people can see it. It’ll be no bloody good if it just droops, will it?’
‘And who’s taking the other pole?’
‘You are,’ he said; he didn’t even bother to look at me, he just stated it as though it was a fact we had both known for a very long time, but I had not known it for a long time, I had no intention of making a fool of myself for him or anyone else, and I told him so, briefly and clearly.
‘Come off it,’ he said. ‘You and I will show these dead and dying men of Cartersfield that we mean business.’
‘Damn it, Harry,’ I said, ‘I’m —— if I will.’ Yes, I swore. Tut, tut, fancy a schoolmaster knowing such horrible words. Well, where do you think schoolboys learn them? ‘I’m —— if I will,’ I said, and I meant it.
‘Well, then, you’re ——, that’s all,’ he said.
And we left it at that, because he knew perfectly well that I could never be induced to march in his march, let alone carry a hideous banner. And so time passed, and Easter came nearer, and Harry’s problem remained unsolved. He was terribly torn betweenshutting the shop altogether and missing a day of footslogging, and people didn’t help him, either, in fact they even began to be a little unkind, saying: ‘Oh, I won’t take it now, I’ll collect it Saturday; you will be open then, Mr Mengel, won’t you?’ and Harry would smile and say: ‘Yes,’ then go into his office and curse a bit. I may say that by this time, thanks to Harry and his dilemma, people were beginning to get interested in this march thing, though not me, of course. I had no intention of walking even as far as the north-east corner of Chapman’s Wood just to watch a lot of fanatics parading down a main road. But others were saying that perhaps Harry might be right, one never knew, did one, and perhaps these people weren’t all cuckoo, were they? And others said angrily that it shouldn’t be allowed, particularly not at holiday-time, holding up the traffic when everyone wanted to get out for a drive. The pubs got quite quarrelsome. Even one young radical can cause trouble if he tries.
And though of course he was delighted that people were taking an interest, Harry was still going through agonies about Easter Saturday. Ever since he’d taken those commissions on his father’s waistline Harry had hated to let a good thing go by, and holiday-time is no time to close your shop just to go on a crusade (because that’s what he called it now). And then he thought he’d had a brilliant idea. He came and told me, under pain of radiation sickness if I told anyone else, that he’d thought up a compromise. He’d shut the shop for half an hour while the march went by, and give everyone on it an Easter egg.
‘How about that!’ he said.
‘But, Harry,’ I said, ‘there may be a thousand people there.’
‘No, there won’t,’ he said. ‘Second day—five hundred at the most. Anyway, I can afford to give away a thousand Easter eggs.’
Well, how should I know what he could afford, and how many people there’d be on his precious march? I reckoned he knew what he was talking about, and I just hoped his old mother wouldn’t dieof a stroke when she heard about it. So I shrugged and said I thought he was quite out of his mind, but that was his business, not mine.
And then things began to get out of control. On Good Friday Harry went off to Aldermaston and he tramped along all day, feeling like Christ going to Calvary, no doubt, with all those students from all over the place who, said the newspapers, gave the whole thing its character. And suddenly, in that procession, which was much bigger than anyone expected, Harry said, he began to feel at home. It must be just like a university, he thought, I suppose, and forgetting he’d given up that sort of thing to be a good steady grocer he got really worked up. He told me afterwards, that night in fact, that he’d never been so excited in his life.
‘It’s bloody marvellous!’ he said,
‘And who’s taking the other pole?’
‘You are,’ he said; he didn’t even bother to look at me, he just stated it as though it was a fact we had both known for a very long time, but I had not known it for a long time, I had no intention of making a fool of myself for him or anyone else, and I told him so, briefly and clearly.
‘Come off it,’ he said. ‘You and I will show these dead and dying men of Cartersfield that we mean business.’
‘Damn it, Harry,’ I said, ‘I’m —— if I will.’ Yes, I swore. Tut, tut, fancy a schoolmaster knowing such horrible words. Well, where do you think schoolboys learn them? ‘I’m —— if I will,’ I said, and I meant it.
‘Well, then, you’re ——, that’s all,’ he said.
And we left it at that, because he knew perfectly well that I could never be induced to march in his march, let alone carry a hideous banner. And so time passed, and Easter came nearer, and Harry’s problem remained unsolved. He was terribly torn betweenshutting the shop altogether and missing a day of footslogging, and people didn’t help him, either, in fact they even began to be a little unkind, saying: ‘Oh, I won’t take it now, I’ll collect it Saturday; you will be open then, Mr Mengel, won’t you?’ and Harry would smile and say: ‘Yes,’ then go into his office and curse a bit. I may say that by this time, thanks to Harry and his dilemma, people were beginning to get interested in this march thing, though not me, of course. I had no intention of walking even as far as the north-east corner of Chapman’s Wood just to watch a lot of fanatics parading down a main road. But others were saying that perhaps Harry might be right, one never knew, did one, and perhaps these people weren’t all cuckoo, were they? And others said angrily that it shouldn’t be allowed, particularly not at holiday-time, holding up the traffic when everyone wanted to get out for a drive. The pubs got quite quarrelsome. Even one young radical can cause trouble if he tries.
And though of course he was delighted that people were taking an interest, Harry was still going through agonies about Easter Saturday. Ever since he’d taken those commissions on his father’s waistline Harry had hated to let a good thing go by, and holiday-time is no time to close your shop just to go on a crusade (because that’s what he called it now). And then he thought he’d had a brilliant idea. He came and told me, under pain of radiation sickness if I told anyone else, that he’d thought up a compromise. He’d shut the shop for half an hour while the march went by, and give everyone on it an Easter egg.
‘How about that!’ he said.
‘But, Harry,’ I said, ‘there may be a thousand people there.’
‘No, there won’t,’ he said. ‘Second day—five hundred at the most. Anyway, I can afford to give away a thousand Easter eggs.’
Well, how should I know what he could afford, and how many people there’d be on his precious march? I reckoned he knew what he was talking about, and I just hoped his old mother wouldn’t dieof a stroke when she heard about it. So I shrugged and said I thought he was quite out of his mind, but that was his business, not mine.
And then things began to get out of control. On Good Friday Harry went off to Aldermaston and he tramped along all day, feeling like Christ going to Calvary, no doubt, with all those students from all over the place who, said the newspapers, gave the whole thing its character. And suddenly, in that procession, which was much bigger than anyone expected, Harry said, he began to feel at home. It must be just like a university, he thought, I suppose, and forgetting he’d given up that sort of thing to be a good steady grocer he got really worked up. He told me afterwards, that night in fact, that he’d never been so excited in his life.
‘It’s bloody marvellous!’ he said,
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