demonstrations in northern England and Scotland, India was in a seemingly permanent fervour of revolt, increasing numbers of arrests were being made under the never-repealed security legislation of 1939. People who had quietly assented to the 1940 Peace Treaty were starting to become angry, saying it was time Britain stood up to Germany a bit more and that after ten years it was time for a change of government, time to give Churchill and Attlee’s United Democrat Party a chance. Despite the diet of pro-government propaganda from newspapers and the BBC, Beaverbrook was unpopular and there were rumours that the UDP might make big gains.
When the results were declared, though, the party had lost most of their hundred seats in Parliament, overtaken by British Union, Mosley’s Fascist party, which rose from thirty seats to a hundred and four, and joined Beaverbrook’s coalition of Treaty Conservative and Labour. Churchill had, finally, led his followers out of the Commons after a speech denouncing a ‘rigged election to return a gangster Parliament’. So people whispered round the Whitehall corridors, although the newspapers and television reported that they had stormed out in a fit of pique. Shortly after, the United Democrats had been accused of fomenting political strikes and declared illegal. They went underground and a new name, ‘Resistance’ after the French movement, began to appear on walls.
The new government swiftly moved even closer to Germany. German Jewish refugees had been returned under the Berlin Treaty in 1940 but despite growing anti-Semitism, restrictions on British Jews had been limited. Now the government claimed the Jews were implacable enemies of Britain’s great ally, and elements of the German Nuremberg laws were to be brought in. David would wake sweating in the night at the thought of what might happen if his secret were found out. Everyone knew that Germany had been lobbying for years to have Britain’s Jews, the last free Jews in Europe along with the remaining French ones, deported to the East. Perhaps now it would happen. David knew it was more important than ever to tell nobody, especially not Sarah, about his mother.
In the months that followed, though, David had begun to speak out, to Sarah and trusted friends, about other things: the continuing recession, the growing recruitment of ‘Biff-boys’ from Mosley’s Fascists as Special Branch Auxiliary Police to deal with unrest and strikes, the promise by Churchill to set Britain ablaze with ‘sabotage and resistance’. Churchill and his people were denied radio or television time, of course, but there was talk of clandestine gramophone records circulated secretly, where he spoke of never surrendering, of the ‘dark tyranny that had descended over Europe’. Something had snapped inside David after the election; perhaps even before, when Charlie died.
He had talked most of all to his oldest friend, Geoff Drax. Geoff had been with him at Oxford, and joined the Colonial Service at the same time as David joined the Dominions Office. Geoff had served in East Africa for six years, returning to work as a London desk officer in 1948. He had spoken even then of his shock at seeing at first hand how Britain had turned into a drab, conformist German satellite state.
The years in Africa had changed Geoff. Under the thatch of fair hair his thin, bony face had new lines, and his mouth was pursed and unhappy. He had always had a sardonic sense of humour but now he was bitter, firing out caustic remarks, accompanied by a little barking laugh. He had spoken of an unhappy love affair in Kenya with a married woman. He had told David he hadn’t managed to get over it, and envied his friend’s settled life with Sarah and Charlie. He didn’t like his desk work in the big new Colonial Office building at Church House, and when they met for lunch David thought how Geoff always looked uncomfortable in his black coat and pinstripe trousers, as though he should still be in baggy shorts and a pith helmet.
Geoff lived in Pinner, near David’s Kenton home, and they would often meet for a swim and tennis on Saturday mornings. Afterwards they would sit in a corner of the tennis club bar, talking politics – quietly, for few in the club would have sympathized.
One Saturday in the summer of 1950, Geoff had been telling David about events in Kenya. ‘A hundred and fifty thousand settlers they’ve got there now,’ he said with quiet intensity. ‘It’s bloody chaos. Unemployed families from Durham and Sheffield brought over with promises of free farms and unlimited native labour. They give them a three-month course in farming, then hand them a thousand acres of bush. They wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for the blacks. But it’s the blacks’ land. There’s real trouble starting among the Kikuyu. Blood’s going to get spilt. Some of these builders of this proposed new East African Dominion are going to wish they’d never left home.’ He gave one of his angry barks of laughter.
David hesitated, then spoke quietly. ‘Some of the Dominion governments are getting very concerned about what our new government’s doing. The Canadians and New Zealanders are talking about leaving the Empire. They’re very worried in the Office.’ David was being indiscreet, to a degree he would not have been even a year before. He went on to talk about protests from New Zealand about the latest British trade union bans. When David finished Geoff sat looking at him in silence, then whispered, ‘There’s a friend of mine you might like to meet.’
David felt a stab of anxiety as he realized he had been saying too much. ‘I think you’d find views in common,’ Geoff continued. ‘In fact I’m sure you would.’
David looked back at him. Immediately he wondered if Geoff meant someone in the Resistance. With Geoff’s angry restlessness, he recognized he might. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He thought of Sarah, at home, grieving for their dead son.
Geoff gave a tight little smile, waved an arm. ‘I’m not talking about committing to anything. Just talking to someone who – sees things the way we do. It helps to realize you’re not alone.’
Part of David wanted to say no, change the subject to sport or the weather, end the conversation. But then an angry impatience came over him, chasing away the fear.
Geoff introduced him to Jackson a week later. It was high summer, the sun hot in a cloudless sky. David met Geoff at Hampstead Heath Station and they walked to the top of Parliament Hill. Courting couples strolled along hand in hand, the women in bright, white-skirted summer dresses, the men in open-necked shirts and light jackets. There were families too; children were flying kites, bright colours against the blue sky.
David had been expecting Geoff’s friend to be someone their age, but the man sitting on a bench was in his fifties, with iron-grey hair. He got up at their approach; he was tall and bulky but moved quickly. Geoff introduced him as Mr Jackson and he shook David’s hand with a firm grip. He had big, solid features and keen light-blue eyes. He gave David a broad smile.
‘Mr Fitzgerald.’ He spoke in a voice that Sarah’s mother would have called la-di-da. ‘Delighted to meet you.’ His manner had the easy public-school confidence, what they called effortless superiority, that always made David, the grammar-school boy, feel slightly defensive.
‘Let’s take a turn,’ Jackson said cheerfully.
They walked towards Highgate Ponds. A group of teenage boys in Scout uniform were putting on a gymnastic display; three stood in a row, two more balanced on their shoulders, a sixth climbing slowly to form the pinnacle. Several people were watching. A scoutmaster gave instructions in a quiet voice. ‘Slowly now, distribute your weight carefully, that’s the key.’
Jackson stopped to watch. ‘Goodness me,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember when Scouts used to help old ladies across the road. It’s all gymnastics and military exercises now. Of course they’re afraid of a forced merger with the League of Fascist Youth.’
‘People wouldn’t stand for that,’ David said. ‘They’d take their sons out.’
Jackson laughed softly. ‘Who knows what some people will stand for, these days?’ He turned away, striking out across the heath, Geoff and David following. Jackson, slowing down, spoke quietly to David. ‘Geoff tells me you’re unhappy with the way the poor old country’s going.’
‘Yes, I am.’ David hesitated, then thought,
‘I suppose I have. I know this has been building up for years. It’s all caught up with me since the election.’
Jackson looked reflective. ‘You lost a child recently, I believe. An accident.’
David hadn’t expected Geoff to tell him about Charlie. He answered ‘Yes,’ stiffly, giving Geoff a frown.
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘Thank you.’
Jackson cleared his throat. ‘You served in the war, Geoff said.’
‘Yes, in Norway.’
