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Maureen was watching out for Ron’s car just before 9 a.m. and had her small suitcase ready by the door. She had slept reasonably well despite her ordeal at the hands of Hubert but she had woken early before 6 a.m. and she knew then that no more sleep would be possible. The lined bedroom curtains were no match for the summer sunshine which was signalling a fine day.
The cut on her neck was still sore so she’d replaced the plaster after taking her shower. Fortunately, her face bore no trace from when he’d slapped her but her wrist was painful and slightly red from the chafing from the handcuff. Normally she would wear a bracelet on her right wrist but it was just too sore. She knew that at some point over the weekend she would have to tell Ron what had happened but she hoped to forestall that until at least this evening. If she were a man she might have been able to pass off the cut on her neck as the result of some careless shaving, instead she had resorted to a light scarf to match her outfit comprising a pair of linen trousers, a silk blouse and a short casual jacket.
Ron was beaming as he saw her at the door and he jumped out to kiss her warmly and took her small suitcase and stowed it carefully in the boot.
‘Maureen, you look lovely, as always of course!’
‘Thank you, I hope I’m dressed appropriately.’
‘Perfectly, now let’s get on our way. It’s a lovely day, hopefully, the weather will hold for this afternoon. You can tell me where you’d like to visit.’
Once out of the town and on the main road he accelerated and drove confidently and carefully. A classical CD was playing and Maureen relaxed as they chatted about Ron’s news. Her nerves began to settle and she forgot about the plaster on her neck. She had some spares in her bag in case it started to itch or peel off during the day. Perhaps Ron might not even notice tonight if the lighting in the room was kept low. In the meantime, she would concentrate on giving him the emotional support he needed.
‘So, what did you do last night then, without having me to cuddle?’ said Ron.
‘I was lonely,’ replied Maureen, pleased that Ron had his eyes fixed on the road. She hated lying but this wasn’t the time to tell him about Hubert, it could cause him to crash the car.
‘Me too. I had a microwave meal in front of the TV, then I cleared out all my emails before taking a swim. I wanted to tire myself out so I would sleep.’
‘Good idea. I had an early night. I woke early though so I’ve been pacing the house waiting for you to arrive.’
‘You should have said, I’d have come around earlier.’
‘Oh, it’s OK. I listened to the news and watered some of my plants. They are all looking a bit dry at the moment. We could do with some rain, although not today. Tonight would be OK.’
‘Move over!’ shouted Ron to another motorist. ‘God, don’t you hate it when people piddle along in the outside lane.’
The driver moved over and Ron sped past. Maureen had no idea what speed they were doing but she assumed it was well over the speed limit. The Jaguar’s ride was so comfortable and smooth that it was difficult to get a perception of the actual miles per hour. Maureen drove as a necessity rather than as a pleasure and overtook only when absolutely necessary. With other drivers, she might have been tempted to ask them to slow down but she felt safe with Ron. She didn’t know why but she just did. For once she felt totally cocooned in a blanket of safety. She looked out of the passenger window and saw a kestrel hovering over the grass verge, waiting for the precise moment to dive and claim its prey.
**
In the centre of Persford, Britannia First supporters were massing by the main square. There were probably around four hundred supporters. It was likely that many had travelled in from surrounding towns in the south-east. Opposing factions were also in evidence. Many students from Persford University had arrived and they appeared to outnumber the right-wing marchers. An official group going by the name Fascism Not Here was aligned alongside the students. Many had placards with slogans opposing fascism and supporting rights for immigrants. Members of the LGBT community were also present to call for a tolerant and diverse society where people could be able to live their lives without prejudice.
The march was due to depart at 11 a.m., wind through the town and end at an area of parkland about a mile from the town centre. There was a heavy police presence but for the moment the mood was vocal rather than hostile. Traffic had been halted through the town centre for about fifteen minutes prior to the advertised start time. As the seconds ticked away towards 11 a.m. the police officers in charge allowed the march to begin.
The Britannia First cohort led off proceedings and those not holding banners soon started a rhythmic clapping interspersed with shouts of “Rights for Brits.” The following contingent tried to drown them out with calls of “No Fascism Here.” The students appeared to be better prepared with whistles and drums which created more of a carnival atmosphere.
As the march continued through the High Street and down towards Quayside some groups of the general public on the pavements stopped to jeer and shout at the leading marchers.
‘Fascists! Bigots! Arseholes!’ were some of the cries.
Liam Bolton was positioned towards the centre of the leading flank. He wore a baseball hat pulled down low and sunglasses. He turned to his compatriots to offer encouragement.
‘Come on guys, we need to make more noise. Let’s keep up the volume.’
‘One, two, three,’ clapped another, then began their familiar chant of ‘Rights for Brits, Rights for Brits.’
They continued until this changed to “Immigrants out!” which was started by some of the more militant members. At this point, someone from the crowd threw an empty aluminium drinks can. It was easily deflected by the marchers but the police scanned the crowd to make sure nothing else was going to be thrown. It appeared to be an isolated incident and impossible to see the person responsible. One officer spoke into his short-wave radio and received some instructions in return.
The next section of the walk would follow alongside the river and then soon the march would head towards the green area on the edge of the town. Both factions of the march maintained their chants and onlookers could sense the passion emanating from both groups. Though the message of the Britannia First supporters was hateful and targetted towards certain sections of society it was hitherto controlled and stopped short of using racially offensive language.
Groups of passers-by started to wolf-whistle and shout “Idiots, Brainless!” at the march for which they received two fingered salutes. “Get a job you lazy bastards!” shouted someone else.
“Fuck off!” shouted a young man next to Liam. In solidarity, he waved his fist at the group.
“Wankers!” shouted a group of men wearing football scarves.
The atmosphere was becoming more electric now. A Britannia First supporter broke ranks and lunged towards the crowd only to be hauled back by the police and given a verbal warning. Liam began to feel slightly unnerved. He couldn’t afford to get a criminal record for public order offences. More police chatter was audible on the police radios. In turn, this heightened the police’s awareness and they began to look all around. Something was clearly afoot.
The police at the head of the march stopped and turned to temporarily halt the march. They had received a message that another group of riot control colleagues were investigating a report in a nearby road.
‘What’s happening, mate? Why are we stopping?’ someone asked a police officer.
‘Just a few moments, then we will be on our way.’
Suddenly out of nowhere a group of youths dressed in black or khaki approached Quayside down a smaller side road. They appeared to be a normal set of friends out together on a Saturday morning. However, as they approached they donned balaclavas or pulled up scarves over their faces. From inside their jackets, they retrieved clubs, sticks, batons, anything which could be used as weapons. In an instant, they charged the group of Britannia First marchers. The police grouped together but the speed of the assault took them by surprise. Police batons were drawn and used to threaten rather than attack. Riot vans descended on the scene as more groups converged from other side streets.
Chaos erupted. The Britannia First marchers defended themselves with anything to hand. Placards were broken, pieces of wood were used as cudgels. Hand to hand fighting broke out. Liam was pushed to the floor and his sunglasses trodden on. A masked anarchist kicked him whilst he was down and he curled into the foetal position to try to protect himself. He took a couple of blows but a fellow protestor intervened to protect him.
Similar acts of aggression were taking place along the road and the marchers had dispersed over a wider area. Some managed to escape and hide successfully, others had split from the pack only to find themselves pursued towards the river. Eddie had fled and was scurrying along the pathway adjacent to the river when another Britannia First member came running in the opposite direction. Horrified customers at Cafe Zero had abandoned the terrace and were sheltering inside, peering out through the locked doors.
The masked pursuers gave up following their original quarry who was athletically built and by now too far away. They faced Eddie who stopped in his tracks, panic-stricken and by now surrounded. One of the group swung their club at him and he ducked. Whilst he was distracted they wrestled him to the floor. They reigned down kicks until the luminous yellow jackets of the police came charging down the embankment to rescue Eddie. The masked group dispersed and an officer knelt down next to Eddie.
‘Ambulance, embankment. Serious Assault, young male, head injuries,’ he said into his police radio.
On the road, the police were beginning to take control of the situation. Injured parties from both sides were sitting on the floor being ministered to by their colleagues. Paramedics had arrived on the scene and were assessing the severity of the wounded. It would be impossible to ascertain exactly who had assaulted whom as the more violent members of each faction had taken the opportunity to fight with whoever they viewed as an easy opponent.
The march had been hijacked by a group intent on violence. Their motive was unknown but the scenes that day were similar to those seen when anarchists had overwhelmed peaceful protests. It was a sad reflection on society and a new experience for Persford which would be discussed at great length in the coming weeks and months.
