise, but due to overwhelming public demand the first debate of the year had been moved to the Public Lecture Theatre. An arrow at the bottom of the page pointed left.
To our left a long queue of people waited quietly to enter the cover of an arch that jutted out from the same ornate building, a tall clock tower stood proudly behind.
The crowd outside was almost silent but from inside could be heard the dull roar of people yelling and stamping their feet, on occasion, the stomping appeared to be coming from above the building.
Lettie and I got pushed from behind several times, as we shuffled through a heavy wood and iron door, noticing a sign on the wall in brass lettering that read ‘Arts Building’. Lettie looked up at me, I think for reassurance at the very second we were drawn into a crowd that moved and jostled us about like it had a will of its own, not letting us get anywhere near the door marked as the entrance to the Public Lecture Theatre. A deafening noise emanating from inside.
The crowd moved us on to another door, further inside the building, but another queue had formed at that entrance. I held Lettie by the arm, not wanting to lose her in the crush, leading her away from the pull of the crowd to a larger corridor off to our right, stairs leading to a higher level.
“If we can’t find an entrance up there, we’ll have to get out, Lett. It’s chaos in here,” I shouted as loud as I could, making sure Lettie heard me.
At the top of the stairs, to the right, was a small corridor leading to double wooden doors. The doors were open to give access to the rear of the theatre and less than twenty people lined up to get inside.
“In here, Lett,” I yelled, sweat pouring off me, as we took our place in line. “Are you all right?” I was concerned the heat might be taking its toll.
“Yep,” Lettie replied, with a look of determination on her face that said she wanted to see what was going on inside, just as much as me.
When we finally entered the theatre, the scene in front of us was truly unbelievable.
From the rear of the theatre, through to the bottom of the steep stairs, to the far left of the podium, all that could be seen was a moving mass of people, banners rising and falling, while flags of all colours were swirled in large circles by their chanting supporters below.
Blue flags with a white cross and white flags with red crosses that brought to mind the Crusaders of old, dominated the left of the chamber. Undoubtedly, the stronghold of the Catholic supporters, who according to small snippets gleaned from William, favoured the overthrow of the Spanish Republic.
Flags of all colours flew in the centre, a circle of green and white, further to the right, likely to be those of the Peace Group. Margaret and Danielle sure to be somewhere in the mix.
Red flags, those of the Communist Party and Labor Club, of which William said he was a member, had formed into a tight, loud group on the far right, to support the Republican Government.
A large banner which read ‘No Pasarán’ stretched out in front of them, aimed conspicuously towards the opposite side of the auditorium.
People could be seen straining to see through the skylights and air vents on the roof of the theatre. The stamping of their feet creating a huge racket, dust and pieces of roof drifting down on the crowd below.
This was sheer madness!
“Grub, look. Is that Elaine down there waving up at us? It’s hard to see anything in here,” Lettie yelled, trying to point her out.
I panned across the lower section of the theatre, red flags blocking my view.
“Yeah, I see her, Lett. She’s pointing downwards. I don’t know why?”
Lettie had another look and then cried out, “She’s saved us some seats, Grub, quick let’s get down there.”
We forced our way down towards Elaine through men and women, young and old, pressed against the wall, or blocking the steps. The crowd was becoming agitated as if waiting for the start of a football match, the only difference being that I had never seen a football crowd like this before.
“Let them through, please,” Elaine yelled out several times to the large group of red flag-wavers, who were chanting, “No Pasarán! No Pasarán!” while blocking our way to get to the precious seats.
After a fair bit of pushing and pleading, we finally made it through to Elaine and then flopped down, exhausted in the two seats she had saved for us, Lettie sitting next to Elaine.
Elaine leant over to us, saying with a degree of excitement, “If you thought today was hot, tonight is going to be hotter.”
Elaine told us William was in the staff room with the three speakers for the negative, the proposition for the night had been changed late by the Campiens to ‘That the Spanish Government is the Downfall of Spain’, and there was a rumour that the supporters for the affirmative had been let into the theatre early by someone in the Arts Faculty sympathetic to their cause, so they clearly outnumbered the supporters of the Republic.
“How’s your mum, Elaine?” Lettie asked, looking a little concerned that the Catholics weren’t going to turn the other cheek today, like they did at the Peace Group meeting.
“She’s good, Lettie, she’s seen worse than this in Spain, although I’ve never seen anything like this on campus before. I don’t know what people will think of us,” Elaine said reflectively, obviously disturbed by the proceedings.
No sooner had Elaine finished speaking, than her mum made her way into the theatre through the bottom right-hand entrance, followed by two men dressed in white shirts and black ties. The supporters of the Republic cheered loudly and stood as one clenching their right hands into fists, chanting “No Pasarán!”
Supporters of the affirmative, in the majority on the roof, stamped their feet as hard as they could, trying to drown out the chanting.
“The bloke behind Mum is John Brasse. He was called in late to fill in for Bert Hubert, who became ill this morning. Brasse is from the Labor Club, he’s a good debater, never gets rattled. The tall bloke at the back is Dr Dwyer, a fiery character, he’s cut down many an opposition speaker,” Elaine explained, describing them more like prize-fighters.
A roar went up in the theatre, followed by a large section of the crowd rising to their feet chanting “Long Live Christ the King!” as the white-robed man that was leading prayers in the Quadrangle Garden marched in, lifting high a banner that depicted a sheep carrying a white flag with a red cross on it.
The three men walking behind him received rapturous applause from the affirmative supporters as they entered the theatre.
“The first man. I can’t be sure of,” Elaine admitted “but I think he’s their new orator, the young Campien, Richard Santorosso. I’ve heard he will end up being their flag-bearer in the future. The next two blokes I know too well, both fascists: Neale and Jorgensen. Neale was asked to leave a meeting held by Margaret and Danielle two weeks ago.”
“Yeah, I was at that meeting, Elaine. He seems like a strange bloke to me,” Lettie broke in, showing more interest in the debate than I thought she would.
“They call him ‘Toro the Bull’ on campus because he tries to bully his opponents,” Elaine joked, with a wry smile on her face.
An obviously uncomfortable young man in a blue gown stepped onto the small podium and then over to the lectern that had a microphone set to the side of it. Barely audible, he welcomed all on behalf of the University Debating Society, to the first debate of the
year, through the cheers and boos of the audience. He read out the proposition and introduced the first speaker for the evening, Mrs Parmenter for the negative, and then left the podium.
Elaine’s mum walked confidently up to the lectern, the crowd showing a degree of respect for her by quietening their brouhaha.
Mrs Parmenter started off pleading with the audience to understand that a newly elected government deserved the right to fulfil its agenda, without interference from a disgruntled aristocratic class and their military henchmen who had lost their privileges due to the election of a democratic government. She received an ovation from the Republican supporters around us, who loudly cheered and chanted while the affirmative supporters remained surprisingly quiet.
When Mrs Parmenter said it would take a long time for Spain to overcome the burden of hundreds of years of repression, the Catholic supporters for the affirmative seemed to take this as a personal insult. The speaker Jorgensen immediately jumped onto the podium, accusing Elaine’s mum of hypocrisy, saying that Franco was fighting for democracy for all, not for anti-Christians and anti-Libertarians.
His supporters erupted into a cry of “Long Live Christ the King!” that drowned out Mrs Parmenter’s response.
I looked around amongst the supporters loyal to the Republican side, wondering why William wasn’t close by the negative speakers. I eventually saw him near the exit door, standing on the right next to a rough looking bloke.
“Who’s that bloke with William?” I asked Elaine.
Elaine had to look around a few times herself before she could see them both.
“That’s Madeline’s husband, the cane cutter. He only arrived back in town a couple of days ago, looks shifty to me. I’d be wary of him, Seb,” Elaine said with surprising certainty.
I would have bet all I had that a bludger like him wouldn’t show his face again.
Jorgensen finished his tirade by saying that the Spanish Civil War was a fight to the death between two completely opposite philosophies: one totally reprehensible, the other the most inspirational institution in the world, the Catholic Church.
A middle-aged woman sitting in the centre of the theatre became so incensed by these comments, that she took it on herself to direct insult after insult at Jorgensen, at the same time as I caught a glimpse of Charlie sitting amongst the green and white flags of the Peace Group, writing something down.
When a group of young women started to shout down the outraged middle-aged woman from the affirmative side, she moved across to them, grabbing the handbag of one of the opposition’s women and emptying its contents in a spray over the Catholic supporters behind her. She went again and again for other handbags, forcing two of the constabulary to move along the row, and then drag her bodily from the theatre.
Dr Dwyer leapt to the podium, out of turn in an attempt to recover the momentum that seemed to be slipping towards the affirmative. He pointed directly at the Campien, Santorosso, seated behind him.
“The Church has supported the habitual persecution of the poorest people in Spain. I say, don’t deny these people their freedom.” His voice lowered to a plea, “Let them be free. Let them be free.” Then suddenly louder he demanded, “No country has ever been hurt by refusing the Catholic Church.”
Fighting broke out in the middle of the theatre, near the Peace Group, as the new zealot Santorosso approached the lectern. He raised his arms, calling for all supporters of Jesus the King to heed his call.
“It is no longer necessary to render to Caesar the things that are reserved for kings and leave God the spoils of lesser deities. Our God is the king of all. Viva Cristo Rey! Viva Cristo Rey!” The Catholic supporters in the crowd rose as one to join him in a chant that drowned out all others in the auditorium.
What is he trying to say? Does he really want the Catholic Church to run the world? It just doesn’t make sense.
I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming when I felt cold spots of water on my arms, and then my face. I looked to my right, to see what looked like a misty rain falling gently over Lettie and Elaine. Near the bottom right entrance of the theatre, a group of five young men were directing a full flow of water from a fire hose towards the centre of the red-flag waving supporters of the Republic.
I saw William move quickly to grab and then wrestle one young man away from the back of the hose, throwing him to one side, before going back to try another. Elaine saw him and screamed out, “William don’t, don’t start a fight. Don’t!”
I tried to push past a tangle of people on Elaine’s right, and work my way down towards William, to try to pull him away from the scuffle but I was blocked by a wall of red-flag wavers surging down onto the group still managing to direct a snaking spray of water at their opposition.
Madeline’s husband pulled the nozzle away from the young man at the front of the hose and then threw him heavily into the aisle, beating him several times to the face as he lay on the steps. A large red-faced policeman grabbed Madeline’s husband in a headlock from behind, pulling him away from the young man still prostrate on the stairs; a second, and then a third policeman required to drag his thrashing body out of the theatre.
Someone had thankfully managed to turn the water off, but scuffles continued outside the auditorium. I found William making fresh air swings at a large bald-headed man with a wooden cross hanging in front of his chest. The superior reach of the big man’s left arm was holding William at bay long enough until he could get a tight grip on the senior’s ripped white shirt, before pulling him steadily into range and landing a good right to the left side of William’s face.
From where Lettie and I had entered the Arts Building, three policemen were wading into the crowd, heading steadily in our direction, aggressively throwing anyone that showed resistance behind them into the arms of other coppers, who then manhandled them outside.
I whacked down hard on the left arm of the bald-headed man still holding William’s bloodied collar, allowing William to break free of his grasp to have another fresh air swing at him. The good Christian used some pretty decent swear words to describe us.
William and I made our way back inside the theatre to make sure Lettie, Elaine, and her mum hadn’t become involved in a fracas, the cries of ‘Viva Cristo Rey!’ still echoing strongly throughout the theatre. My greatest worry at the moment was that the roof appeared to be flexing under the weight and pounding of the mass of Catholic supporters in the level above. I had to get Lettie out of here.
On the opposite side of the room, William and I could see Lettie, Elaine and Mrs Parmenter being led up to the back of the theatre by a man who looked a lot like Neale, the speaker for the affirmative. William and I forced our way up the stairs on our side of the theatre and then moved across the top row of seats, from where we could see the pandemonium unfolding below.
Charlie’s height gave him away, as he held open the bottom left-hand exit door to let Margaret and Danielle pass through, their heads bowed. The modern day Crusaders for the affirmative looked like they’d overwhelmed the infidels.
We caught up with Lettie, Elaine and Mrs Parmenter shortly after they exited through two wooden doors into the relative quiet of a hallway, on the opposite side of the theatre to where Lettie and I had entered earlier.
“Is everyone all right?” I cried out as I went straight over to Lettie, who nodded that she was fine. William, who was following close behind, ran up to a visibly upset Elaine, and her mother. Neither spoke as Elaine reached for a handkerchief in her handbag, and started to wipe the blood off William’s face and neck.
“We’re all right, Sebastian,” Mrs Parmenter replied. “We thought in this instance, discretion would be the better part of valour and we should leave. I’m so grateful to Mr Neale for leading us through troubled waters.” Mrs Parmenter nodded appreciatively to the opposition speaker. It only occurred to me now that Mr Parmenter wasn’t with his wife tonight.
“Nothing that any good Catholic wouldn’t do in the same situation, Enid,” Mr Neale re
plied, bowing his head, before opening the two wooden doors to let out the victorious chants from within, and then closing it again, as he went back into the theatre.
We followed Mrs Parmenter, who said she knew how to reach the quadrangle entrance that Lettie and I had tried to enter earlier in the evening.
On leaving the Arts Building as a group, relieved to be away from the upheaval and able to breathe in the cool night air, we could still see a lot of activity around the arch-covered entrance to the Public Lecture Theatre, another poor unfortunate being dragged away by the police as we watched.
“I think Madeline’s husband, Leo, was arrested. I saw him being dragged out of the building by three big coppers, after he sorted out the bloke directing the fire hose,” William declared, surprisingly concerned for a man he must have only met in the last couple of days.
There was no response, which showed the lack of regard for Madeline’s husband.
“We’d better tell, Madeline,” I said eventually. Lettie and Elaine nodded in agreement.
Mrs Parmenter said she wanted to go back inside to find out how her fellow speakers, Brasse and Dr Dwyer, were faring; she was worried they might have become involved in a fight. William told her that she needn’t worry, he had seen them in much worse situations than this on the docks, but he would go back inside to check, if that eased her mind. I’m sure he anticipated the affirmative supporters’ euphoria would soon wane.
William suggested to Elaine and her mum that if they went to tell Madeline about her husband’s possible arrest, he would join them shortly back in the Junior Common Room. Elaine’s mum reluctantly agreed that William was right but urged him to avoid confrontation, at all cost.
Lettie and I understood that we couldn’t do any more now, except get in the way, and probably should be getting back home anyway, as the clock on the tower was showing well past eleven o’clock and we were almost a spent force. Mrs Parmenter told us that if we wanted to wait until William came back, she would be happy to drive us back to our aunt’s. We thanked her, but told her we would enjoy a walk home in the fresh air.
