‘We are very, very grateful to Lady Parsons. It is comforting to know our cause is in such capable hands. We are honoured further to have here a man of God whose life has been pledged, not only to the service of his fellow human beings, but to the service of all his fellow creatures Brother Francis has, over the years, contributed movingly to the literature of the animal world in many, many magazines. His short stories and poems have brought tears to our eyes as we contemplate the nobility and unselfishness of our animal friends and the suffering we impose on them. Fortunately for our cause, Brother Francis is not only an inspiration, he is in a position to help fight directly this last battle for the little fox and all the other wild animals whom we are all here determined to protect from the beastliness of man. For Brother Francis is also Lord Purseglove and his eloquence must move those members of that institution whose hearts are not irretrievably hardened. Please warmly welcome Brother Francis.’
Brother Francis certainly looked the part. His skinny stooping body, his snowy hair, and cadaverous face had the true stamp of aestheticism. His slightly hooded eyes were of a piercing blue which was intensified by the pallor of his complexion.
‘Savanarola?’ whispered Amiss to the baroness.
‘Probably.’
But there was nothing fanatical about the delivery or the voice of Brother Francis. His tone was gentle, his slightly Welsh accent with its seesaw intonation had an rather bardic effect overall and the content of his speech would have raised few eyebrows at a meeting of the North Gloucester branch of the RSPCA. It was treacly and glutinous rather than threatening.
‘Sisters and brothers. I am not here to preach religion to you. I am here to preach faith—a faith that is love of one’s fellow creatures. Whether you believe in God, whether you are Christian or whatever you may be, all of you here with me will have sympathy with Jesus Christ’s promise that not a sparrow falls without God knowing it. Sisters and brothers, as a small boy in the country, I was lucky enough to have read to me the story of St Francis of Assisi and how he loved Brother Donkey and Sister Rabbit. It was then that I decided to dedicate my life, not just to God but to those little creatures that cannot speak for themselves, yet are as noble a part of the world as the greatest saint or genius. Who is to say that Sister Nightingale trilling her matchlessly beautiful song is inferior to Schubert; that Mother Moorhen, selflessly searching from morning till night for food for her brood, has less love and selflessness than Mother Teresa; or that Brother Silverback defending his tribe of gorillas is less courageous than Hercules?’
Amiss gazed sideways at the baroness and caught a look of outrage crossing her face. She changed posture noisily and positioned herself, knees out, feet squarely on the floor, elbows on knees, head in hands. He heard the phrase ‘Pass the sickbag’ floating out. Her distress was certainly not shared by most of the audience. Thunderous applause broke out every time the tremulous philosopher paused. He went on to share with them a moving fragment of autobiography concerning the moment when he had just decided to apply to the Franciscan order. ‘I went out into the grounds of my father’s home, wondering if I was making the right decision about what to do with the rest of my life. Then I saw, hundreds of yards away, emerging from a copse, a fox in full flight. That beautiful innocent creature fled across the lawn and through the hedgerow, followed shortly afterwards by the baying hounds. And not far behind were the horses ridden by men and women so enamoured of blood that they wore clothes of scarlet. In the front row, I knew to my shame, would be my father.
‘As I stood there despairing at that horrible sight, a little squirrel who had come to love me—and whom I called Tiny Tim, for he represented to me such innocent goodness—jumped from a branch overhead onto my shoulder and rubbed his tiny head against my cheek. I knew then that what I had seen was a sign that I must dedicate myself for life to protecting my little feathered and furry friends against the cruelty of man. For it is man who was the enemy here, not the innocent hounds. As I wrote of them:
That faithful hound, his master’s slave
Serves the serial killer to his grave.
‘I can do little but pray and by my trifling pieces of verse awaken in others that understanding and kindness that you, by your presence here tonight, show is within each and every one of you. Let me end with a poem that I am proud to say has become the anthem of our great crusade. You will, I hope, sing the last lines with me.
The cunning fox to you may seem
A lowly creature in God’s scheme,
But see that vixen with her cub
Peering at you through the scrub
As if the frost had froze her.
She’s Madonna Lachrymosa.
And is the small hare in the gorse
Who flees the hounds and farmer’s curse
Bobbing his fluffy ears in fright
(So vigilant all day and night)–
A villain up to his old tricks
Or martyr on his crucifix?
‘And now, brothers and sisters, sing out for our little siblings.’
And to the tune of ‘Jerusalem’, the audience sang out lustily.
And did those paws in ancient times
Scamper on England’s mountains green?
And did the duck and grouse divine
Fly forth upon our clouded hills?
Bring me my scroll of burning gold
Bring me my quill, my Muse, my lyre,
I will not cease from Mental Fight
Nor shall my odes sleep in my brain
Till we have every blood sport banned
In England, not just on my land.
Chapter Seven
After that there were almost no dry eyes in the house. The entire audience, with the exception of the baroness and—through loyalty to her—Amiss, leaped to their feet in a standing ovation. He gazed at the floor; she was slumped in her chair in an attitude of despair. On closer inspection she appeared to be fast asleep. Since it was her fault he was enduring this agony, Amiss was damned if he was going to be left to it on his own. Mindful of her previous performance, he patted her gingerly on the shoulder and then on the thigh. She grabbed his hand instantly.
‘I didn’t know you cared.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Jack. Will you knock it off?’
Not for the first time in their relationship, he envied Jack’s complete indifference to public opinion. He was already uncomfortably aware of glances from people further down the line, not to speak of mumblings behind of the ‘disgraceful-what-a-dreadful-woman’ variety.
The ovation eventually subsided, and the chairman got to his feet again.
‘Very touching, very touching. I feel we are all privileged to have had such an extraordinarily moving and emotional experience. Even the hard hearts among the so-called gentry can surely not do other than melt when they have the good fortune to be exposed to the loving words of Brother Francis.’
Amiss could hear continuous snuffling from behind. Brother Francis had clearly slain the little old ladies.
‘Now, I would like to call on our young friend from the Rights of Animals League, Jerry Dolamore, who though a comparatively recent arrival on our shores from the Antipodes, has made himself an inspiration for the campaign for animal rights. His brilliance and eloquence have earned him many admirers.
‘Please, friends, welcome the man who during the last few months has done so much to mobilize popular support for our great cause.’
Thunderous applause greeted Dolamore. Gazing at his squat figure and the pallid face with an outcrop of facial hair that resembled a pile of clippings from a salon floor, Amiss found his popularity hard to understand. He wore a striped cotton collarless shirt four sizes too big for him and well past its best, unbuttoned far enough down to reveal a grimy white vest.
Expecting a bore and a whinger, Amiss shifted in an effort to find a more comfortable position. But from his opening words, and despite the rather nasal quality of his voice and the unattractive Australian accent, Dol
amore’s effect was even more electric than Brother Francis’.
He eschewed all niceties. ‘This is war,’ he began. ‘We represent the forces of good against the forces of evil.’
Amiss and the baroness looked at each other and simultaneously said, ‘Savanarola.’
‘Ssshh,’ came from behind.
The baroness directed a withering glance over her shoulder at the perpetrator. Dolamore’s voice rose. ‘This is not about stopping cruelty; this is about wiping out animaphobia. About abolishing speciesism. It is about recognizing that no one has the right wantonly to kill any animal, for eating, for wearing or, above all, for pleasure. This is about rights and equality, and before I have finished we will have enshrined in this country a bill of rights for animals, which spells out their right to safety, to protection, to food and to shelter.
‘Some say we are extreme. But they are the very people who some generations ago said women had no souls. Now they say it of animals.
‘All reformers are condemned as extreme at first. Afterwards, they are praised. But for people like us, little children would still be sweeping chimneys and going down mines. Women would still be denied the vote. Men would still be hanged for stealing a loaf of bread. And those lords of the manor who now try to defend hunting would still be exercising their right to ravage the daughters of their tenants.’
Dolamore’s speech was frequently interrupted by cheers, though his fan club, it seemed to Amiss, was mainly at the back of the hall. He couldn’t imagine the woolly hats would be entirely supportive of the notion that species egalitarianism put them on a par with mice. Yet he acknowledged Dolamore’s astonishing oratorical gift. His apparent sincerity was so overwhelming, it was hard not to ignore the content and simply be carried along by the style.
From the premise of the equality of all species, Dolamore took his audience logically through history from barbarism to enlightenment, bringing in and extending to animals insights from an eclectic range of Thomas Paine to Buddha. Movingly, he described the advance from darkness into light. His voice soared and swooped and sometimes fell to a near murmur, but it was clear, often thrilling and always compelling.
Having taken the audience through landmarks like the abolition of bear-baiting and cock-fighting he produced his charter of demands for the future. The whole audience was caught up in the excitement. Even the baroness was rapt in concentration. The sporadic applause increased in frequency and loudness and now came from all round the room. But such was Dolamore’s quality as an orator that he could instantly, with no more than a gesture of a finger, restore absolute silence.
When his peroration about the Brotherhood of the Species ended with the exhortation, ‘to take this crusade into every home in Britain so as to make it a shining example to the world,’ Dolamore sat down abruptly, sweat glinting on his face and staining his vest. His eyes continued to bore into the audience, which rose as one activist and cheered and clapped like crazed pop fans. Even Amiss was sufficiently carried away to stand up, but emboldened once again by his companion’s rugged independence in staying in her seat without clapping, he sat down again.
‘He hasn’t converted you?’
‘I never was cut out for Nuremberg rallies,’ she said acidly. ‘For a moment there I had my doubts about you.’
After about three minutes, Dolamore rose to his feet and made a silencing gesture to the audience, hands up and palms out as if to push them back into their seats. They obliged instantly.
The chairman stood up, seeming a little dazed.
‘Thank you, Jerry. My goodness, what an experience this has been for all of us. What an extraordinary trio of champions we have here. Our fine legal mind…’ He bowed at Parsons. ‘Our humble, loving Brother, so attuned to his animal friends….’ He bowed at Brother Francis. ‘And now our great inspiration, our champion, advancing before us all with the banner of justice and equality. Truly he is the veritable Lord Wilberforce of our time.’
The slightly baffled look on Dolamore’s face gave Amiss the impression that the name of that doughty opponent of slavery had not been big in Australia. The chairman looked at his watch.
‘Good Lord. How time flies. It’s a quarter to ten, and we really must be out of here by ten o’clock.’
As bathetic moments went, thought Amiss, this rather resembled a caretaker explaining to the SS that he’d be locking up in a minute so would they please make ready to march out of the stadium. ‘So only a few questions. Yes?’
A woolly hat rose.
‘Please,’ she squeaked. ‘I want to know what are we to do?’
The chairman looked enquiringly at Lady Parsons.
‘Write in support of this bill to your MPs and local councillors and tell them you want evidence that they are putting pressure on members of the House of Lords through public speeches and private lobbying. I understand the Animal Rights Federation can provide you with lists of companies with peers as board members. Write to the chairmen threatening to boycott their company’s products if the peers on their board don’t vote the right way. And write individually to peers making it clear that this issue will not go away.’
‘Brother Francis?’
‘Prayer, of course. And spreading the word to your friends and neighbours so that they too can help in this holy work.’
‘Jerry?’
‘Demonstrate outside the Lords and outside the homes of the key perpetrators of these foul practices. We will hand you the list at the door. And remember too, that it is, as Brother Francis says, a holy crusade, so we must make it clear that wrongdoing will be punished. And when you demonstrate, do so with fervour and do so with pride.’
This solicited another outbreak of cheering and clapping. From the back of the hall came a truculent North-country accent.
‘We don’t want to be namby-pamby about this.’
‘A man after your own heart,’ whispered Amiss to the baroness.
‘If the police try to silence us or deny us our right to protest democratically, it is our duty to resist them as we would any forces of fascism.’
‘Excuse me, Chair,’ said Lady Parsons. ‘It is important that no one should damage this cause by any form of violence.’
‘The violence,’ said the heavy voice from the back, ‘will be from the oppressive agents of the state. Self-defence is our right.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure no one will do anything silly,’ said the chairman, with more hope than conviction. ‘Now if that’s all…’
To Amiss’ alarm, the baroness leapt to her feet. ‘Mr Chairman.’
‘Yes?’
‘I have a question for each of the speakers.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s time…’
‘There will be time if you don’t interrupt.’
He subsided into his chair looking sullen.
‘First, Lady Parsons. You stated that it was the duty of the Lords, as of the Commons, to respond to the wish of ninety-four per cent of the population that fox-hunting be abolished.’
‘Certainly.’ Parsons was calm.
‘How do you square that with your well-known opposition to capital punishment. Over ninety-four per cent of the population are in favour of that.’
‘That is an absolutely false comparison.’
‘How?’
‘Because it is the duty of representatives of the people to be morally in the lead. On capital punishment, in due course the people will follow. In this case, the people have been morally ahead of their legislators.’
‘What a load of dishonest bullshit.’
‘Really,’ squeaked the chairman. ‘I must protest.’
Hisses and boos came from the audience. She raised her voice. ‘Now, I would like Brother Francis, Lord Purseglove, to explain how if animals are all that is good, sweet, and innocent, they spend so much of their time hunting and killing each other.’
‘Only some of them,’ he bleated. ‘Think how many of them are vegetarian: the hippopotamus, the squirrel, the hare. It will be
for us to wean those still locked in the primitive pursuit of flesh to a vegetarian path. Why, I have as a companion, at this very time, a pussy cat who is fed on soya and biscuits, and if you saw her gambol happily when I bring her her food, you would know that she had no need for the flesh of her fellow creatures.’
Her contemptuous snort trumpeted forth.
‘My God, you’re even barmier than I thought. Some people are daft enough to try to alter human nature, but you’re the first person I’ve come across who’s ambitious enough to take this as far as the animal kingdom. I wish you luck.’
He smiled at her in a saintly manner. ‘Thank you, sister.’
‘Now, Mr Dolamore,’ she shouted over the chorus of disapproval which had broken out behind her. Dolamore quelled the audience with a gesture. His eyes bored into hers.
‘You make it clear that it’s all baloney about this bill being a one-off. That wasn’t just rhetoric. Fishing next, then the shooting and killing of animals for meat or clothing. This is what your organization wants. Is that now official?’
‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘I am not a compromiser.’
‘Nice company you find yourself in, Lady Parsons,’ she said. She picked up her voluminous bag, jerked her head at Amiss and began to walk down the aisle towards the back door. The booing started halfway down and from the back row suddenly erupted several dozen angry people shouting abuse, waving banners and fists and blocking her exit. Amiss looked around for police, bouncers or just people anxious to defend the right to express dissent. There were none, merely some anxious-looking people who had no intention of getting themselves mixed up in any trouble.
‘Let’s just stand here, Jack, until they calm down,’ he whispered.
‘Rubbish. When I want to leave, I leave. Out of my way!’ she shouted to the group in front of her.
The hubbub grew louder. An unpleasant-looking individual with a banner saying, ‘Animal Liberation is THE Moral Issue’, stepped forward and waved a piece of paper in front of her.
‘Sign this petition.’
Ten Lords A-Leaping Page 5
