‘Everyone try to keep calm, please! There is no need for disorder!’ Most people could not hear and the rest ignored him.
The Brownshirts began to jump off the stage and to wade into the audience. Lloyd took his mother’s arm, and Werner did the same with Maud. They moved towards the nearest exit in a group.
But all the doors were already jammed with knots of panicking people trying to leave. That made no difference to the Brownshirts, who kept yelling at people to get out.
The attackers were mostly able-bodied, whereas the audience included women and old men. Lloyd wanted to fight back, but it was not a good idea.
A man in a Great War steel helmet shouldered Lloyd, and he lurched forward and bumped into his mother. He resisted the temptation to turn and confront the man. His priority was to protect
Mam.
A spotty-faced boy carrying a truncheon put a hand on Werner’s back and shoved energetically, yelling: ‘Get out, get out!’ Werner turned quickly and took a step towards him.
‘Don’t touch me, you Fascist pig,’ he said. The Brownshirt suddenly stopped dead and looked scared, as if he had not been expecting resistance.
Werner turned away again, concentrating, like Lloyd, on getting the two women to safety. But the huge man had heard the exchange and yelled: ‘Who are you calling a pig?’ He lashed
out at Werner, hitting the back of his head with his fist. His aim was poor and it was a glancing blow, but all the same Werner cried out and staggered forward.
Volodya stepped between them and hit the big man in the face, twice. Lloyd admired Volodya’s rapid one-two, but turned his attention back to his task. Seconds later the four of them
reached the doorway. Lloyd and Werner managed to help the women out into the theatre foyer. Here the crush eased and the violence stopped – there were no Brownshirts.
Seeing the women safe, Lloyd and Werner looked back into the auditorium.
Volodya was fighting the big man bravely, but he was in trouble. He kept punching the man’s face and body, but his blows had little effect, and the man shook his head as if pestered by an
insect. The Brownshirt was heavy-footed and slow-moving, but he hit Volodya in the chest and then the head, and Volodya staggered. The big man drew back his fist for a massive punch. Lloyd was
afraid it could kill Volodya.
Then Walter took a flying leap off the stage and landed on the big man’s back. Lloyd wanted to cheer. They fell to the floor in a blur of arms and legs, and Volodya was saved, for the
moment.
The spotty youth who had shoved Werner was now harassing the people trying to leave, hitting their backs and heads with his truncheon. ‘You fucking coward!’ Lloyd yelled, stepping
forward. But Werner was ahead of him. He shoved past Lloyd and grabbed the truncheon, trying to wrestle it away from the youth.
The older man in the steel helmet joined in and hit Werner with a pickaxe handle. Lloyd stepped forward and hit the older man with a straight right. The blow landed perfectly, next to the
man’s left eye.
But he was a war veteran, and not easily discouraged. He swung around and lashed out at Lloyd with his club. Lloyd dodged the blow easily and hit him twice more. He connected in the same area,
around the man’s eyes, breaking the skin. But the helmet protected the man’s head, and Lloyd could not land a left hook, his knockout punch. He ducked a swing of the pickaxe handle and
hit the man’s face again, and the man backed away, blood pouring from cuts around his eyes.
Lloyd looked around. He saw that the Social Democrats were fighting back now, and he got a jolt of savage pleasure. Most of the audience had passed through the doors, leaving mainly young men in
the auditorium, and they were coming forward, clambering over the theatre seats to get at the Brownshirts; and there were dozens of them.
Something hard struck his head from behind. It was so painful that he roared. He turned to see a boy of his own age
The Brownshirts began to jump off the stage and to wade into the audience. Lloyd took his mother’s arm, and Werner did the same with Maud. They moved towards the nearest exit in a group.
But all the doors were already jammed with knots of panicking people trying to leave. That made no difference to the Brownshirts, who kept yelling at people to get out.
The attackers were mostly able-bodied, whereas the audience included women and old men. Lloyd wanted to fight back, but it was not a good idea.
A man in a Great War steel helmet shouldered Lloyd, and he lurched forward and bumped into his mother. He resisted the temptation to turn and confront the man. His priority was to protect
Mam.
A spotty-faced boy carrying a truncheon put a hand on Werner’s back and shoved energetically, yelling: ‘Get out, get out!’ Werner turned quickly and took a step towards him.
‘Don’t touch me, you Fascist pig,’ he said. The Brownshirt suddenly stopped dead and looked scared, as if he had not been expecting resistance.
Werner turned away again, concentrating, like Lloyd, on getting the two women to safety. But the huge man had heard the exchange and yelled: ‘Who are you calling a pig?’ He lashed
out at Werner, hitting the back of his head with his fist. His aim was poor and it was a glancing blow, but all the same Werner cried out and staggered forward.
Volodya stepped between them and hit the big man in the face, twice. Lloyd admired Volodya’s rapid one-two, but turned his attention back to his task. Seconds later the four of them
reached the doorway. Lloyd and Werner managed to help the women out into the theatre foyer. Here the crush eased and the violence stopped – there were no Brownshirts.
Seeing the women safe, Lloyd and Werner looked back into the auditorium.
Volodya was fighting the big man bravely, but he was in trouble. He kept punching the man’s face and body, but his blows had little effect, and the man shook his head as if pestered by an
insect. The Brownshirt was heavy-footed and slow-moving, but he hit Volodya in the chest and then the head, and Volodya staggered. The big man drew back his fist for a massive punch. Lloyd was
afraid it could kill Volodya.
Then Walter took a flying leap off the stage and landed on the big man’s back. Lloyd wanted to cheer. They fell to the floor in a blur of arms and legs, and Volodya was saved, for the
moment.
The spotty youth who had shoved Werner was now harassing the people trying to leave, hitting their backs and heads with his truncheon. ‘You fucking coward!’ Lloyd yelled, stepping
forward. But Werner was ahead of him. He shoved past Lloyd and grabbed the truncheon, trying to wrestle it away from the youth.
The older man in the steel helmet joined in and hit Werner with a pickaxe handle. Lloyd stepped forward and hit the older man with a straight right. The blow landed perfectly, next to the
man’s left eye.
But he was a war veteran, and not easily discouraged. He swung around and lashed out at Lloyd with his club. Lloyd dodged the blow easily and hit him twice more. He connected in the same area,
around the man’s eyes, breaking the skin. But the helmet protected the man’s head, and Lloyd could not land a left hook, his knockout punch. He ducked a swing of the pickaxe handle and
hit the man’s face again, and the man backed away, blood pouring from cuts around his eyes.
Lloyd looked around. He saw that the Social Democrats were fighting back now, and he got a jolt of savage pleasure. Most of the audience had passed through the doors, leaving mainly young men in
the auditorium, and they were coming forward, clambering over the theatre seats to get at the Brownshirts; and there were dozens of them.
Something hard struck his head from behind. It was so painful that he roared. He turned to see a boy of his own age
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