by Weaver, Pam
To begin with, Percy basked in the euphoria of it all. Where else would a dustman’s son rub shoulders with the son of a duke, or a rich playboy use the same washroom as a plumber? But, as he became more familiar with the inner workings of the movement, another side began to emerge.
The BUF had acquired the nickname ‘the Biff Boys’, and there were times when Percy wasn’t surprised. He recalled one meeting when the crowds sang the national anthem and a man, standing just in front of him, bent down to pick up his small child. Having put up his hands several times to be picked up, the little boy suddenly changed his mind and sat down on the floor to play with his toy train. As the strains of the music faded, two stewards marched towards the man and began to eject him from the meeting.
‘What have I done?’ the hapless man cried.
‘Disrespect to the king,’ was the angry reply and, with his little boy following behind crying bitterly, the man was hauled out of the meeting.
Such dictatorial behaviour seemed totally unreasonable to Percy, as did the segregation of party workers. He was among the leadership, but before long he discovered there were certain places where he wasn’t welcome – not because of his lack of training, but because of his class. The officers’ club, for instance, was the domain of the public-school members, and men like Percy were banned. For a movement that prided itself on equality, some members, it seemed, were more equal than others.
‘We must set the example,’ Mosley exhorted them, one evening back at HQ. The applause and table-banging thundered around the room. Percy sat smugly nodding his head until his leader said, ‘I picture family life, with a man master of his own home, caring for his wife and children, and enabling his aged parents to live out their last days with dignity. This should be the sole aim of every member of the party.’
Percy squirmed in his seat. That wasn’t a picture of his family life. He’d left home in a rage. He’d excused it to himself by saying that he was confused and had felt betrayed. Every memory he had of trying to please his father – from the pictures he’d drawn in his first class at school, to his joy at catching a huge cod that realized nearly ten pounds when it was sold – made him even angrier. The old man had said nothing. As a little boy, Percy had lain awake for hours trying to fathom out why his father rejected him; and now he lay awake at night eaten up with shame and embarrassment. He was angry that he’d belittled himself for years by trying to make Nelson proud of him. Why had his mother never told him? Why had she carried on letting him believe that Nelson was his father? And who was this unknown man she had taken to her bed?
‘We must lead this nation with integrity,’ Mosley told them. And yet everyone knew the man was a notorious womanizer. Once again, it was a question of one rule for the rich and another for the working-class.
What would his illustrious leader say if he knew that Percy was a cuckoo in the nest? In his more rational moments, Percy liked to think it would make no difference at all. They were all bound together in a common cause to rescue the land they loved. But in his darker moods, he imagined the pointing finger and the shame of it.
Of course he’d punished his mother. He’d sold Nelson’s boat and the locker for a reasonable price, fully intending to give her the money that night, but then he’d overheard what she’d told Ruby. He’d been so angry that he’d kept it, and it was that money which was funding his present circumstances. As a member of the permanent staff, he was paid; but, as a single man, he got a lot less than the married men. He supposed it was because they had responsibilities, and it was true that he had told himself the first night that he was willing to suffer the loss of everything for the cause. But still it rankled.
The person he felt really bad about was Ruby. While he derived some satisfaction from punishing his mother, he did feel guilty about what he was putting his elder sister through. May was a spoiled brat; she deserved to get a dose of real life. But Ruby was different. He’d been mean to her, leaving her to cope with everything, and that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the way a moral person should behave. It went round and round his head, until Percy got such a headache that he often had to resort to taking an aspirin.
News came that there was to be a large rally at Easter. The stewards were to have a change of tactic. Instead of working alone, a group of them were to band together under one leader. The hall was mapped out and each leader was given a specific area to control. To Percy’s great joy, he was made leader of ten men.
‘Freedom of speech is ingrained in our movement,’ Mosley said more than once. ‘I have no objection to a spot of heckling but, in the event of trouble, I shall give three clear warnings and then you need to eject the troublemaker.’
Percy studied the map, making a mental note of where the exits were in relation to his area of control, in case of an emergency.
‘Remember,’ Mosley told them, ‘we don’t start fights, we only finish them.’
CHAPTER 30
The conversation at the dinner table was awkward and strained. Ruby and her mother had only one thing on their minds, but this was neither the time nor the place to talk about it, in front of John and May.
‘Any news of Jim and the partnership with Warwick Studios?’ asked Bea.
Ruby shook her head. ‘Jim asked, but Mr Hayward wasn’t keen,’ she said. ‘He’s promised to look at the books, but Jim doesn’t hold out much hope.
With the meal nearly over, John began to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
‘I wish to tell you,’ he began. Ruby and Bea gave him their full attention. He cleared his throat noisily. ‘You have been most kind to me. I cannot repay—’
‘There’s no need,’ Bea interrupted.
John put his hand up. ‘Please, dear lady, let me finish. Please to sit.’
Bea had been removing the dirty plates from the table. She sat down again. Clearly this was important.
‘I have been to Brighton,’ said John. ‘I found a synagogue.’ Bea frowned, puzzled. ‘It is the place where my people worship God,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘I did not know there were Jewish people here. I knew they were in London, but not here.’
‘You want to go and live in Brighton,’ said Ruby, understanding perfectly.
John nodded. ‘The people of Worthing, you … have been very kind, but I would like to be with my own people. I should like a wife – a new family.’ He looked at them anxiously.
‘That’s perfectly understandable,’ said Bea. ‘Of course you must go.’
John snatched her hand and kissed it. ‘Y’varekh’kha ADONAI v’yishmerekha. Ya’er ADONAI panav eleikha vichunekka. Yissa ADONAI panav eleikha, v’yasem I’kha shalom.’
Bea and Ruby hadn’t a clue what he’d said, but they could tell by his expression that John was giving her a Jewish blessing.
‘When will you go?’ she asked.
John shrugged. ‘Maybe next week.’
The two women smiled bravely. His going would mean a significant loss of income.
‘Good luck,’ said Bea.
‘Yes,’ said Ruby, ‘all the best, and keep in touch, won’t you?’
Later that evening, when Ruby and her mother were alone in the kitchen, they talked about John.
‘I had hoped he might stay a bit longer,’ said Bea. ‘He was no trouble, and the money was useful.’
‘Will you get another lodger?’ asked Ruby.
‘I suppose so,’ said Bea. ‘It’s the obvious answer, but will I get one as good as John has been? And would we find someone to rent the little shop as well?’
The night before, they had agreed not to talk about Linton’s letter until they’d slept on it. When Ruby had finished reading it, they’d stared at each other in stunned silence. After making their pact, Ruby had put the letter back in the envelope and they’d kissed each other goodnight, wishing themselves a good sleep. Of course neither of them had slept well; and the next day, although busy, had passed in a haze of ‘what ifs’ and the thorny question of what to do now.
Onc
e they had eaten their evening meal, and May was in her bed and John was in his room, Ruby fetched the envelope from behind the best teapot on the dresser.
‘Read it again, Ruby,’ said Bea. ‘Perhaps I can take it in a bit better now.’
Ruby read the letter aloud:
In May 1915 Victor deserted his post. He was a good mate and we knew the consequences, so we – George Gore, Nelson Bateman, and me – set off to bring him back before he was missed. We walked through some woods just to get away from the sound of the guns. When we caught up with him, Victor told us he wasn’t ever going back and smashed his rifle on a boulder. That’s a capital charge. We had a bit of a fight about it, and Nelson broke us up. He suggested going to lie low in this barn, where we could all work out what to do.
Then this woman came into the barn with a horse and started to rub it down. We hadn’t seen a woman in God knows how long, and the sight of her put a fire in Nelson something terrible. Not to put too fine a point on it, he decided to take her down. Victor tried to stop him but he spooked the horse and it kicked him. For a minute I thought he was a goner, but he was just knocked out. By this time, Nelson had ripped half the woman’s clothes off and George was holding her down. She didn’t half scream, so they got me to put my hand over her mouth. When Nelson finished, he held her while George had his turn and then they persuaded me. When it was all over, Nelson dragged the woman behind the stalls and when we left the barn, she was dead. Nelson carried Victor in a fireman’s lift and we went back. Nobody ever found out what we’d done. I suppose the Boche got the blame. I’ve tried all my life to forget what happened, but I never could. I wished to God I hadn’t touched her. I wished I could have been knocked out like Victor but, may God forgive me, I was as bad as the rest.
Back in the trenches we said that we’d gone after a couple of stray Hun. They didn’t believe us, so Nelson told the CO it was all Victor’s fault. He told them some yarn about Victor threatening us with his gun, and that’s why we went after him. We all wanted to save our own skins, so we went along with it. They were only half-listening anyway. The bombardment was getting worse and they wanted it over and done with. Victor never said anything in his own defence. I honestly think he’d had enough. He just gave up, so he was charged with absenteeism on active service and damaging army property (his gun) and found guilty at a court martial. He was sentenced to be shot. That’s when I was all for telling them it was wrong, but Nelson said that if they knew what had really happened, we’d all be on a charge and shot.
The firing squad was made up mostly of the Sunny Worthing lads. There were six of us altogether; the three of us who’d been in the barn with Victor and my uncle Jack Harris, Chipper Norton and Charlie Downs. We marched to the quarry at dawn. Victor was led out of a shed and a couple of other blokes, who died in the trenches later on (may they rest in peace), tied him to a chair. They pinned a white handkerchief over his heart. That was our target area. The sight of the poor wretch tugging at his bonds made me sick to my stomach, but the six of us, on the order, raised our rifles. We was told that one man had a dummy bullet. I prayed to God that it was mine. As soon as Victor began to beg for his life, I just wanted it to be over. It was pitiful to see him, especially when he pissed himself.
The order came and I aimed and fired and, when the smoke cleared, Victor was still. The officer in charge, Captain Blatchington, was standing by to shoot him in the head with a revolver, if he was still alive, but the doctor said he was dead.
Before he died, I heard Victor shout, ‘Mother of God’, and then he called out somebody’s name. ‘Freddie’, I think it was. I reckoned it must have been his brother.
I’ve been getting letters. Someone knows about this and is trying to frighten me. My uncle Jack was killed not long after he came home. They said it was an accident but I’m not so sure now. Chipper Norton fell into the sea and Nelson Bateman and George Gore have both died in less than a year. I don’t think any of them went natural. If I go, warn Charlie Downs.
Signed: Linton Carver.
Ruby looked up. ‘Did you know George Gore was dead, Mum?’
Bea shook her head. ‘I only met him when he came to the funeral. Silas Reed knows him. I reckon it must have been Silas who told George about Nelson’s passing. I could ask him.’
‘What about Charlie Downs?’
Again Bea shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea who he is.’ There was a shuffling noise outside the back door and Jim called, ‘It’s only me. Can I come in?’
‘Yes, dear,’ Bea called back, and then they heard Jim closing the back door and taking his coat off. Ruby snatched at Linton’s letter to hide it in the drawer, but her mother grabbed her wrist. ‘If you’re going to marry him,’ she said, ‘you can’t keep secrets. He has to know everything.’
‘Everything about what?’ said Jim, coming into the room. He was rubbing his cold hands together and his cheeks were florid with the change in atmosphere. Walking towards Ruby, he kissed her with such tenderness it made Bea’s heart ache.
‘Sit down, Jim,’ said Ruby, pulling out a chair. ‘We have to talk.’
Cousin Lily was in tears. Albert hadn’t turned up. He’d promised to meet her tonight, when they would discuss wedding plans, but as the evening wore on and she realized he wasn’t coming, she’d put on her coat and gone to his digs to find him. She’d never been there before, but perhaps he was ill. She couldn’t bear to think of him all alone in bed with a nasty cold or something. Of course his landlady would never allow her to go up to his room, but she could at least satisfy herself that he was being looked after, and Albert would be comforted to know she cared enough to come and see how he was.
Mrs Slater had been surprised to see her, and was even more surprised when Lily explained her reason for coming. ‘I don’t understand why you’ve come here, dear,’ she said. ‘Albert’s not here. He moved out a couple of days ago.’
‘Moved out?’ Lily choked.
‘He said it was because he was getting married and his fiancée lives in Hastings. The banns are to be read from this week, apparently.’
Lily had managed to keep her dignity until she got home, but as soon as she’d walked in the door she had broken down. Her mother had been wonderful. She’d comforted Lily without recrimination, especially when Lily confessed that she had let Albert have his way.
‘Are you in the family way?’ Vinny asked, as she held her daughter in her arms.
Lily shook her head. ‘I’ve got “Auntie Flow” right now,’ she said.
Vinny heaved a silent sigh of relief and resisted the temptation to give Lily a good talking to. She was a lucky girl, for she must have been sleeping with Albert for months. Most girls wouldn’t get away with it for that long. Of course her daughter must never know that Vinny had taken Bea’s advice. She’d cornered Albert a couple of days beforehand and confronted him about her daughter. When she’d told him that she knew what was going on, he’d gone white with embarrassment and apologized profusely. Vinny had told him straight, ‘Marry the girl, or get out of her life and don’t come back.’ Well, it looked as if he’d made his choice. She felt sorry for her daughter but, like Bea had said, ‘Better a few tears shed now than a ruined life.’ Perhaps now Lily would find someone who would really love her.
Jim listened in stunned silence as Bea and Ruby explained everything. They told him about their suspicions surrounding Nelson’s death and Linton’s murder. He frowned as they showed him the bullet and the letter that Linton had given to Ruby.
‘I can’t believe this,’ he began. ‘I feel like I’ve walked onto one of those Hollywood film sets. You don’t honestly expect me to believe that all these people have been murdered.’
‘The police think Linton was murdered,’ said Ruby.
‘But not Nelson, surely?’ he said, appealing to Bea.
‘Nobody saw what happened on that boat,’ said Bea.
‘And Silas told the coroner’s court there were two people in the boat,’ said Ruby.
&nbs
p; ‘Silas is as blind as a bat,’ Jim chipped in. ‘The jury didn’t believe him anyway.’
Ruby glared at him. ‘Everybody else thought it must have been Percy, but he was in London at the time. There’s no reason why it couldn’t have been somebody else.’
‘Like who?’ Jim challenged.
‘I dunno,’ said Ruby crossly. ‘Whoever killed Linton, I suppose.’
Jim laughed. It was obvious he thought the whole idea a big joke. She could feel her face beginning to flush. She wished they hadn’t told him now.
‘What about the bullets?’ Bea asked.
‘They could be a war souvenir,’ said Jim. ‘There’s only two men with them: Nelson and Linton.’
‘Three,’ Bea corrected. ‘Mabel Harris has got one that belonged to Jack, remember?’
‘You don’t know if Chipper Norton or George Gore had one,’ said Ruby. ‘We didn’t even know George was dead, until we got this.’
‘Perhaps he isn’t,’ said Jim. ‘You’ve only got Linton’s word for it.’
‘Aunt Mabel!’ cried Ruby. ‘She might know about the others.’
‘I think you might be right,’ said Bea.
‘I don’t think they have a postal service in heaven,’ said Jim. He was looking at the letter again.
‘You may think this is a great big joke,’ Ruby retorted, ‘but Mum and I are really worried.’
Jim immediately looked contrite. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to be frivolous, but you have to be sure of your facts before you go jumping to conclusions.’
‘Nobody is jumping to conclusions, Jim Searle,’ Ruby snapped. ‘We only showed you the letter because we thought you ought to know.’ She snatched it away from him. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’
They were having their first ever row.
‘You’re not being very fair, darling,’ Jim began.
