Fugue for a Darkening Island Read online

  I learned through friends of mine that certain categories of men would be the first to be selected. My job at the cloth factory qualified me for one of these categories.

  During this period, my working life at the factory was not happy and the pay in the army would be slightly higher than what I was then receiving. I therefore had a variety of motives when I reported for the medical examination.

  I had applied for officer training, learning from the advertisements that a degree was sufficient to establish suitability. I was directed to a specific room in the building where a sergeantmajor in dress uniform told me what to do, adding the word 'sir' to the end of every sentence.

  I was given an IQ test, which was marked in my presence. The errors I made were carefully explained to me. Then I was questioned sketchily on my background and political standing, and finally I was instructed to remove my clothes and to go into the next room.

  The lighting was very bright. There was a wooden bench along one wall and I was told to sit on it while waiting for the doctor. I was not sure where the doctor was, for apart from myself the room was deserted.

  I had been waiting for ten minutes when a young nurse came in and sat at a desk opposite to where I was sitting. I found I was embarrassed to be naked in her presence. My arms were folded across my chest, and not liking to attract her attention I did not move them. I crossed my legs in an attempt to preserve modesty.

  I felt myself to be in a position of exceptional sexual vulnerability, and although she paid little attention to me, and I told myself that she was accustomed to seeing men in the nude, I was constantly aware of her presence.

  In a few moments I felt a tightening in my groin, and to my consternation realized that my penis was beginning to erect.

  Awareness of the tumescence did nothing to reduce the condition. I tried to restrain the organ by gripping it tightly between my thighs, but this soon became painful. It was at this point that the nurse glanced up from her work and looked at me. As she did so, the penis swung out of the restraint of my legs and assumed its fully erect position. I covered it at once with my hands.

  The nurse looked back at her work.

  "The doctor will see you in a few moments," she said.

  I sat motionlessly, concealing my penis with my hands. By the clock on the wall opposite I saw that ten minutes passed. I was still in possession of a full erection when a man in a white coat appeared at the far end of the room and asked me to step inside. As it would have appeared unnatural to walk across the room with my hands at my crutch, I reluctantly allowed my arms to swing at my side. I was aware of the girl's gaze on my body as I walked past her desk.

  Once inside the main examination room the erection began to dwindle and in less than a minute had gone altogether.

  I was given a routine medical examination, had my chest X-rayed and samples of my blood and urine taken. I was presented with a form to sign which stated that subject only to medical suitability I would be commissioned into the British Nationalist Army as a trainee 2nd Lieutenant, and that I would report for duty at the time and place indicated on my mobilization certificate. I signed it and was given my clothes again.

  There followed an interview with a man in civilian clothing, who questioned me at great length on subjects central to my overall character and personality. It was a distasteful interview and I was glad when it was over. I recall that in its course I revealed my former membership in the pro-Afrim society at the college.

  A week later I received a duplicated letter which stated that my medical examination had revealed a liver complaint and that my temporary commission was accordingly terminated.

  The day before this letter arrived I had seen conscription reintroduced by the Ministry of Internal Security and a corresponding increase in militant Afrim activities. A month later, with the massacre of the Nationalist troops at Coichester barracks and the arrival of the first American aircraft-carrier in the Irish Sea, I saw that the military situation was more serious than I had imagined. Though relieved at my own lack of personal involvement, day-to-day life became less easy and my own experiences as a civilian were not better than anyone else's.

  After receiving the letter from the military I visited my own doctor and had the complaint in my liver investigated. After a few days of deliberation I was informed that there was nothing wrong with it.

  We encountered a large band of Negroes and were at once uncertain of what was to happen. We had the choice of three courses of action: run from them, show our defensive ability with the rifle or meet them.

  What disconcerted us most was that they were not wearing Afrim uniforms, but were clad in the same sort of clothes as ourselves. It was possible that they were a group of civilian refugees, but we had heard that Nationalist troops treated such people with extreme callousness. The result of this was that most Negro civilians had surrendered themselves to the welfare organizations, and those few who remained had integrated themselves with white groups.

  The men we met were friendly, well-fed and appeared to be unarmed. They did have three large handcarts near to which we were not allowed to approach, and it is possible that these contained weapons.

  We spoke for several minutes, exchanging the usual pieces of news which were the only real currency on the refugee network. The blacks showed no signs of nerves, nor any awareness that we had a guarded attitude towards them.

  They did however reveal certain signs of excitement, a cause for which we were unable to determine. Our main concern during the encounter was for our own sakes, and as such we were not judging their behaviour as much as we might at another time. But it seemed to me that they behaved as if jubilant, or as if anticipating something.

  In the end we moved on, leaving the blacks near a wood. We crossed a field, then passed out of sight. Lateef called me over to him.

  "They were Afrim guerrillas," he said. "Did you notice their identity-bracelets?"

  Sally and I waited for a few hours to see whether Isobel was going to return. I felt in no need to explain to Sally why she had left us; on the contrary, I deduced from the child's manner that she had anticipated some such ict. I think that she regretted that it had had to come, but that she was capable of accepting the new situation.

  Isobel had taken with her exactly half of our remaining money, in addition to a suitcase of her OWfl clothes and some of the food. All the camping and sleeping equipment she had left with us.

  By midday it was clear that lsobel was not coming back. I began to make preparations for a meal, but Sally said she would do it. I allowed her to take over and meanwhile packed our gear. At this point I had made no decision about what we were to do, but I felt that it was time to leave this particular location.

  When we had eaten, I explained to Sally as best I could what we could do.

  My predominant feeling at this time was a sense of inadequacy. This extended to my ability to make the right decision regarding our movements, as well as giving me severe doubts as to the real reasons for the breakdown of my marriage. I felt that Sally was in potential danger as I could, through my inadequacy, make more mistakes. In consulting her on the next move we should take, I felt I was not only giving Sally some participation, but was assisting myself to come to terms with my own weaknesses.

  I explained to Sally that her mother and I had agreed that we were to return to London, while she went on to Bristol. We were not going to return to our house, but we were going to find somewhere new to live. Sally told me that she understood.

  I then went into some detail about the difficulties confronting us: that we were out of touch with the political situation, that we had very little money, that it would not be possible to go back by car, that we would probably have to hike for the major part of the way.

  Sally said: "But couldn't we go on a train, Daddy?"

  Children have a facility for cutting sideways across a problem and seeing possible solutions that have not occurred to their parents. In the time we had been living in the countrysid
e I had completely overlooked the existence of the railway system. I wondered if Isobel had similarly not thought of it, or whether she was intending to reach Bristol that way.

  "It's a question of money," I replied. "We probably haven't got enough.

  We'll have to find out. Is that what you'd like to do?"

  "Yes. I don't want to live in the tent any more."

  I had learned that it was not possible to plan too far ahead. But I couldn't avoid returning to the question of what we would do if the situation in London was as bad as when we had left. If the occupation by militant Afrims of houses was continuing, and the law-enforcement agencies were divided, then we would not be the only people looking for accommodation. If the situation was as bad as I feared, we might well be obliged to leave London once more. If that happened, then the only place I could think of going to was my younger brother's house in Carlisle. Even if we were able to go there, the practical difficulty of travelling three hundred miles was still to be faced.

  Unfortunately, I could see no alternative -- he was the only remaining member of my family after the death of my parents four years before, and of Clive, my elder brother, in the confrontation at Bradford.

  As far as Sally was concerned, though, the matter was settled, and we collected the remainder of our belongings and packed them. I carried our remaining suitcase and the rucksack, and Sally carried the other bag containing our clothes. We walked eastwards, not knowing the location of the nearest railway station, but moving in that direction as we felt it was the right one.

  We came, after about a mile and a half, to a macadamed road. We followed this in a northerly direction until we encountered a telephone-box. As a matter of course, I lifted the receiver to find out whether it was working. In the past we had found that although the receivers had not been damaged in any way, the lines were dead.

  On this occasion there was a short series of clicks, and then a woman's voice answered.

  "Exchange. Which number do you require?"

  I hesitated. I had not expected a reply and was thus unprepared.

  "I'd like to make a call . . . to Carlisle, please."

  "I'm sorry, caller. All trunk lines are engaged."

  There was a note of finality to her voice, as if she were about to close the connection.

  "Er -- could you get me a London number then, please?"

  "I'm sorry, caller. All lines to London are engaged."

  "Would you ring me back when they are free?"

  "This exchange is open for local calls only." That final tone again.

  I said quickly: "Look, I wonder if you can help me. I'm trying to get to the railway station. Could you direct me to it, please?"

  "Where are you speaking from?"

  I gave her the address of the telephone-box as printed on the plaque in front of me.

  "Hold the line a moment." She closed the connection and I waited. After about three minutes she came back on. "The station nearest to you is in Warnham, about three miles to the south of you. Thank you, caller."

  The line cleared.

  Sally was waiting for me outside the box and I related to her the substance of the conversation. As I did so, we both became aware of the sound of heavy diesel-lorries, and a few seconds later seven troop-carriers passed us. An officer was standing in the rear of one of them and he shouted something to us as they passed. We were not able to hear him. I recall a feeling of vague reassurance at that moment, even though it was the first time I had witnessed actual troop-movements.

  When the lorries had passed I was able to identify the state which had caused my earlier disquiet. It was that we were the only people around.

  While living in the tent, our only contact with other people had been on those occasions when- we had visited shops to purchase food. Even then, we had all observed a slackness which had not been noticeable before the trouble began. But now Sally and I were as if alone.

  We began our walk to Warnham, and within a few minutes saw more signs of military activity and civilian inactivity that caused us both alarm.

  A mile from the telephone-box we passed through a village. We walked the length of the street without meeting anyone, but in the windows of the last house we saw the shape of a man. I waved and called out to him, but either he did not see me or did not choose to, and he moved out of sight.

  Outside the village we encountered an emplacement of heavy artillery manned by several hundred soldiers. There was a rough, but guarded, barbed-wire barrier between them and the road, and as we approached it were warned to move on. I tried to speak with the soldier, and an N.C.O. was called. He repeated the injuction, adding that unless we were out of the neighbourhood by nightfall we would find our lives in danger. I asked him whether they were Nationalist troops and received no reply.

  Sally said: "Daddy, I don't like guns."

  We moved on towards Warnham. Several times jet aircraft flew overhead, sometimes in formation, sometimes alone. I discovered the remains of an old newspaper and tried to read it to learn what I could about what was going on.

  It was a privately printed tabloid and one which I felt sure was illegal. We had heard on the radio two weeks before that the operations of the press had been suspended temporarily. I found the tabloid to be virtually unintelligible; badly printed, abominably written, disgustingly slanted towards an overt racist xenophobia. It spoke of knives and leprosy, guns and venereal disease, rape, cannibalism and plague. It contained detailed instructions for the manufacture of such home-made weapons as petrol-bombs, coshes and garrottes. There were items of 'news', such as mass rape by Afrim militants, and raids by loyal military forces on Afrim strongholds. On the back page, at the bottom, I learned that the paper was published weekly for civilian consumption by the British Nationalist Army (Home Division).

  I burned it.

  The approach to Warnham Station was guarded by more soldiers. As we came into their view Sally's hand took hold of mine and gripped it tightly.

  I said to her: "It's nothing to worry about, Sally. They're just here to make sure no one tries to prevent the trains running."

  She didn't reply, perhaps detecting that I was as alarmed as she at their presence. It meant, in effect, that the trains were still running, but that they were under military control. We walked up to the barricade and I spoke to a lieutenant. He was polite and helpful. I noticed that on his sleeve he had a strip of cloth on which was stitched: _Loyal Secessionists_. I did not refer to it.

  "Is it possible to get a train to London from here?" I said.

  "It's possible," he said. "But they don't run very often. You'll have to inquire, sir."

  "May we pass through?"

  "Of course."

  He nodded to the two soldiers with him and they pulled back a section of their barricade. I gave the officer my thanks and we walked up to the booking office.

  It was manned by a civilian wearing the normal uniform of British Rail.

  "We want to go to London," I said. "Could you tell me when the next train's due?"

  He leaned forward across the counter, put his face close up to the glass panel and looked through at us.

  "You'll have to wait till tomorrow," he said. "There's only one way to get a train here and that's to ring through the day before."

  "Are you saying that no trains stop here?"

  "That's right. Not unless someone wants 'em to. You have to ring through to the terminal."

  "But suppose it's urgent."

  "You have to ring through to the terminal."

  I said: "Is it too late to get a train to stop here today?"

  He nodded slowly. "The last one went through an hour ago. But if you'd like to buy your tickets now, I'll ring through to the terminal for you."

  "Just a minute."

  I turned to Sally. "Listen, love, we'll have to sleep tonight in the tent again. You don't mind, do you? You heard what the man said."

  "O.K., Daddy. But can we definitely go home tomorrow?"

  "Yes, of course."


  I said to the clerk: "How much are the tickets?"

  "Ninety pence each, please."

  I pulled out of my pocket what remained of our money and counted it. We had less than a pound.

  "Can I pay for them tomorrow?" I asked the clerk.

  He shook his head. "Got to be paid in advance. If you haven't got enough now, though, I'll take a deposit and you can pay the rest tomorrow."

  "Will this be enough?"

  "Should be." He dropped the change into a drawer, reckoned the amount on to a register and passed me a slip of printed paper. "Bring this and the rest of the money tomorrow. The train'll be here about eleven in the morning."

  I glanced at the slip. It was just a receipt for the money, not a ticket. I thanked the man and we went back outside. It had started to drizzle.

  I wasn't sure how I was going to obtain the rest of the money by morning, but already a half-formed determination to steal it if necessary had come to mind.

  At the barricade, the young lieutenant nodded to us.

  "Tomorrow, eh?" he said. "That's happened to a lot of people here. Are you refugees?"

  I told him we were, though I had not previously applied the word to our predicament.

  "You should be all right in London," he said. "Our lot are getting things organized there."

  He gave me the name and address of a group in London who were trying to find accommodation for the homeless. I wrote it down and thanked him. He expressed concern about what we were to do tonight.

  "I could have offered to find you a billet," he said. "We've done it before. But there's something on. We might be moving out tonight. What will you do?"

  "We've got camping-equipment," I said.

  "Oh, that's all right then. But if I were you, I'd get as far away from here as you can. We're being mobilized. The Nationalists are only a couple of miles away."

  Again I thanked him and we moved on. Both Sally and I had been comforted by his outgoing nature, by his apparent willingness to assist us. But what he had said had given us cause for alarm and I decided to heed his warning. We walked another three or four miles to the south before trying to find somewhere to camp. In the end, we came across a suitable place on the side of a low hill, screened on three sides by woodland That night while we lay in the dark together we heard the sound of artillery, and jet aircraft roared overhead. The night was lit by brilliant flashes from explosions to the north of us. We heard troops marching along the road a quarter of a mile from us, and a stray shell exploded in the woods behind us. Sally clung to me and I tried to comfort her. The noise of the artillery itself remained constant, but the explosions from the shells varied considerably between being very close and very distant. We heard small-arms fire from time to time and the sounds of men's voices.