by Leo McNeir
The Mini was in a stream of traffic heading for the outskirts of town.
“Go ahead,” said Anne. “Will you do it? I’ve got some idiot in a white van trying to climb into the boot.”
Marnie reached for the switch. “Ignore him.”
“He’ll be on the back seat any minute now. We’ll be making introductions.”
Marnie had a number of interesting tactics that she had learnt over time, but did not want to lead Anne into bad habits so young. “Still ignore him.”
The newsreader was in the middle of the headlines, with a report about a drugs raid in Manchester. The next item made Marnie sit up.
The far-right group calling itself New Force has issued a statement condemning police violence during yesterday’s demonstrations in Leicester. Leaders of the group stated that they wanted to make a peaceful protest at the opening of the Bharat Centre by Home Office Minister, Gray Fordyce. They claimed that they were prevented from approaching the ceremony and when they tried to move forward, they were attacked by police in full riot gear.
A new oil-field has been identified off the north coast of Scotland …
Marnie lowered the volume. “Police violence! Huh! The police were completely outnumbered. Those thugs were throwing petrol bombs at them. I suppose they’ll claim they just made them on the spur of the moment when the police attacked them.”
“I always carry a petrol bomb or two with me,” Anne said cheerfully. “You never know when they might come in handy.”
“Quite.”
“Actually, I wish I had one now for a certain white van.”
Marnie looked over her shoulder. “The driver thinks he’s being really clever . He’s grinning like an ape.”
“That’s unfair to apes,” Anne observed. “Oh, listen. It’s that item again.”
Marnie turned up the volume.
… but were provoked by what they described as a huge police presence. Faced with a disproportionate response by the police, they had no choice but to defend themselves. We invited New Force to be interviewed on this programme, but they declined to do so. The minister at the centre of the disturbance, Gray Fordyce, described the demonstration as a riot and a disgrace.
“I’m not opposed to freedom of expression, far from it, but I’m appalled at what happened yesterday. The statement put out by this group is a complete travesty and bears no relation whatsoever to the events that took place.”
During the demonstration three policemen were injured and taken to hospital, one suffering serious burns to his legs. No arrests were made. The Home Secretary has ordered the Chief Constable to conduct an urgent enquiry into the events.
Marnie switched off the radio, staring ahead. “Those rioters think they can just tell any lies they want.”
“Mm.”
Marnie glanced at Anne who was concentrating hard, a frown on her face. “Is your van driver still following you?”
“He’s halfway up the exhaust pipe.”
“OK. Slow down to twenty-five.”
“What?”
“Just do it. Now! Twenty-five and hold it steady.”
Anne eased back, and the Mini slowed. Seconds later a horn sounded behind them. Close behind them.
“What are we doing, Marnie?”
The road ahead and on the opposite side became clear of traffic.
“Go back up to thirty. Now!”
Anne accelerated at the moment when the horn sounded again. It was a long blast and continued while the van pulled out and charged past, the driver waving his fist as he swerved round them. He spotted the speed camera just as he pulled in front of the Mini and roared ahead. They saw his brake lights flash as the horn stopped blaring, and the driver attempted an emergency stop. But it was too late. He must have been well over the limit when the camera caught him.
“Go right here,” Marnie said quickly. “I think we’ll go the long way round.”
*
There was silence in the Mini, apart from Marnie giving directions onto the southern ring road. They took the Oxford road and headed out of town. Anne settled down to cruise at a comfortable sixty.
“Marnie, that was cool, what you did back there with the speed camera and the van and all.”
“Speed camera?”
“Yes, the speed camera.”
“I don’t know what you mean. And if I did, I wouldn’t condone it. OK?”
“But –”
“No buts. The rule is: never retaliate. Never. Always ignore other people driving badly. Always.”
Anne smiled. “Right. There’s a lot to learn about, isn’t there, when you’re driving a car, I mean. It alters the way you see things. Before I started driving, I hardly noticed cars. I’m much more aware of them now.”
“Yes. And you don’t want to pick up bad habits.”
“Moi?” Anne protested. “You’re the one who came up with the slow-down-speed-up James Bond routine.”
“And I was in the wrong. In future ignore everything I tell you to do when you’re driving. Everything. Is that understood?”
“Fine.”
“Oh, by the way, I want you to stop at the village school on our way home.”
“Is that a test, Marnie? Am I supposed to ignore that?”
“Smartarse!”
*
With perfect timing they arrived in the village before the end of the school lunch break, and Margaret Giles invited them into her office for coffee.
“I’m glad you’ve called in,” she said. “I was going to contact you myself. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“What can we do for you?”
“I was wondering if some of the top juniors could visit Sally Ann towards the end of term, as they did last year. The children still talk about it. I think it was the highlight of their year.”
“Fine. OK by you, Anne?”
“No probs. I enjoyed it, too.”
“Thank you,” said Margaret. “The only snag is there isn’t much time to organise things before we break up.”
“What about Friday afternoon?” Marnie suggested. “Would that fit in?”
“That would be excellent. Now, what can I do for you?”
Marnie took some leaflets from her bag and passed them over.
“I picked these up in town this morning, wondered if it would be of interest to your pupils. There isn’t a bus laid on, but otherwise everything’s provided.”
Margaret looked at the leaflet. “Mm, they usually run a holiday play scheme in town. There’s a lot on this year, a good programme. Small charge. Thank you, Marnie. It’s the perennial problem, finding things for the children to do in the summer holidays.”
“I can imagine. She’s done a good job, the organiser.”
“It’s a woman?”
“Serena McDowell.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“You know her?”
“Not personally. She’s the Youth Officer for the town. Dynamic, very ambitious, wears lots of hats.”
Marnie and Anne chorused. “Hats?”
“Metaphorical ones. She’s into all sorts of things, or so I gather. Moved up here from London. She chairs CAPE. That’s Community Action for Parents and Education. It used to be called the Northampton Community Parents and Education Group, I think.”
“Quite a mouthful,” said Marnie.
“Exactly. I think it was Serena McDowell who said you had to have a catchy acronym that people will remember. You can’t exist these days without an acronym.”
“I’ll try and resist the temptation,” said Marnie.
“I remember,” Margaret continued, “when I was a young teacher in Yorkshire years ago, they were reorganising the schools system, trying to get rid of the eleven plus. The head of my school was a member of a pressure group: Primary Heads Against Grammar Schools. They were known, of course, as … PHAGS.”
“I suppose you got sponsorship from Benson and Hedges,” Marnie said with a straight face, aware of a titter coming from An
ne.
“Benson and …? Oh, quite. Actually, they decided to change their name in the end.”
“Too much like a smokers’ club?” Marnie suggested.
“Oh, no. Rumour has it that they were approached by the, er, Gay and Lesbian Alliance about possible affiliation. It was all very embarrassing at the time.”
Anne suddenly made a loud noise somewhere between a splutter and a snort and reached for her coffee.
“Oh dear,” said Margaret. “Did your biscuit go down the wrong way?”
Anne croaked, “Something like that.”
Marnie avoided looking in Anne’s direction, to Anne’s great relief, and said, “So do you think some of your pupils might go to the summer scheme, Margaret?”
“I’m sure some will. They all should. It’s good for village children to meet town children and some from other ethnic backgrounds. Sometimes little village schools can be too cosy, even unworldly.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Marnie.
Anne discreetly wiped her mouth with a tissue.
*
After supper that evening they stayed outside, sitting round the table on the stern deck of Sally Ann, enjoying the warmth, raising their glasses to the occasional passing boat. It was around the time of the longest day of the year, and the sun was still slanting through the high branches in the spinney behind them, picking out small flying insects, while the trees and bushes added a fresh tang of early summer to the air. None of them wanted to move for fear of disturbing the atmosphere.
Ralph had listened to Anne’s story of her meeting with Rex Crawford and told them of his day in Oxford. The arrangements for his change of status to visiting professor were now finalised and, once his duties as an examiner were completed, he was free to begin his new life.
“No regrets?” asked Marnie.
“None at all.” He smiled at her. “Not about anything. It’s the right thing to do. I know it is.”
“That’s how I felt about leaving my secure job in London and starting up here.”
“Me too,” said Anne. “Though I did worry sometimes that something might come along to spoil it.”
Marnie nodded. “We’ve had enough incidents since we came here to stop us getting complacent, that’s for sure.”
“You don’t strike me as the complacent type,” Ralph said.
“Far from it. In fact, to be honest, I’ve been rather anxious that the whole world could come crashing round our ears, this past day or two.”
Anne sat up in her chair. “Why?”
“Watching those scenes of violence on TV, seeing the thugs marching through Leicester, that billboard in town this morning. I never did find out what that was about, forgot to buy a paper.”
“What did it say?” Ralph asked.
“Something about a new force threatening the town, sounded like a science fiction novel by H. G. Wells or Wyndham Lewis.”
“New Force, the organisation, presumably,” said Ralph. “If that’s not a contradiction in terms when referring to a bunch of anarchists.”
“Is that what they are, anarchists?” said Anne.
“Loosely speaking, I suppose. Anarchists, fascists, racists, the far right. Call them what you will.”
“But they’re highly organised,” Marnie joined in. “I saw them. They may have looked like a rabble, but they had a sense of purpose. There was an order there, a weird sort of discipline. They even had flags, armbands, and a uniform of sorts. Are they linked to a political party, Ralph?”
“Not formally, I think, not openly, at any rate. They just want to disrupt everything, destabilise society. And of course there’s the race angle.”
“What do they think they can achieve? Surely, we’re too racially integrated these days for them to be able to do that.”
“That’s what most Germans thought when Hitler and his gang started.”
“You think they could be a serious threat?”
“You’re still in touch with some of your Jewish friends in London? Ask them their view on what’s happening. I had a chat with Guy Fellheimer in college the other day. His parents got out of Germany in ’37. He reminded me how fragile the fabric of society can be.”
Anne said, “But no-one will believe what they say, these New Force people … will they?”
“Another technique perhaps learned from the Nazis. Did you do that period in history at school, Anne?”
“Yes, but it’s not the same now. The Germans were demoralised after the First World War. They felt betrayed, and Hitler put the blame on Jews and foreigners.”
“The Big Lie.”
“A lie is still a lie,” Marnie said. “People were easier to dupe in those days. They didn’t have the media. Now, you can see it’s a lie just by looking at the television.”
“Maybe,” said Ralph. “But the media can also make it easier to manipulate opinion.”
“How?” said Anne. “Don’t they say the camera cannot lie?”
Ralph sipped his coffee. “Let’s test that idea, Anne. What do you know about the Bharat Centre?”
“The what?”
“The Bharat Centre.”
“That rings a bell,” said Marnie. “Got it! It’s that centre in Leicester that the minister was opening yesterday.”
“That’s right. And what can you tell us about it?”
Anne said. “I know Bharat means India. I came across the Mahabharata – I think that’s how you say it – when we were doing Comparative Religions at school.”
“Who said education’s wasted?” said Marnie. “I didn’t know that. I’m impressed.”
“So am I,” said Ralph. “But what about the centre in Leicester specifically?”
Anne shrugged. “That’s it, must be a cultural centre for Indians. QED.”
“And what you know is that there was a riot about it.”
Marnie narrowed her eyes. “You’re saying that New Force succeeded in drawing all the attention away from the opening of the centre to focus on their protest. But that doesn’t make their lies any closer to the truth, Ralph. We could see they caused the trouble. We saw them throwing bricks and petrol bombs.”
“But they said it was in self-defence, provoked by the police. We know that’s a lie. But a lot of people will remember the police with helmets, truncheons and riot shields. That’s the Big Lie technique, straight out of the manual of Dr Josef Goebbels, Hitler’s Minister of Propaganda: repeat the lie often enough and it starts to take on the mantle of truth. That’s the theory.”
“A kind of no smoke without fire idea,” Marnie said. “Well, we’ve had plenty of both in the last few days.”
“Let’s hope that’s an end to it,” said Anne.
“I’d like to agree with you,” Ralph said quietly. “But I’m starting to wonder if it could be just the beginning.”
7
As far as work was concerned, Marnie had written off Friday afternoon for the school visit, but had planned a full programme for the morning, finalising the design for Willards’ newest and biggest hotel on the outskirts of Hemel Hempstead. It was close to the Grand Union, and her design employed mural panels with views of the canal in its earliest days. She had been looking forward to spending an hour or two on her scheme, combining brightness in blues and greens with a bold, dramatic use of space, and had settled down with relish to a creative morning.
But it was not to be. Interruption followed interruption and Anne, normally the most effective watchdog, was faced with enquiries that would not wait and were beyond her experience to handle. Marnie finally abandoned all hope of concentration when the electricity company rang to discuss a new sub-station in the village and the energy needs of the Glebe Farm complex. Muttering under her breath, she had dropped her pen onto the drawing board and taken the call.
But despite her frustrations, the afternoon was, she had to admit, nothing but enjoyable. The sight of the schoolchildren filing past the office barn with Anne at their head was heart-warming, and a marked contra
st with the last column she had seen marching that Monday morning in Leicester. She had realised how glad she was to have the children once again visiting Sally Ann, once again watching Anne hand out bright coloured badges marked ‘Crew’, distributing the question sheets she had prepared for them, giving them their work folders. As before, the children’s concentration had been intense and their pleasure palpable during their short cruise up to the Stoke Bruerne flight and back.
This year there was a difference. Ronny Cope had volunteered to help, and was happy to place himself under Anne’s orders, assisting with the supervision of the ‘crew’ and generally making himself useful.
The children had been enthralled by Anne, as their predecessors had been the previous summer, happy to be with this ‘big girl’ who knew so much about the waterways and made their learning fun. If there was a high point of their visit, it was when Anne produced a cake from the galley at teatime in the shape of a working narrowboat, and they had yelled out as loud as they could when she asked them what type of boat it was. The name Josher! echoed across the water and through the trees, and they settled down in high spirits to their picnic on the canal bank.
It was while the group was working its way solidly through sandwiches, biscuits and the Josher-cake, that Marnie became aware of someone approaching from behind them. She had been sitting under the huge cream parasol with Margaret Giles having their own tea a short distance from the school group, and they turned their heads to find Estelle walking out of the spinney towards them.
“What a lovely sight!” she exclaimed. “It’s straight out of Swallows and Amazons or the Famous Five.”
Marnie invited her to join them and introduced her to Margaret Giles. Ronny rushed up with a folding safari chair and settled her with a cup of Darjeeling and lemon. He went off to find her a plate.
“I didn’t expect you this early, Estelle,” said Marnie.
“I mis-judged the traffic. It wasn’t half as bad as I anticipated … sailed past that junction where there’s always supposed to be a hold-up. Brilliant.”
“Well, everything’s ready for you. I’ve had the cottage windows open all day to give it a good airing.” She turned to Margaret. “Estelle’s moving in today and starting with us on Monday.”
